Best of 2015: 7. Björk - Vulnicura

1/25/2016 09:59:00 PM


It's unlikely that Vulnicura would be the album to finally make me a Björk fan, but that's exactly what happened. Although arguably her least accessible release, being somehow both dense and subtle at once, there's an emotional immediacy in its unfiltered expressions of pain and grief that I've never gotten from her music previously. Of course, now, having spent 2015 acquainting myself with the bulk of her discography, I find it hard to believe that I could ever dismiss her music as emotionally cold. Still, the depth of openness, honesty, and rawness on display in Vulnicura is singular. Yes, it can be a difficult listen - it's not an album I can ever see myself pulling out for casual listening - but it's simultaneously a stunning departure and a welcome return to form for an artist who many assumed was past her musical prime.

Each of Vulnicura's songs is heartbreak in musical form, intimate, deep, and slow, leaving behind a residual ache that nestles itself into the marrow of your bones and the pit of your stomach. This effect is achieved through the minimal approach to instrumentation, which consists chiefly of richly sorrowful string arrangements juxtaposed against darkly pulsing and crashing beats, crafted with precision by Björk and her collaborating producers, Arca and the Haxan Cloak. This sparsity allows Björk's idiosyncratic vocals, as powerful as ever and imbued with a new level of emotional intensity, to take the forefront, their melodies often weaving themselves into those played by the strings in ways that maximize the impact of both. Tracks like "Stonemilker" and "Black Lake," which remain quite static melodically, are especially reliant on the quirks and nuances of Björk's vocal performance to carry them, which works because her personal connection to their lyrics is obvious.

It's hard to talk about Vulnicura without mentioning the fact that it's a concept album of sorts, centered on the dissolution of Björk's marriage. While at times self-indulgently melodramatic, it's hard to deny Björk what is so obviously an attempt at healing. Vulnicura is extremely cathartic for the listener, too; for example, I'm not sure how anyone could listen to "Lionsong" without being irrevocably altered by the palpability of its sorrow. "Maybe he will come out of this/Maybe he won't," a chorus of digitally-manipulated Björks continually repeats, a desperate plea for a return to normalcy that never arrives. She attempts to play off her disappointment with strained irreverence - "Somehow I'm not too bothered/I'd just like to know" - that fails to surmount its despairing orchestral accompaniment. "Family" is another emotional rollercoaster that builds up into a staggeringly immense sea of overlapping melodies, propelled by a gutsy vocal performance. It prepares the listener for the abrasive aggression of "Notget," in which Björk takes firm control of her healing process: "We carry the same wound/But have different cures/Similar injuries/But opposite remedies."

But the album is not without its moments of light, suggesting that there is a way out of the seemingly eternal darkness. "Atom Dance" is a surprisingly playful duet with frequent collaborator Antony Hegarty, whose vulnerable but confident voice is the perfect match to Björk's, and "Quicksand" closes the album on an emancipatory note: "We are the siblings of the sun/Let's step into this beam/Every time you give up/You take away our future/And my continuity and my daughter's." The journey to reach this point is long and tumultuous, but it is also a necessary part of the re-envisioning of a positive future.

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