Pitchfork

This is what we were promised: Björk, squeaking like it was 1994 all over again, putting in one more for the aging club kids who so desperately want to believe there's more to life than throat-singing duets and ponderous Matt Barnacle globules of sound. Working in tandem with Ms. B for all of one day, Timbaland couldn't make his presence felt on Volta-- he couldn't find the time to break her away from the branch-shaking globo-march to nowhere. So be it, we don't need him. We've got (sigh) Spank Rock's Armani XXXchange, who takes his a cappella and flies. He got paid, but he earned it. Fuzz bass, five-alarm squiggles, drums that are allowed to trip-up the lockstep-- talk about your Chemical Brothers nu-rave big-beat renaissance a-go-go. That is, these intruders are way more charming with glowsticks. Before, the "turmoil" and "carnage" sounded like a stark reminder. A scolding, even. Now, such warnings evaporate as soon as they're spoken, exorcised by some "necessary voodoo." And, hold on...the giggle bit at the end...is she having a laugh?! Shit yeah, she is. It's about time.