Björk's "complete heartbreak album"
There's an open wound running down the middle of Björk's chest on the cover of her new album Vulnicura (One Little Indian ***1/2), a gash in her heart that the music contained therein hopes to heal.
There's an open wound running down the middle of Björk's chest on the cover of her new album Vulnicura (One Little Indian ***1/2), a gash in her heart that the music contained therein hopes to heal.
Vulnicura was leaked on the Internet last weekend, then released on iTunes on Tuesday. But it's not the thievery that has the Icelandic avant-pop singer in pain - it's the end of her long-term relationship with Matthew Barney, the Cremaster Cycle visual artist and father of their daughter, Isadora.
Björk's agony is considerable. In a note she posted on her Facebook page this week, she described Vulnicura as a "complete heartbreak album." In "Black Lake," the new album's most emotionally raw song, she sings "Our love was my womb, but our bond has broken / My shield is gone, my protection taken / I am one wound."
This is bad for Björk, but good for her music. The 49-year-old singer, who put Icelandic music on the map first with her band the Sugarcubes then on platinum albums such as Debut and Post in the 1990s, is the most analytical of pop artists. Her last album, Biophilia (2011), was a fascinating conceptual work about nature and technology. Its main talking point was an innovative app now part of the permanent collection at the Museum of Modern Art, where a retrospective exhibit titled simply "Björk" will open on March 7.
The new album's nine songs were produced and written by Björk, with production assistance by rising Venezuelan knob-twiddler Alejandro Ghersi, whose stage name is Arca, and who also co-wrote two songs. While nearly everything Björk does is fascinating, the cerebral nature of her angular music, not to mention the off-kilter cadences with which she sings, rarely makes for easy listening.
And to be sure, Vulnicura - derived from Latin roots meaning "wound or injury" and "heal or care" - is still mighty challenging. The album consists entirely of strings, vocals, and beats. Many tunes are drawn-out, down-tempo affairs, as the singer carefully enunciates lyrics such as "Is there a place where I can pay my respects / For the death of my family?"
What Vulnicura has going for it, though, is the soul-searing directness of its language, and its beating, burning heart. In the liner notes, the songs are dated, like diary entries chronicling Björk and Barney's relationship. "Moments of clarity are so rare, I better document this," she sings in the opening "Stonemilker," which is labeled "9 months before" and which aims to find the geography of two lovers' "mutual coordinate."
By the fourth track, the 10-minute stunner "Black Lake," Björk is working through her rage. "My soul torn apart, my spirit is broken," she sings, angry and bereft, as skittering beats burst through the violins and cellos like volcanic ash exploding through an eerily beautiful Icelandic landscape. "You fear my limitless emotions, I'm bored of your apocalyptic obsessions / Did I love you too much?"
Björk's struggle makes her an empathetic figure the listener can identify with, a flesh-and-blood sufferer rather than a mere magical musical conjurer walking the red carpet in a swan dress.
The music is deeply felt, whether she's trying to find herself a place in a tangled vocal back-and-forth with Anthony Hegarty in "Atom Dance," or on the knotty "Notget," the key transitional song, as she fights through her torment while astringent strings vie with percussive electronics. "Don't remove my pain," she sings, refusing to discard the hurt. "It is my chance to heal."
215-854-5628
@delucadan