Bjork has become kind of a punchline in recent years. And if we’re honest, both the fae princess schtick and her increasingly experimental electropop are pretty rife for parody.
But before the swan dresses and coy word salad interviews, we have to remember why Bjork was thrust into the spotlight in the first place—and that reason is her brilliant sophomore record Post, an album sharpened to such a bleeding edge that it still sounds modern two decades later.

Post defies all the stereotypes unfairly cast towards Bjork (and young female musicians in general) by wearing each of them, stretching these caricatures over her form like she’s trying on dresses. In one track she‘s the proverbial woman scorned (“Army of Me,” which sounds like a Glassjaw melody to me). In the next (“Hyperballad”) she’s a naive ingenue. She plays the manic pixie dream girl and burlesque cabaret singer and sexed up pop starlet with equal conviction, transcending each of them.
But through each of these modes, each fails to properly classify her. There is always some glaring incongruency sticking out of the boxes you might try to shut her into. She flits through genres in a similar way. Just when she seems to dwell in electro, the keyboards give way to a brass band. Synth pads melt into an airy string section. Her voice is similarly mercurial, ranging from a growl to a coo to a full throated scream.
Yet for all of this shapeshifting, Post never feels incongruent. It is maximalist and unpredictable, but it never sounds like anyone besides Bjork. The legacy this record left is unsurprising, and just as full reaching, influencing Top 40 pop divas and Euroclash acts alike. A line could be drawn from this record to Lady Gaga, Fever Ray, Crystal Castles, Lorde, Lykke Li, and more. Poptimists and hipster snobs alike lift it up with equal acclaim.
As for me, it makes it clear that I have a lot more Bjork to explore.