Review Summary: How do you mend a broken Bjork?
Never one to let personal turmoil, conventional song-writing or the fact that her day has long past stop her, adorably frigid Swedish meatball Bjork has inflicted onto the world yet another hour+ of something that well-meaning vanilla suburban residents can only refer to as ‘interesting.’
Utopia, like a bottle of champagne that’s as piping hot as a sick donkey’s piss, hits the listener right in the walnuts/uterus/trans-spork, immediately making you understand that this is the journey of a woman who’s been hurt and betrayed, but who nevertheless is more than able to recuperate and move on, but who nevertheless is still a human being who has been tremendously wronged, but who nevertheless should not under any circumstance be referred to as weak and beaten. For further reading material on such harrowing and incredibly brave journeys, refer your ass to Pulitzer-prize winning memoirs ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’ and ‘Eat Pray Love’ by some ladywomen or other.
Like the Phoenix soaring from soot and ash, Bjork has shaken off the heartbreak, found herself some hot piece of tail who’s arisen her senses, blissing her at the gate, giving her back body memory that features creatures, reminding her of the simple giddy pleasures of courtship, helping her forget the losss, so sue me, because sometimes life needs be cleansed back into a tabula rasa, so some fuck-faced claimstaker doesn’t rob you of your paradisia, you may not be no saint, but it sure as shit doesn’t mean you have to lose your future forever, girlfriend.
Upon release, the album drew rave reviews from some of the world’s most respected critics:
Famed bongos player and occasional psychiatrist Sigmund Freud was quoted as saying ‘Album is absolute utter penis, uasifgafish I mean my father’s penis, aoghadsdbhjk I mean shit............. penis!!’
A Platinum-selling platinum salesman who wished to remain anonymous said ‘I listen to this when I sell platinum sometimes.’
Popular messiah Morrissey was heard mentioning ‘I can’t believe people date other people. Don’t they know those people are made out of meat!!?’
In conclusion, beneath the many many god so many layers of atmospheric trickery, emotional avant-garde shimmery and sonorous experimental tomfoolery, what Utopia really is is the musical equivalent of listening to a middle-aged woman forcibly and half-drunkenly ramble on about how amazing, confusing and complex her love-life has been since the thing that shall not be mentioned (The Divorce! Dun dun dun.. )
I believe you, Bjork. Life can be less than swell sometimes, but also sometimes pretty swell. Please shut up.
