On this relisten, though, what struck me anew about Post is its dynamic and metric range, from grand bombast to quivering quiet, from explosive, frog-marching club beats to free-time, almost improvisatory musings. It’s a record, in short, as sweeping in scale and as infinitesimally sensitive as Björk’s vocal instrument itself. From the Bonham-worthy drum boom and woozy, electric-eel synth bass of “Army of Me” to the ghostly echo chamber of “Headphones,” from the swaying string swoon of “You’ve Been Flirting Again” to the cagey, clamped-down frenzy of “Enjoy” and “I Miss You,” Post is a house with many mansions. If I had to locate its dark, swarming heart, I’d pick “Isobel,” a jungly fantasia of animist lust with a low, crackling beat covering the floor and a string orchestra throwing up steep walls that Björk’s voice rappels and bungees from with daredevil abandon (“When she does it/She means to”). I would not pick her spirited cover of Betty Hutton’s bipolar romp “It’s Oh So Quiet,” only because, by a weird bit of luck, I had happened upon Hutton’s blazing original a few years earlier on an LP compilation, and found that Björk’s note-for-note copy (really, the charts are identical) didn’t have that much to add.
What "Oh So Quiet" does do, inarguably, is showcase yet another facet of Björk’s genius--the place where her oddball theatricality intersects with Mickey-and-Judy innocence--as if the expansive multiverse of Post needed yet another dimension. But then, while there’s no shortage of whimsy and excess, of mystery and synchronicity, in Björkland, nothing is truly random; when she does it, she means to.