[six degrees]
review from
If Bjork is known to throw an occasional fit of splicing together syllables that sound like words but don't have any real meaning outside of her pretty little head, then Ekova is a full-blown schizoid-effective in this department. The bulk of her organic vocals is pure non-language that most uninitiated take for some exotic village dialect of, oh I dunno, Gaelic maybe? Or Iranian? No, definitely some remote northern-European word-soup.
Ekova's "lingua franca" becomes an amusing prank as the listener ponders the meaning of the mystery language, subconsciously forcing meaning onto words not understood, all the while responding to vocalised emotion rather than actual meaning.
The commentary Ekova is making with this defiance of tradition is that one needn't be well versed in any particular language or culture to enjoy the music produced by it, even if it's a culture of one.
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