{"version":"1.0","type":"rich","provider_name":"Bj\u00f6rk.fr \u2013 Site francophone d\u00e9di\u00e9 \u00e0 Bj\u00f6rk : musique, clips et actualit\u00e9s","provider_url":"https:\/\/www.bjork.fr","title":"San Francisco Chronicle","author_name":"","width":"480","height":"315","url":"http:\/\/www.bjork.fr\/San-Francisco-Chronicle,1076","html":"\u003Ch4 class='title'\u003E\u003Ca href='http:\/\/www.bjork.fr\/San-Francisco-Chronicle,1076'\u003ESan Francisco Chronicle\u003C\/a\u003E\u003C\/h4\u003E\u003Cblockquote class='spip'\u003E\n\u003Cp\u003EIt would appear that stardom has taken its toll on the Icelandic pop singer Bj\u00f6rk. Until recently regarded as the burbling clown princess of Scandinavian musical exports, on her third album the gifted vocalist delves deeper into the mechanized laments and torch songs that have increasingly defined her solo career. The cumulative effect of these 10 songs is depressing—sometimes exquisitely, intentionally so, sometimes not. \n\u003Cbr class='autobr' \/\u003E\nFormerly the delirious vocal acrobat of the short-lived Sugarcubes, (\u2026)\u003C\/p\u003E\n\u003C\/blockquote\u003E\n"}