Experimental Music As A Way Of Life — “Atopos” And The Socratic Björk
Not A Song Review
It is tempting to read the title of Björk’s first song off “Fossora” as the ultimate encapsulation of her entire persona and career. “Atopos” is a Greek word meaning “unusual” or “out of place,” and who could be more unusual or out of place than Björk?
But as much as this popular conception of “Björk The Weirdo” has going for it, something about it has always rung a bit shallow for me.
On the one hand, I think being weird is great, being different is important, and being called “unusual” or “out of place” is a compliment, regardless of whether it was intended as one.
On the other hand, there’s a danger to taking “weird” in an exclusionary way — as if there was the need to choose between being strange and serious, between being “out there” and still anchored in reality.
If the appeal of Björk’s persona lies in her strangeness, it is a strangeness informed by deep concerns that transcend the “merely strange” — concerns for art, nature, and human connection. They are deep concerns that transcend a shallow reading of strangeness, but they don’t transcend strangeness itself. Björk is, and remains, firmly unusual and out of place. Björk remains atopos.
In his essay “Forms Of Life And Forms Of Discourse In Ancient Philosophy,” historian Pierre Hadot characterizes Socrates in terms of the atopos: “By the time of the Platonic dialogues, Socrates was called atopos, that is, ‘unclassifiable’.
What makes him a-topos is precisely the fact that he is a ‘philosopher’ in the etymological sense of the word; that is, he is in love with wisdom.” Hadot goes on to tie Socrates’ entire way of life to an ancient understanding of “philosophy” as an approach to daily life.
Socrates didn’t spend his days crafting theories, publishing papers, or navigating the increasingly frustrating academic job market — he walked around the city, posed strange questions to the people he met, and hoped to get them to change their lives.
(He was also put to death for it, but let’s not dwell on that now.)
It’s a pretty fascinating essay that I had a lot of fun reading. Obviously, there’s a lot more detail here, but for now, I just want to point out that the picture of Socrates emerging for me is one of a weirdo with depth.
Both halves of this are important — take out the “weirdo” part, and you get an overly serious, self-important snob who believes his superior intellect entitles him to deferential treatment. Take out the “depth” part, and you’re left with a guy who roams the streets of ancient Greece, annoying people for no reason.
It is a reading of the atopos along those lines that seems to me most promising to engage with Björk, and other artists like her — experimentalists for whom a serious concern with deep issues and an, often carefully cultivated, weirdness in both image and approach to art are not mutually exclusive. In music, it often results in experimental pieces while still being a joy to listen to. That is, they neither opt for shallowness to increase pleasure nor for a painful listening experience to increase credibility. They are just fascinating works of art.
Note: This is my first attempt to approach music from this angle, a work in progress, a — hopefully not completely shallow — weird experiment. I would love to start a conversation in the comments — any thoughts are welcome, including “This is complete nonsense, and none of this works.” Thank you for reading!
If you want to check out my most recent contribution on The Riff, you can do so here:
And here’s another thing I have written about Björk (and birds):
