The late August release of Bjork’s new album Medulla is simply monumental for the artist and her listeners. Her decision to restrict the instrumentation to vocals and little else increased the anticipation of the album’s release, and this absence of instruments will probably polarize her fans. Medulla stands as another Bjork masterpiece, but it must be placed in the context of her other work.

Unlike 1997’s Homogenic, which focused on unique and technical music about survival and emotional exhaustion, and 2001’s Vespertine, which is crowded with icy music about private emotions, Bjork has moved on to a musical experiment of sorts in making Medulla completely composed of vocals. She employs them to create many moods and bridge the gap between the ethereal and the guttural.

Bjork collaborated with many virtuosic artists, including human beatboxers Dokaka and Rahzel (The Roots), Mike Patton (Faith No More and Mr. Bungle), Inuit throat singers who can sing chords and English avant-garde vocalist Robert Wyatt. Even with all the help, Bjork still takes control with an uncanny understanding of when to command attention and when to allow her voice to slip into the wall of vocals.

Like her albums Debut (1993) and Post (1997), the songs on Medulla range in style and demeanor but it also presents trickier rhythms and harmonies, a more technical melodic approach, and a more unified soundscape. Even though every song sounds distinctly different, the album is held together by the prevalent organic texture of the vocal arrangements.

Bjork sings in a comfortable balance between her vocals on Homogenic and Vespertine. There are many sweeping crescendos as well as breathy caresses. She sings smooth, sustained pitches but also grabs words with her throat, giving them a raspy texture.

The percussion, which is composed of beat-boxing and rhythmic breathing, isn’t as refined as Homogenic and isn’t as well layered as Vespertine, but offers a perfect counterpart to the eerie choirs and achieves its own mysterious quality. The rhythmic breathing can be sensual and seductive or animalistic and either way, provides the music with depth that sounds novel. The beat boxing, however, while virtuosic, never really transcends the sharp, electronic drums it imitates.

In fact, it is here that the album may come across as gimmicky. The vocals are not always as effective as the instruments they mimic and so it seems the decision to use only vocals plays somewhat of a limiting factor in the arrangements.

The album really flourishes when it experiments with the texture of voice as demonstrated by the song “Oceania,” in which Bjork uses the London choir to evoke the waves and currents of the ocean. The choir drifts in and out of the music in quick windy swirls, while Bjork sings, “You show me continents/I see islands/you count the centuries/I blink my eyes.” “Who Is It” ends with the eerie chords of the throat singers ringing out over Rhazel’s breathy, punchy beat-boxing and “Mouth’s Cradle” showcases the studio by splicing jagged fragments of Bjork’s voice to connect the beatboxing with a brooding choral stream blanketing the chaotic scene.

There are a couple songs that are cause for complaint. “Show me Forgiveness” is a simple piece of just Bjork’s voice with a slight echo to open up the sound, but its melody cannot stand alone. “Vokuro” is composed of Bjork’s voice with choral accompaniment. Bjork gives an epic performance but the song sounds stuck in tradition without any novel qualities to save it.

Aside from a few minor blemishes, Bjork’s Medulla succeeds marvelously at exploring a lot of musical ground from a fresh and unified perspective.

Grade: A