Postmarket

Feb 8, 2012 in Music

By TXCleaver

 

European music is easy to stereotype into specific genres, narrowly focused by region (again, by stereotype.)  You know the drill: electro-club-pop of France and Amsterdam, soulful British blues, heavy British rock, precise but weird fantasy metal of Finland, hyper-industrial noise from Germany, Classical music from the Alps, opera from Italy, goofy folk music from the equally goofy Eastern Euros, and on and on…

But what about Iceland?  Who are these people of Bjork? I aim to find out.

Bjork’s album Post is an odd mix of crap.  If you want to read a typical song-by-song review, go to Amazon.com, and check out the work of people with “real name” under their nom de plume.  Gaze in wonder as they go track by track, with stuff like “6.5 out of 10.”

But that’s not why you’re here…

Hit play, follow along as I guide you through Post. Tour this album with me as if each song was a store/stand/booth at a flea market.  There’s the screen-netted door of this place.  We’re going in…

A Full Bar?!  (Army of Me) — Cautiously stepping into the flea market, with the worst stereotypes in mind, you realize the first stop is a bar.  Wait, this flea market has a bar?  How did nobody mention that there’s an awesome bar at the flea market?  Great booze, low prices, TVs everywhere, free pinball, air hockey and a giant jar of free pickled quail eggs.

The juke box is blasting some song with a great hook over a solid beat.  Are we sure this is a flea market, because this is AWESOME.

The only really weird thing is that the diminutive bartender singing along sounds like a pitch-perfect Helen Keller.  How can one get the pitch so right, yet enunciate like she’s signing (not singing) at the same time?

Persian Rug Booth (Hyper Ballad) — Moving on, our first 10’ X 10’ square is a rug monger.  It feels overly busy, yet there’s plenty of space to move around.  How is there so much space, when it’s cluttered with stuff?  Strange colors, no particular order to these rugs.   Nevertheless, you feel something vaguely familiar at this place, and may want to buy something from that odd seller.  Why is that store clerk coyly smiling at me?  That tiny little belly dancer already knows I’m buying a rug with no particular room in mind.  Why is this store so likeable?

Broach Store (The Modern things) — Having purchased a rug for no good reason, you see a big glass case filled with…what are those? Broaches?  Thousands of broaches?  All twinkling in the case like visual incarnations of Yamaha keyboard sound effects?  Yes, that’s what these are.  How stupid is this store?  Does the seller that is hiding under the table over there ever sell anything??  Damn this is a dumb store.

Late 1950s Collectibles (It’s Oh So Quiet) — Running away from the broach lady, the next spot is a massive 20’ x 20’ space — filled with gas station signs, replica gas stations, old gas station keychains and lighters and ashtrays — oh, Esso and Mobil, how we miss you.  And look, an entire section dedicated to Coca-Cola paraphernalia.  We just want to hear more of the same crap from 50 years ago…wait, no we don’t.  This store sucks, and the seller is over there practicing jazz hands like some Euro idiot.

Mexican Leather Goods Booth (Enjoy) — Now we’re getting somewhere.  We’re deep in the heart of the belly.  Stepping through the hanging leather belts, and around the tables covered with “custom” wallets, you realize you may be murdered at any time. Shopping here is nerve-wracking, fairly unenjoyable, but there is an occasional item that’s pretty good.  A snakeskin belt, with a blank spot for your name, that matches a pair of boots, AND a wallet? Just drop the cash on the table and get the hell out of here.  Did the seller just yell at me to ENJOY?  That sounded a little like a threat.  OK, a LOT like a threat.  Mexican Mafia lets tiny white girls in now?

A Doily Collection (You’ve Been Flirting Again) — Ugh, from tattooed Mexican gang members wearing cowboy hats, to a 4’ X 4’ stall filled with DOILIES?  All lacey and well-intentioned, there are doilies scattered about.  Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make these and nobody is really sure why.  These doilies bore you to the point of tears. That Icelandic-looking seller hasn’t moved since we got here.

Exotic Artifacts Bazaar (Isobel) — Whew, from all-white doilies, we enter an enclosed 15’ X 15’ space, enclosed in black cloth, with a hint of mild incense.  This is your one-stop shop for authentic local goods from all over the world.  There are jade elephants, Thai takraws, exotic African wood statues…whoa, is that a DIDJERIDU?  Yep, all of these items are exotic…and made in China and assembled in Finland.  Good effort, and enough to sucker in someone in need of cheap decoration.  Even the cute little store helper senses this is a fraud.

Incense Stand (Possibly Maybe) — Oh, THIS is where the Bazaar’s incense aroma originated. Spacey, headache-inducing, and thoroughly pointless.  And now my clothes stink.  How do people hang out here?  A simple Glade Plug-in would be easier, less offensive, and not make you seem like someone with methadone in your future.  Looks like that severely-attired cashier is listening to Rasputina.

Used CD/DVDs (I Miss You) — Oh yea, a used CD booth!  This is my SPOT now!  All kinds of music is represented in here!  And it’s cheap!  Yep, there’s the CD tables.  Flipping.  Flipping.  Flipping. Turning CD box over…Flipping…Flipping. Flipping.  Dang, I’ve gone through over a 100 different discs — ALL kinds of styles and varieties, and not a single one is any good.  The girl running this spot has assembled a stunning mix of crap.

Yellowed Romance Paperback Section (Cover Me) — What’s that at the next booth?  Oh look, those campy, tall, rotating wire racks, filled with books!  The hand-scrawled paper perched on top says they’re $.25/each or 5/$1!  Let’s see what’s here…oh…  Is that Fabio?  So ALL of the books have a Fabio-like conqueror on the cover?  The entire store is filled with romance novels with long-haired protagonists living sometime between the 15th and 19th century. These books have passed through the hands of dozens of successive 80 year-old women, eventually turning the pages into a death-pall-and-tears-shade of yellow.

Yes, this song is creepy like that.  And similarly mildly exotic.  Call me crazy, but the store clerk looks her great grandfather may have been a Nordic model for at least a quarter of these books.

Your Car Running In The Garage (Headphones) — Whew, finally home.  But now the reality of having gone to a flea market is setting in. Why is there a garden gnome in my passenger seat, and why is she gleefully telling me to keep the car running in the garage?  The damn Santeria at the incense shop!!!  “Headphones” is your soundtrack for the final bargain.