The Alternative Number Ones: The Sugarcubes’ “Hit”

In The Alternative Number Ones, I’m reviewing every #1 single in the history of the Billboard Modern Rock Tracks/Alternative Songs, starting with the moment that the chart launched in 1988. This column is a companion piece to The Number Ones, and it’s for members only. Thank you to everyone who’s helping to keep Stereogum afloat.

I’ve spent a grand total of 12 hours in Iceland, but those 12 hours left an impression. When I was nine years old, my family spent the year in London, and then we moved back to Baltimore when my dad’s sabbatical was up. We flew Icelandair because it was the cheapest airline, and a flight delay turned what was supposed to be a quick stopover in Keflavik into a much longer stretch. Rather than being abandoned to wander the airport like ghosts, as any American company would now have you do, the airline put us all on a bus and took us on a trip around the island. I’d never seen anything like it.

Iceland looks like an alien landscape — dark volcanic rock everywhere, virtually no vegetation, lagoons that billow with steam like they’re special effects in ’80s music videos, motherfucking glaciers. Only a few hundred thousand people live there, and you can ride in a bus for a long time before you see any of them. It’s a geographic anomaly, a place on the edge of existence. My parents thought it was the ugliest landscape they’d ever seen. I loved it. When we finally got on the plane back home, I picked up the in-flight magazine and flipped straight to a story about the Sugarcubes. That shit blew my mind — not for anything particular about the group, but just because I was like: Wow, they have rock bands here, too!

I didn’t actually hear the Sugarcubes until much later, but when I did, they made perfect sense. This, naturally, was how an Icelandic rock band would sound. It might just be a story that I’ve told myself, but in my memory, I simply turned on the radio and thought that I must be hearing the Sugarcubes before the DJ chimed in and confirmed my suspicions. The singer had an extremely distinctive accent, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way her voice exploded jaggedly, twisting and flipping and caroming over a musical bed that sounded as invitingly alien as the country that birthed them. They could only be from Iceland.

Technically, the Sugarcubes fit a certain pattern that we’ve seen many times in this column: They were an ’80s post-punk band whose best work was already behind them when they topped the Billboard Modern Rock charts. But the Sugarcubes didn’t think of themselves as post-punkers. They thought they were making cute, normal pop music, almost as a joke, and they were a little surprised when the rest of the world came to regard them as fascinating avant-garde weirdos. The Sugarcubes had their big breakout moment shortly before the Modern Rock chart came into existence. Their strangest qualities were clearly what made them so fascinating to American audiences — and, for that matter, to pretty much any audience outside Iceland. Though the Sugarcubes didn’t stick around too much longer after making an alt-rock hit called “Hit,” that singer went on to do amazing things.

Björk Guðmundsdóttir’s activist mother raised her in a Reykjavík, and she went to music school, studying classical piano and flute. At a school recital, the very young Björk sang a version of Tina Charles’ 1976 bubblegum disco hit “I Love To Love,” and then she recorded it. Björk’s version, just a little kid with a heavy accent howling over an acoustic guitar, shows the very beginnings of the strange, hypnotic power that so much of her music would have. Her teachers sent the recording to the only radio station in Iceland, and it got played on-air. That led the 11-year-old Björk to release a self-titled novelty album in 1977, singing Icelandic-language covers of Beatles and Stevie Wonder songs.

Björk’s little-kid pop-singer career only lasted that one album. As a teenager, she joined punk and jazz fusion bands. In 1981, she formed the bugged-out post-punk group Tappi Tíkarrass. The name, I’m reading, is Icelandic for “Cork The Bitch’s Ass,” which raises more questions than it answers. Tappi Tíkarrass released one EP before Björk left to join a surrealist group called Medusa. That collective also included her future husband Þór Eldon — I am going to have to copy-paste so many damn names in this column — as well as Sjón, a poet and frequent Björk collaborator. (Sjón was co-writing songs with Björk as recently as 2011. He also co-wrote the great Robert Eggers Viking movie The Northman, which had Björk as a blind witch.)

In 1983, Björk joined Kukl, a sort of mystical goth-punk band. Their first show was opening a Reykjavík gig for the hugely important British anarcho-punk collective Crass. Crass were impressed enough to release Kukl’s two albums on their Crass Records label, and band member Penny Rimbaud produced their 1984 debut The Eye. It’s pretty unlistenable but also fun to think about, which is something I could say about a lot of Crass-related projects. Kukl toured Europe once and broke up in 1986. Björk, along with three other members, formed a new band called Sykurmolarnir — Icelandic for Sugarcubes. The idea was to make something sweeter and catchier than what the six members had been doing in their different weirdo art-punk configurations. It was still pretty weird, though.

In 1986, Sykurmolarnir released a freaked-out and beguiling Icelandic-language song called “Ammæli” on their own label. It came out on Björk’s 21st birthday. She’d already married her bandmate Þór Eldon and given birth to their son Sindri. By the end of the year, Björk and Eldon would divorce. Later on, he married Sugarcubes keyboardist Magga Örnólfsdóttir. A tangled web!

“Ammæli” owed something to Siouxsie And The Banshees and the Cocteau Twins in its gooey, weightless beauty, but Björk’s voice — whispery and childlike one second, a primal guttural yawp the next — was even more expressive than what those extremely expressive bands were doing. The tastemaking British DJ John Peel somehow got ahold of it and loved it. Derek Birkett, bassist for the Crass-adjacent British band Flux Of Pink Indians, founded an indie label called One Little Indian in 1985. He signed Sykurmolarnir, who changed their name to the Sugarcubes and released an English-language version of “Ammæli” called “Birthday.” The UK music press flipped out, and the song became an indie hit over there. Elektra snapped up the Sugarcubes’ American rights, and “Birthday” went on to achieve college-radio smash status.

In 1988, the Sugarcubes released their debut album Life’s Too Good, and nobody knew how to describe what they were doing. The smeary, gooey soundscapes were dreamy like a 4AD band but bottom-heavy like Talking Heads. Einar Örn Benediktsson kept chiming in with eerie, jazzy trumpet blats and sometimes singing over Björk in a tuneless honk that reminded people of the B-52’s’ Fred Schneider. And then there was Björk herself, spinning and dipping and soaring over this music with a wide-eyed wildness that felt altogether new. The band’s videos had glaciers and lagoons. There was no context for any of this stuff, and it was so fucking cool.

Critics went nuts. David Fricke flew out to Iceland to write a Rolling Stone profile, and the headline called the Sugarcubes “the coolest band in the world.” “Birthday” and Life’s Too Good both made the 1988 Pazz & Jop poll — “Birthday” at #15, between EU’s “Da Butt” and Eric B & Rakim’s “Paid In Full,” Life’s Too Good at #35, tied with R.E.M.’s Green. When the Sugarcubes played New York for the first time, David Bowie and Iggy Pop came out to see them. They were musical guests on a Matthew Broderick-hosted Saturday Night Live episode. They toured Europe with the Cure and then opened for New Order and Public Image Ltd. in America. When Billboard ran its first Modern Rock chart in 1988, “Motorcrash” sat at #17, on its way to peaking at #10. (It’s an 8.)

Just a year after Life’s Too Good, the Sugarcubes came back with their sophomore album Here Today, Tomorrow Next Week. People didn’t like that one anywhere near as much. It was more playful, less purposeful. It had less of Björk and way more vocal interjections from Einar Örn Benediktsson, which can’t be what anyone wanted. Critics were quick to declare that the Sugarcubes had fallen off, but modern rock radio was still on board, and lead single “Regina” went all the way to #2. (It’s a 7.)

After Here Today, Tomorrow Next Week, Björk was ready to be done with the Sugarcubes. She was traveling the world, getting into different kinds of music, and she found that, as she once put it, “there was absolutely no creativity in rock venues.” In 1990, Björk made an album of Icelandic pop songs from the ’50s with a jazz group called tríó Guðmundar Ingólfssonar. In 1991, she sang on tracks from the long-running experimental project Current 93 and the UK dance crew 808 State. (808 State’s highest-charting Modern Rock single, the 1993 UB40 collab “One In Ten,” peaked at #13.) Björk was especially drawn to the rave world, which felt exciting and new. But the Sugarcubes still owed one last album on their contract, so they went to Woodstock, New York to record with Paul Fox, who’s already been in this column for producing XTC and Robyn Hitchcock.

1992’s Stick Around For Joy was a bounce-back record for the Sugarcubes. The sound is loose and ecstatic, with very little remaining trace of herky-jerk twitchiness. Maybe I’m reading things that aren’t there, but I hear a band that knew it wouldn’t last much longer, one that was determined to wring the last little bit of fun out of an enterprise that had already gone places they’d never imagined. Lead single “Hit” opens with the sound of a DJ scratching — a very early hip-hop flirtation for Björk, who would get namechecked on Wu-Tang Forever five years later. (RZA on “Reunited”: “Take your brain on spacewarp! Talk strange like Björk! Great hero Jim Thorpe!” It’s Wu, motherfucker! Allow me to recommend the RZA remix of “Bachelorette.”)

“Hit” is a song about falling in love, which Björk describes as a rude violation of boundaries. The first line is “this was wasn’t supposed to happen,” and Björk just roars out those first two words: “Theee-yis wuzzunt!” Later on, she wails that she’s been hit by your charm, and she asks, “How could you do this to me?” It’s almost an accusation. She gives off emotions that most people do not consider when they’re singing love songs. She’s euphoric and disbelieving and at least a little bit annoyed. People don’t really talk about that, do they? When you suddenly, unexpectedly fall in love, it’s like the bottom drops out on your whole life. Maybe that’s not what you want. Maybe that fucks up whatever order you’d constructed for yourself.

But did Björk ever have order in her life? She doesn’t sound like someone who did. Later on, Björk sang, “I thought that I could organize freedom; how Scandinavian of me.” But she’s never sounded interested in organizing anything. On “Hit,” Bjork is unbounded by gravity, cutting through the funky quasi-dance track around her. There’s electricity in her voice. She doesn’t sound like she’s making decisions. She sounds like she opens her mouth and things just happen. That’s probably a terrible simplification of her creative process, but it’s the only explanation that I have. I don’t have the mental tools to reconstruct the moment-to-moment freedom that she shows on a track like “Hit.”

On the bridge of “Hit,” Björk belts out something that I always took to be a wordless chant. I was wrong. Turns out she’s really singing “me and him” in Icelandic. Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds that you’ve put a seed inside her and that it’s growing silently. Is she talking about pregnancy or about love itself? Either seems plausible. It could be both at the same time. Whatever the case, she really leans into the body-horror side of it. “Hit” has an absolutely astonishing Björk performance, one of those combinations of lyrics and vocals that just gets headier when you think about it more. But then, in the middle of it all, here comes Einar Örn Benediktsson with his ridiculous quasi-rap verse, yelling about “I ammmm a boyyyyy!” What the hell, man?

Musically, “Hit” sounds like the Sugarcubes trying to incorporate the rave stuff that Björk was into. It’s a dense, percussive song — rattling drums, spidery funk guitars, synth-horns playing something that sounds a bit like the mutated Inspector Gadget theme that Doug E. Fresh used on “The Show.” The keyboards are a little bit acid-jazz, and the guitar-fuzz sometimes lurches into the post-punk dread-zone. It sounds cool, but it’s more pedestrian than the music that Björk would soon make on her own. Also, when she went solo, Björk wouldn’t have to deal with Einar Örn Benediktsson yelling on her song. If you’re going to be the other singer on a track with Björk, you need to be on the level of Thom Yorke at least, or that shit just isn’t going to work. I’m complaining, but it’s really just funny. Given how seriously people now take Björk, it’s a hoot to go back to the Sugarcubes and hear this guy smashing onto every track like the Kool-Aid Man.

“Hit” made the top 20 on the UK pop chart, but it didn’t appear on any American charts other than the Modern Rock one. The song’s video is pretty normal early-’90s 120 Minutes fare, but with some really great Björk facial expressions. Also, Einar Örn Benediktsson is dressed like a scary clown for some reason. Stick Around For Joy got decent reviews but didn’t make the Pazz & Jop list. One more single, “Walkabout,” reached #16 on the Modern Rock chart. The band opened a bunch of dates on the Zoo TV tour, and I am intensely jealous of anyone who got to see the U2/Public Enemy/Sugarcubes bill. When their touring commitments were finished, the Sugarcubes played a fairwell show in Reykjavík and then broke up.

The final Sugarcubes album, a remix collection called It’s-It, came out near the end of 1992. Tony Humphries’ house reworking of “Hit” has what sounds like a re-recorded Björk vocal, and it’s not too distant from the music she’d soon make. As soon as the Sugarcubes were done, Björk moved to London and started work on her solo album Debut, which is only her debut if you don’t count that one album that she recorded as a little kid.

Debut didn’t take long. The record came out in summer 1993, less than a year and a half after Stick Around For Joy, and it blew out the back of my skull. Björk recorded the album with Soul II Soul/”Nothing Compares 2 U” producer Nellee Hooper, and she discovered a wild, expressionist take on the club music that she loved so much. Lead single “Human Behavior” made it to #2 on the Modern Rock chart, and I remember exactly where I was the first time I heard it. Even playing on my crappy little clock-radio speaker one morning before school, it sounded like the world exploding. (It’s a 10.)

Sadly, this column will now move on from Björk, as “Hit” is her only #1 hit on the Modern Rock chart. Debut went platinum, and follow-up single “Big Time Sensuality” peaked at #5. (It’s another 10.) Björk’s 1995 album Post also went platinum, but Björk and alt-rock radio were going in different directions, which does not spell out promising things for the future of this column. Lead Post single “Army Of Me” peaked at #21, and Björk hasn’t been back on the Modern Rock chart since then.

You probably know the rest. Björk dated Goldie and Tricky at the same time. She whupped a photographer’s ass in Bangkok. She made some of history’s greatest music videos. She wore that swan dress to the Oscars. I saw her play Madison Square Garden once, and she was awesome. Over the years, Björk’s music has only grown more freeform and unencumbered by structure. I didn’t have an easy time processing her last few albums, but whenever she puts anything out, it demands immediate attention. She’s one of the greats, and she’s more likely to make vital music in 2024 than pretty much anyone else who’s appeared in this column.

In 2006, the Sugarcubes played one single reunion show, a benefit gig at what I assume is the only arena in Reykjavík. They mostly stuck to the Icelandic-language versions of their songs, and they will probably never play together again. I bet that was a good night.

GRADE: 8/10

BONUS BEATS: So: Who’s going to remake a Sugarcubes song? Who would even have the temerity to attempt such a thing? I’ll tell you: Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine, that’s who. Here’s the pretty terrible version of “Hit” that Carter USM released as a 1993 B-side:

(Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine’s highest-charting Modern Rock single, 1992’s “The Only Living Boy In New Cross,” peaked at #26.)

THE NUMBER TWOS: The Lightning Seeds’ ecstatic, enchanted jangle jam “The Life Of Riley” peaked at #2 behind “Hit.” It’s a 9.

(Note: Concrete Blonde’s “Ghost Of A Texas Ladies’ Man” also peaked at #2 behind “Hit,” and I previously had that one at an 8. But then I went back and listened again, and now I think it’s more of a 7.)