iServalan explores what Björk and Bach share: musical architecture, voice, structure, and deep listening, for the Digital Conservatoire.
Today's burning question, 'What does Björk have in common with Bach?'
Let's find out.
When people hear the names Björk and Bach together, it sounds almost like a trick question.
One belongs to the Baroque canon, powdered wigs and cathedrals.
The other to voice, technology, and sound, treated as a living system
But when you listen carefully — not to style, not to genre — something very interesting happens.
Sometimes forcing a comparison reveals some interesting observations.
So I had a listen, then another, and of course, another. But admittedly, I have been playing the Bach Cello suites for as long as I can remember, and I am also a massive Bjork fan.
You see, they are both architects.
Bach didn’t really write songs in the way we think of songs today.
He wrote systems.
Counterpoint, fugue, repetition — music that builds itself layer by layer, like a living structure. You can remove these layers and see how interesting they are in their own right, but when they are overlapped, there exists an explosion of power and a formiddable and direct communication.
Björk does something remarkably similar.
Her music often begins with a small cell — a rhythm, a breath, a vocal gesture — and then it grows.
Not towards a chorus, but outwards, into a space.
You’re not carried along a melody so much as placed inside a sound world. Where will she go next?
In both cases, the music feels less like performance and more like environment.
Another thing they share is an understanding of the human voice.
For Bach, even instrumental music often breathes as though it were sung. Sometimes listening to Bach, I swear I hear a choir, even when I know there is not one.
Lines rise and fall as if they have lungs.
There’s an implied body inside the sound.
Björk makes this explicit.
Her voice isn’t just carrying words — it becomes texture, rhythm, landscape.
It cracks, stretches, whispers, pulses.
The body is never hidden.
And perhaps the most important thing they have in common is this:
Neither of them writes music as a mere product to be trifled with.
Bach was not chasing novelty.
He was refining a language — deepening it, clarifying it, returning to it again and again.
Björk does the same.
Across decades, her work feels like one long conversation with sound, technology, nature, and the self.
Their music doesn’t ask to be consumed quickly.
It asks you to enter. To lose yourself. Give in to the power of musical persuasion.
And that’s why, centuries apart, I am here on my laptop wishing they had met and released a song together.
This is music that trusts the listener. That gives the listener the faith of a composer, that they will understand.
Music that assumes you are capable of listening deeply.
And perhaps that is the most radical thing of all.
#Music and Culture #Deep Listening
©2025 Sarnia de la Maré FRSA
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