Bjork's music is not so much genre-hopping as it is genreless; she belongs everywhere and nowhere, to everyone and to no one. Some blame Bjork's so-called weirdness, the more charitable among us call it creativity, on her roots in Iceland, where elves and pixies roam free, but her music is a truly transnational affair.

Joining her on Volta are free jazz drummer Chris Corsano, Congolese group Konono No. 1, traditional Malian kora (a lute-like instrument) player Toumani Diabate, Chinese pipa (another lute-like instrument) player Min Xiao-Fen, and Antony Hegarty of Antony and the Johnsons. Bjork knows just how and when to use each contributor, as heard in the sinister symphonic grandeur of the 10-piece horn section understated enough not to overshadow Bjork and Anthony's gorgeous duet on "Dull Flame of Desire."

Those attempting to discern whether Bjork's seventh solo album is either a return to form (the more conventional pop songwriting of Post) or a continuation of her experimental phase (the vocal calisthenics of Medulla) may find themselves confounded: in reality, it's both. "Earth Intruders" asserts itself immediately, all tribal beats and electronic sirens, Bjork announcing an invasion of sorts with her unmistakably sweeping soaring vocals.

"Wanderlust" and "Declare Independence" are brash declarations of freedom, pledges of allegiance to a borderless existence against punchy distorted beats. Then again, "I See Who You Are" and "My Juvenile" are cooed over strings, practically lullabies. In the end, Volta is beholden to no particular pop tradition. It relies instead on the keen instinct of its creator for transforming strange and disparate sounds into things of remarkable beauty.