Down 4 Whateva... (1993) - Nuttin' Nyce

Nuttin' Nyce's Down 4 Whateva... is a manifesto of unabashed women's sexual freedom, the likes of which had seldom been seen before, and would not become the norm until pretty much the 2020's. When reviewing the work of one of the 1990s' most forgotten contributions to the r&b girl group model, it's difficult not to get bogged down with context. I spent a few hours painstakingly calibrating my comparisons to peers TLC, the rise and fall of New Jack Swing and the history of sexuality in r&b from a female perspective, but it feels so trite to read back, not to mention completely lacking in citational backbone. So I think I'm going to scrap it all in favour of taking Nuttin' Nyce's first and only record at face value.

This short-lived Sacramento trio look like a pretty standard girl-group setup for the time - and if you let the lyrical content of their songs wash over you and simply listen to the music, they sound it too. Caught just as the New Jack Swing trend started to fade in favour of a more silken, sultry sound, Down 4 Whateva... is a snapshot of succinctly 90's r&b. In some ways it sounds a bit dated to listen to now, but the freshness of being on the cusp of a new era is something that never really loses its sparkle. Regardless of where each song sits on the spectrum, you can guarantee it'll be full of spice and personality, a factor that instantly sets Nuttin' Nyce aside from their cookie-cutter archetypical girl group.

It's impossible to not address the elephant in the room - that Nuttin' Nyce are nuttin' but a bunch of nymphomaniacs. Nearly every song on the album is about sex. And not in a subtle, suggestive way; in a straight-up, hormone-driven, bitch-in-heat way, ranging from the recurring mantras of being 'down for whateva' and a pursuit of 'no love, just sex and a good time', all the way to the ad-libbed spoken middle 8 of Vanity 6 cover Nasty Girl, which demands "seven inches or more, better yet, make it eight". Even the tenderest of moments, slow jams like Show Me and Don't Make Me Wanna Do U, revolve around the subject, albeit in a somewhat less brazen way. A minor criticism could be that the almost desperate need to incorporate sex explicitly into every song is a little cringe-inducing. But then I remember WAP and I'm forced to reconsider this assessment.

The proof, as they would misquote from the popular and often misquoted idiom referenced in the album's closing track, is in the puddin'...

1. What Can I Say To You (To Justify My Love) (feat. Hi-Five)
2. Froggy Style
3. U Ain't Gotta Lie To Kick It
4. Down 4 Whateva
5. En Tu Deep (Sticky Situation)
6. Nasty Girl
7. Show Me
8. Don't Make Me Wanna Do U
9. Proof Is In The Puddin'
10. Gotta Get Mine
11. In My Nature
12. Wanderin' Eyes
    (Exempt from total score: Interludes 1-6: Jackin' For Men, Liquor Run, The Bomb Stop, Munchies At Roscoe's, Goin' To The Mustang & Boom Boom's Surprise)

Total Points: 37/60
Average Score: 6.17

Funnily enough, my top-rated track, an old-skool duet with labelmates Hi-Five, is the only one based around more familiar r&b themes of the time of protesting against unfaithfulness and valorising genuine affection over promiscuity. This is merely a coincidence, as my high placement is owed to the lush layering of harmonies, Eboni Foster's streamlined vocal runs and a penchant for that early 90's street sound. To justify this statement, right behind it is one of the most audacious songs on the album, Froggy Style - every bit as old-skool with its heavy sampling and record scratches, but this time an ode to a favourite sexual position. As mentioned earlier, Vanity 6's 1982 hit Nasty Girl is updated for the new decade with fresh instrumentation, reinterpreting the 'off-limits' coquettish sexual gloss set up by Prince's penmanship with a streetwise beat that exudes confidence and attainability without sacrificing any of the song's key content. Other highlights include the chilled-out Soul II Soul-sampling title track, and the kicking synth baseline of U Ain't Gotta Lie To Kick It, a song so effortlessly funky that it's almost as easy and accessible as the girls themselves claim to be.

The album begins to sag a bit towards the end, with Wanderin' Eyes breaching on the generic, containing some especially cliched lyrics, and closer Proof Is In the Puddin' feeling kind of stodgy (no pun intended), being a little too long, a little too slow, and a little too cumbersome in timbre choices. The lead single, In My Nature, is hands down the weakest of the individual releases, the sing-song chorus uncharacteristic of Nuttin' Nyce's slicker image*, despite fitting with its lyrical content. I'd be remiss not to mention the interludes at this point which, even though I fundamentally try to disregard such insubstantial tracks, do add an extra layer of narrative and humour, and tie everything together in a goofy and ridiculous conclusion. I don't think they detract per say, but they're certainly not crucial to enjoying the album and extracting the veritable juices Nuttin' Nyce have to offer. Even at its weakest, Down 4 Whateva... manages to deliver a solid sound that never feels dry or devoid of substance.

*I can't find written evidence anywhere, but I'm pretty certain this song was recorded with the original line-up, before Liz Burnett was replaced by Eboni Foster.  Unfortunately, all vocal credits on the album and the single release for this song are simply attributed to Nuttin' Nyce as a whole, with Teese Wallace being the only member acknowledged in the writing. With Onnie Ponder taking the lead for the song, the music video, which exists online only in poor quality anyway, barely focuses on the other two singers, so it's hard to get a decent look at them - but I'm pretty sure that Eboni Foster is not one of them. And the single cover art sure doesn't look like her either. Not that any of this really matters, but it might explain why In My Nature seems a little different to the rest, if it literally had a different lineup singing it. Like what happened with Atomic Kitten. Oh well!

It's hard to say how truly 'influential' this album really was on the r&b scene of today - of course, black female sexuality in the vein they were expressing it is a lot more prevalent, but Nuttin' Nyce seem to have slipped entirely through the cracks. There is so little evidence of their presence on the internet that I can't help but wonder if it's all just a big coincidence. Their ballads may well be among the earliest blueprints for the kind Destiny's Child started making as a 4-piece, and their pride and ownership of their sexuality may well feel trailblazing in a male-dominated, woman-objectifying era of music, but ultimately, I think Down 4 Whateva... must just be drop in the ocean. But one that, in my opinion, truly deserved and still deserves more of a spotlight than it's ever really had.

1977 (1996) - Ash

This is probably a bad habit, but I can't help but listen out for telltale signs of debuts being debuts. I'll press play and compare what I'm hearing to what I know, or what I'm aware the artist makes in the future; the path that lays ahead for them. In the case of Ash, one of the few acts I've seen live (I'm fully ready for the backlash when I say that I'm just not into live music), their first effort is largely a far cry from the kind of music that managed to drive me to actually buying tickets to their show many years later. In other words, in the years to come since making 1977, they would create incredible music. And this just isn't it. Let's get into why.

1977 has that kind of fuzzy, grey quality to it that brings to mind the Weezer classic Pinkerton - intentionally rough around the edges, unpolished and haphazardly human. All mistakes on purpose, it's simply a case of letting the feedback feedback and the noise noise. It's an aesthetic as much as it is a point being made, and it runs throughout. Finesse was not on the agenda, and I'm ok with this. My standout track, Goldfinger, shows how a masterfully constructed song can survive, or even thrive, with such muddy manifestation. It has just enough texture, with it's suspenseful sus 4s and time signature changes (come on music theory!) that it can carry itself regardless of potentially detrimental production choices. But honestly, the distinct way the instruments accompany the verses, the ritardando (I swear I never payed attention in music theory lessons!), and the idea of 'listening to the rain down in the basement' all just work for their sound during this era. Unfortunately, 1977 is not an album full of Goldfinger-quality writing and construction.

1. Goldfinger
2. Lost In You
3. Kung Fu
4. Angel Interceptor
5. Girl From Mars
6. Darkside Lightside
7. I'd Give You Anything
8. Oh Yeah
9. Lose Control
10. Gone The Dream
11. Let It Flow
12. Innocent Smile

Total Points: 29/60
Average Score: 4.83

Let's contrast Goldfinger with my lowest scorer, Innocent Smile. We're wading through the thickest of bogs with the audio here, distortion drowning everything including the vocals. Where Goldfinger has highs and lows, cliffhanging connections, stops and starts and effervescent drum fills to punctuate and open the song out from the fog, Innocent Smile... doesn't. What it does have is a gaussian blur of an ending that I honestly don't know how Ash was able to remember it well enough to rehearse and record it. As heard in one of the album's brighter moments, Kung Fu, band lead Tim Wheeler's signature verse style of syncopated monotone delivery in the chord's root note is also implemented, but without the quirkiness and the substance of the former. Bluntly put, this song is boring, and I feel that half the album (the oranges and reds, naturally) can best be described with that same blunt word.

Goldfinger acts as a glimmer of greatness and absolute mastery from a band that just hasn't quite got it yet. They're showing themselves capable, but can't do it on cue. Let's look at the augmented(? Music theory competence fading rapidly from view now) chord in Let It Flow's hook. We're at the second "It's calling out to me" and it feels like it's going to go somewhere interesting and resolve beautifully, in a salacious swerve reminiscent of Suede's early work. Instead, it cops out into the blandest following chord imaginable. It makes the music feel made sans dexterity and sans true effort, like they didn't know what they were doing and didn't strive to learn. And given that they were a young band, I think this may have been somewhat true. The resulting music is unmemorable and uninviting to replay. And, to bring things back to my initial observation, when combined with the muddiest of muddy production, it comes across as amateurish; sloppy and uninspired.

The string arrangements in Gone The Dream and Oh Yeah do serve as a demonstration of craftsmanship and ambition being invested into the songs. I don't personally think the effort was worth the payoff though, the songs themselves among the less interesting, and the addition of orchestral elements feeling an odd choice in such a noise-festooned album. One final criticism regarding Ash's junior status is how Wheeler implements his vocals. The soaring momentum in closing track Darkside Lightside suffers from a lack of dynamism is his voice. Once again, he shows himself capable of amping it up where needed and matching his delivery to the attitude of the music elsewhere on the album, but the penny doesn't seem to always drop, and his aloof 'run-through' of the words in this song flattens the impact it almost had.

Ash's talents shine best when they're really concentrating on resolving those chords satisfyingly and fighting the wash of genericness that threatens the entire album. Kung Fu's fantastical nostalgia-filled lyrics compliment the jungly central drum break and the neatness of the overall composition, making for a much-needed injection of personality into the proceedings. Lost In You, while the tiniest bit plodding, manages to follow through the tricks set up by the chords in the same vein as Goldfinger. Confidently performed and coherently rendered, this track has the competence and the understated elegance of a more established and self-actualised Ash that would present itself in future ballads in years to come.

This review may be less than favourable, but I don't really mean it as some kind of scathing attack on a first album - I'm not that much of a dickhead! Partially, I listened to the album and just had plenty to say - it stirred a lot of thoughts and opinions within me, and came as a neatly packaged solution to the writer's block I tend to suffer from. Otherwise, I think this review provides a good set-up for when I come back to Ash and review another one of their albums. I'll be able to recall what I wrote here and note the similarities and the differences, and I'm hoping it'll only serve to make the review that much stronger. It may have a low score from me, but Ash had to start somewhere. Though few and far between, 1977 has moments of greatness that signify even brighter sparks in the future, and I'm really looking forward to eventually getting round to them.

Aquarium (1997) - Aqua

A few reviews ago, I wrote that while I may come across like an insufferable hipster, my wider taste in music would debunk such a title, and that future reviews would aim to prove this point. Well, that time has come. I'm fully prepared to be stripped of any perceived trendiness, my taste to be questioned and my reputation tarnished, and you should be too. Because I, without the slightest hint of irony or guilt, actually rather like the music of Aqua, and I'm about to tell you why.

In 1997, Barbie Girl hit the airwaves and filtered through to the limited outlets accessible to 6-year-old me, which just goes to show how much of a mega-hit it was. Outside of the local bands, orchestral music and occasional 70's stuff that my parents listened to, I'd heard of Barbie Girl, two or three Spice Girls singles and was aware there was a band called Boyzone - until I started pursuing music on my own, this was really all I knew. And when you're a fledgling music enthusiast, knowing that you want to fly free of the acoustic nest your parents curated but not really knowing what the world has to offer, you gravitate to what little you recognise. I vividly remember being in a charity shop (Scope, if you wanted to know) in maybe 2001 and seeing the cassette tape of Aquarium up on a rack of pre-owned tapes for, I want to say, £1.50. I asked the volunteer to reach it down for me, even though I was taller than her (I knew she had a kick stool but she didn't use it). I was drawn to the bright colours, the band's eerie glow, and Lene's tall hair and bushy eyelashes, and the cartoony logo with the eye motif was very my kind of thing. I checked the back, recognised Barbie Girl and suppose I must have thought to myself, "I understand what this is". And that is the story of how I came to purchase my first album.

Similarly to how I feel regarding OPM's Menace To Sobriety, I don't believe my appraisal of the music is softened by nostalgia. If anything, I have a better appreciation now for the musicality of the more blatant schtick songs, which I definitely shunned quite early into my development, well aware that there was nothing 'cool' about listening to Barbie Girl in the 21st century. Ultimately, it's the quality that keeps me coming back, and you're about to see just how highly I regard it.

1. Good Morning Sunshine
2. Be A Man
3. Calling You
4. Doctor Jones
5. Roses Are Red
6. Lollipop (Candyman)
7. Happy Boys & Girls
8. Turn Back Time
9. Barbie Girl
10. My Oh My
11. Heat Of The Night

Total Points: 37/55
Average Score: 6.73

You might have noticed that this album has received my highest score yet. Given how my system works, it's very high indeed (I'd say anything above 6 is high, I certainly don't see anything breaking the 8 mark), and there's a part of me that feels a bit incredulous about this, even though I scored it myself and stand by my verdict, just because of the general consensus that Aqua are something of a gimmick band. Which isn't an unfounded myth - songs with subjects including a plastic doll, a fictional archeologist, and a medieval kingdom don't exactly make for a cultured listening experience. Combine with these singles goofy, slapstick music videos that exaggerate the band's wackiness and sense of humour, and it's easy to brush them off as a juvenile act that caters to only the most low-brow of audiences, probably containing more children than adults. But there's a lot more to the band, and this overarching tawdriness is, in fact, just the most pronounced of many concurrent facets they possess.

Before we look any closer, let's reinterpret their zaniness by declaring them self-aware, tongue-in-cheek entertainers who want to create positive music designed to be danced to and to put a smile on listener's faces. I don't think this is far fetched at all, and if this is the goal of their music (and its corresponding promotional videos), mission accomplished. Now, let's focus on some of the brilliant qualities Aqua have that often go overlooked. Firstly, Aquarium is one of the most flawlessly produced albums I've ever heard - not one note, whether sung, played or programmed, is misplaced or nonchalantly fumbled, and even though it's fair to call this an album of electronic music, it never feels overly mechanical or computerised. The record has a consistent, distinct flavour, remaining bright and slick but still incorporating a variety of timbres and moods - ranging from the familiar eurodance tropes of Roses Are Red to contemplative, wistful ballads like Turn Back Time, and even one (admittedly ill-judged) latin-influenced song. While future endeavours feel a little more detached from song to song, this record remains fluid (excuse the pun) and succinctly part of it's own bubble (excuse that pun too please). No track is laboured or excessively long; they are expertly judged by in-band production duo Søren Rasted and Claus Norreen to maintain the fit and feel of their vivid, caricature image during this era.

Aqua's greatest asset is, or should I say are, their lead vocalists, and the sheer contrast between them. Barbie Girl epitomises the extremes of this schism, with Lene's high-pitched, somersaulting voice feminised further still under the guise of Barbie, while René's gruff, baritone Ken provides a macho counterpoint full of swagger and attack that serves as the perfect yin to her yang. This polarity makes their vocals perfect for character acting, and we see it time and time again in the likes of My Oh My, Doctor Jones and Lollipop (Candyman), to name a few examples. René's contributions often err on the edge of rap, and fully take this form in the Middle 8 of my personal favourite track, Good Morning Sunshine. Strangely enough, it's the least cheesy he sounds on the entire album, helped in no small part by the ballad's lush, accessible but poetic imagery and velvet-rich yet relaxed tone - something I'm sure a lot of people would never have expected to be said about an Aqua song! For Lene, Aquarium acts as something of a showcase, giving her chance to really exercise her vocal elasticity. In addition to her trademark brazen soprano, she takes on a softer, more delicate approach in Be A Man, plays up her sugary intonation in Lollipop (Candyman), and shows she can be an absolute powerhouse when she belts out an almighty sustained note during the climax of Calling You.

Along with Good Morning Sunshine, Be A Man is a beautifully performed and vulnerable model of a 90's pop ballad, with the addition of glistening electric piano and expertly dispersed backing harmonies to add a cosy yet sparkling aura to the sound. One notable omission from the original album is Didn't I, a bonus track featured on many re-releases of Aquarium, and bumped up to part of the core tracklist on the 25th anniversary edition vinyl. Had this qualified, it would have been a third 5-pointer for me, notching the album up to an even higher overall score (an astounding 7.0). This song, an up-tempo dance track in their familiar euro flavour, is actually closer in subject matter to Aqua's more serious, slower songs, and takes full advantage of Lene's sweeping vocal ability. Their kitsch phenomenon Barbie Girl, corny and overplayed though it is, still deserves credit for how well assembled it is, as well as it's playful lyrics and sheer audacity. The only real flop is Heat Of The Night; it doesn't matter how big a pinch of salt you take the band with, this will always be cringe-inducing - as packed as it is with every imaginable Spanish stereotype, it feels more exploitative than inspired, and would definitely be inconceivable today.

I haven't set out to convince anyone to fall in love with this album - whereas with City Pop, I'm something of an advocate, when it comes to music like this, I just kind of accept that it's not for everyone, especially in 2022. You don't personally care for europop from the 1990's? That's fine. It's an acquired taste, I'll live. I suppose what I've really done here is written a defence for a band that has always been brushed off as a stunt, a group play-acting at being musicians, and have tried to quash this popular opinion as I feel it is unreflective of their true nature. To me, they're experts in their field, virtuosos of their art and dynamos of their time, and I know that tracks from this particular album will always snake their way onto my playlists, then, now and in years to come.

Cake (1990) - Trashcan Sinatras

Obscurity Knocks by Trashcan Sinatras (or The Trash Can Sinatras, as they were called when the song released back in 1990) is a rare kind of song that seems to do so many things at once. It's a coming-of-age story full of retrospective and uncertainty, with cleverly composed lyrics that somehow bridge the gap between wisdom and naivety, and a springy guitar-jangle momentum that perfectly counterbalances the drifting, mildly wistful vocals. It has a timelessness that is at once the very snapshot of turning 21, the wonder of the journey there and the worldliness of experiencing the years since. It is a song that took me by surprise, that I knew would stay with me, and that I knew, deep down, was probably a one-off.

1. Obscurity Knocks
2. Maybe I Should Drive
3. Even The Odd
4. Thrupenny Tears
5. The Best Man's Fall
6. Circling The Circumference
7. You Made Me Feel
8. Only Tongue Can Tell
9. Funny
10. January's Little Joke

Total Points: 27/50
Average Score: 5.4

Trashcans' debut album, Cake, is an inoffensive venture, with an absolute standout gem in the aforementioned lead single, and not a lot else of note. The 9 other tracks struggle to keep up with the pace the opener sets - no matter how witty the wording or lovingly crafted, they're just comparably lacklustre. You'll notice how close my rankings are to the actual play order - this is because the album gradually looses steam the further it progresses. By the time you get to the meandering yawn of a closer, January's Little Joke (the overall sound quality of which can only really be described as an approximation of recording at best), you feel like you've taken an uphill struggle and have just petered out before edging over the top of the hill. Don't get me wrong, even the mildest tracks, Thrupenny Tears and Funny, are beautifully arranged and enriched with the album's signature lyrical wordplay, and would make poignant reprieves from the rest of the record if it were as amped-up and alive as Obscurity Knocks. However, nothing comes close to touching the opening anthem, and instead we're presented with an album full of, to put it bluntly, boring tracks being intermitted with even less lively ones.

The more I think about it, the more I conclude that Obscurity Knocks simply isn't representative of the band Trashcan Sinatras were wanting to be. On one hand, this makes it a strange choice for a lead single, but on the other, it is easily the most sparkling and attention-grabbing track they had in their arsenal, and it would have been silly to hide away a full technicolour masterpiece in favour of their other greyscale works. The album is rife with never-fully-resolved potential; for example, the almost yodelled chorus of Even The Odd rings out fantastically over a happy acoustic jangle, but the song simply lacks the oomph that Trashcans have shown to us right at the start of the record they are capable of. Perhaps if this track and the other more upbeat songs like Maybe I Should Drive and Only Tongue Can Tell had been granted a similar treatment to Obscurity Knocks, they may have bolstered up the overall atmosphere of the record from retirement home to office party. But then again, isolated and without the context of the other songs and their vastly different degrees of amplitude, they're not so bad. They just don't quite compare. The band's craftsmanship is meticulous when it comes to their songs, but I think the bigger picture is their downfall.

This album is one I want to like more than I do. I want to appreciate the nuances and the fingerpicking. I want to get under it's skin and feel at one with it like I do with the song that led me here. But honestly, it just doesn't hit the spot. I have every respect for what they're going for, but it simply doesn't resonate. When it comes to my overall verdict on Cake, I think the Trashcans themselves say it best, with one of the most memorable lyrics from their standout single:

"Oh I like your poetry, but I hate your poems."

Ok, it doesn't quite summarise my feelings, but it gives the jist. That's what this album does, it gives the jist of a good listen, but can't quite form a fully developed article.

Homogenic (1997) - Björk

When it comes to albums, my fascination goes a little bit deeper than the kind of instinctual musical predilection present in us all. Instilled in me since uni is the specialness of bringing together a collection of singulars in an act of curation, to tell a story, to get the right balance and through line, to create an entity that is more than just a list of works reeled off in an unspecified and inconsequential order. This is why, whenever I make a playlist, I've been known to spend weeks or even months engineering the perfect flow through selection and order, because it makes all the difference when played from start to finish.

This is something I treasure within albums. Nothing makes me happier in music than when it's clear that an album was fully conceptualised, and in fruition is restrained, fluid and of one singular flavour. The latter in particular - instrumentation, mood and style that fits together that feels as one - is, for me, the crux of an exemplary album, This might sound something of a moot point to the average rock fan or classical enthusiast, where the consistent set of equipment and sole production team being used to create the music dictates a kind of uniform from the offset. But in electronic albums (and more widely, pop), this is not a given. It's a choice. And one that Björk took to heart on the creation of her third* studio album.

*fourth if you count her 1977 eponymous Iceland-exclusive childhood record, which I do not

Homogenic was thusly named due to Björk's desire to create an album with 'a simple sound' and 'only one flavour'. Her prior albums, Debut and Post, are far more eclectic, presenting like musical tapas, with Björk picking and choosing, going back and forth between a scattering of unique influences, from state-of-the-art electronica to traditional acoustic instrumentation. These efforts were examples of a musician who was having fun in finding herself as a solo artist, and relishing in the areas that gave her joy. Homogenic though, instantly feels more grown-up, more stable and more special, and I believe this is entirely down to the strictness with which the concept of uniform flavour was adhered to. Everything, from the 'volcanic', piston-like beats to the soaring string arrangements, comes together in unity, presenting a strong but dynamic (remarkably never monotonous or boring) cast that allows the individual tracks to shine within a perfectly bespoke framework. Even the artistic direction emphasises this unity, the steely exterior casing opening up to reveal rich, cyber-organic innards, presenting the whole package as a protective bubble, housing a kind of self-sustaining ecosystem of music.

While I admire this overarching trait, it is equally important to consider the individual tracks - after all, this is the foundation upon which my system is based. I'll keep this in the sidebar for future reference but, as this is the first implementation of it, I'll place it here too:

Blue (5pts) - God tier
Green (4pts) - Excellent and memorable
Amber (3pts) - Perfectly serviceable
Orange (2pts) - Inoffensive filler
Red (1pt) - Unlistenable, best skipped
Uncoloured (0pts) - Exempt/Ineligible for rating (e.g. interludes & hidden tracks)

Now for the tough part. Be kind, internet:

1. Jóga
2. Alarm Call
3. Hunter
4. 5 Years
5. Bachelorette
6. Unravel
7. Immature
8. All Neon Like
9. All Is Full Of Love
10. Pluto

Total Points: 30/50
Average Score: 6.0

For an album that, just a few seconds ago, I praised to high heaven for representing something of a gold standard for me, 6 might look a rather low mark out of a possible maximum of 10. Firstly, I need to make the point that in order for an album to boast a perfect score, every single track needs to be 'God tier', and this is pretty much an impossibility. In fact, I have a feeling that more than a single blue track on any given album is going to be noteworthy. Think of them as my version of Michelin stars. So, in effect, two blue tracks is quite something for me. Jóga is an obvious choice for this accolade - powerful lyrics and timbres amalgamate, majestically evoking the landscapes of Björk's native Iceland. Alarm Call, however, isn't one of her more iconic tracks - not nearly as iconic as the extremely low rated All Is Full Of Love - which brings me onto my next point...

In any project that is, to such incredible effect, a fully-realised and 'one flavour' article, there are going to be difficult choices about what makes the final cut. In a case like this, omissions are as important as inclusions, and when faced with multiple versions of songs, choosing one over another can be a crucial decision. The penultimate track, Pluto, is a hard listen, with its dark, industrial beats and filtered vocals, and while it still manages to feel like part of the ecosystem, it is extremely stark and abrasive when you've listened to 8 comparatively congenial tracks before it. All Is Full Of Love follows, and producer Howie B's version was probably selected to emphasise the feeling of a 'fresh start' after Pluto's themes of destruction. Lacking the signature beat style present elsewhere, this version instead is full of unbearably shrill torrents of what sounds like a flock of electronic birds flying overhead, and a bassline that is most accurately likened to the sound you experience when your ears are too full of wax and you can hear your pulse in them. Björk's sublime, raw and mighty vocals are the sole saving grace, and the only reason I've not rated it dead last.

The fact that there exists a far superior, more magical, more palatable version, which would have absolutely integrated with the album's soundscape, makes the chosen mix something of a tragedy in my eyes. However, herein exists a classic case of swings and roundabouts - my other album highlight, the bouncing and bombastic Alarm Call, could not be described as such in its incarnation as a single. Inexplicably sped up, amped down and bounce well and truly stunted, the single version's production does nothing to reinforce the lyrics which express a desire to 'go to a mountain top, with a radio and good batteries, and play a joyous tune'. I feel a bullet was dodged that this mix was not included in the album, and it is a true shame that the version I love so much was shunned in favour of such a flaccid replacement for individual release and could not be known to a wider audience.

In typical Björk style, Homogenic boasts an incredible breadth of emotional and musical range - the introspective contemplation and ambient piano phrases of Immature at one end, the ambitious scale and grandiosity of Bachelorette and Jóga at the other. The latter are collaborations with Icelandic poet Sjón, who Björk worked with to come up with 'epic' lyrics, and whose poetic virtuosity has been periodically employed in her songwriting over the years. It is a testament to the album's atmospheric continuity that such diverse songs can resonate in conjunction without conflict. As well as the strong-handed creative direction, it is Björk's confidence and conviction that really enables this synergy between the tracks.

Homogenic is a shining, critically acclaimed album, which is never too far away from your average music zine's GOAT lists, and is a timeless and enduring staple of many a music collection. Hopefully I have conveyed my agreement with this consensus, despite my gripes with some of the later tracks. To many, it is Björk's magnum opus, and I certainly can't argue that the record adeptly encapsulates the qualities she is best celebrated for - her childlike charm is as prevalent as her emotional awareness, the interpretation of her messages is meticulous and her voice is at its most expressive. For a first review, I must admit that it's rather a superfluous one, because you don't need a review to understand that this album is a masterpiece. I knew that the first time I listened. But perhaps, through my garbled and scantily-informed analysis, you'll give it a spin and see it in a way you might not have thought of before.