Who needs an actual tune when the birth of Wicca-tronica is upon us?
The return of pop’s last white witch throws up no great surprises, which is just fine. The chief new flavour here appears to be Björk’s full immersion in some nebulous prog-folk realm of fairies and pixies. Breathless with wild-eyed wonder, the Icelandic one sings of finding solace and sanctuary in secret hideaways and pagan forests. Even the florid sleeve draws from the same fertile hinterland of ripe imagery, looking like it was scribbled by a team of stoned goblins in about 1873. The tune, you say? Who needs an actual tune when the birth of Wicca-tronica is upon us? Burn the witch! Burn the witch!