Björk

My anticipation ran so high that I momentarily forgot, while walking into the Auditorium Theater, that I was walking into a rock spectacle. A computer print-out sign reminded me: "WARNING: This performance contains strobes, lasers, fog, and pyro." Hell yes. Of course, the downside to this type of performance (and something that no degree of anticipation could cause me to forget) is that spectacles change little night-to-night, and checking blogs and Bjork's official website allows you to put together a pretty solid understanding of what you're going to see. I avoided this like the clichéd dad who has taped "the big game," only to be thwarted by a talkative super-fan sitting behind me. I overheard him say he was certain the show would close with "Declare Independence." (He was right.) I was surprised, even outraged -- not only did I now know the last song, but it was a track I didn't even like that much. Luckily, the lights went down, the crowd roared, and soon super-fan's chattering was replaced by the ethereal opening notes of "Cover Me." Thankfully, I still had surprises in store, not the least of them being how perfect a closing song "Declare Independence" would prove to be.

"Cover Me" was delivered a capella, with the lights down and the curtain closed, leaving the auditorium filled only by Bjork's voice. It was intense foreplay; the rest of the night that voice would remain the star, albeit surrounded by an orgiastic mix of avant-garde artsiness and stadium-rock theatrics. Here we had it unadulterated, and it sounded amazing. Then the first notes of "Earth Intruders" hit, and the fireworks began. Literally.

Bjork was joined on stage by 14 people: 10 singers/horn players, a keyboardist, a live drummer, a guy who was doing visual computer art and tinkering with things, and the guy I started calling "the Brain." The Brain was making most of the music happen, for most of the show, surrounded by synths, laptops, and other sorts of programming devices. The backdrop was a series of flags that had pictures of animals on them, and flags also adorned the back of the horn section's dresses (kind of like on the back of scooters). Yes, there was fog, lasers, and, during the closing notes of "Earth Intruders," pyro.

The third song in the set was "Venus as a Boy," surprisingly the only track from Debut (1997) that she played. The middle of the show was essentially dominated by tracks from Vespertine (2001), including "Aurora," "Unison," "It's Not Up to You," and "Pagan Poetry." "It's Not Up To You" was the weakest song here, and maybe the weakest of the set, since it was the most glaring time when music and performance didn't closely align. Even with the 10-piece all-female performers, the choral singing of the line "It's not up to you" was sampled, making the most rousing section of that song feel soulless. "Unison," however, was stellar; it's message of connectedness ("let's unite tonight") served to unite performer and audience in a kind of tender intimacy.

And then the show became a dance party. The Brain did what I was hoping he would do, and by that I mean he pressed play for the Timbaland beat that backs "Innocence." After moving through "Bachelorette" and "Wanderlust," "Hyperballad" turned into a booty-shake throwdown, bass pumping and green lasers dancing on the crowd. People were screaming, the folks in the balcony (where I was sitting) were finally out of their seats, and then "Pluto" kept things rocking into the encore break. After an Olympic rendition of "Oceania" (a song that has never impressed me as much as it has the rest of the world), "Earth Intruders," right on cue, began. Clearly imagined as a fist-pumping anthem, it was much more at home in the concert setting then it is on the album. It was danceable, people were excitable, the moment was flammable. Pyro shot up and the show was over.