Björk — Vulnicura

I know you know me better than I know me

Originally published in Varsity: www.varsity.co.uk/reviews/8140

I finally got her. I’m fairly proud at having done so.

As well as misspelling several track titles, the low-quality leak which prompted Vulnicura’s surprise release quite poetically tagged the album’s genre as ‘Other’. While that might superficially cover Björk’s extreme brand of pop music, this album truly is a departure from previous form, and marks a return to the contours mapped out by her powerful and legendary late 90s albums.

Björk’s artwork usually yields a clue about the feel of the album it accompanies — 2011’s Biophilia traded in universe-scale metaphor and drama, presenting her as a sci-fi Gaia. Her definitive work, Homogenic, presented a glassy, confrontational warrior-queen. Vulnicura, by contrast, features her hovering, stunned and doll-like, in a leather catsuit with what looks midway between a vagina and gaping wound down her chest. The album’s tone matches the image with unerring accuracy — despite its sheer and otherworldly exterior, this is a truly human album. Björk has ripped open her chest and candidly revealed what lies inside it, and now wears the injuries for all to see.

The subject matter of this album is by far her most brutal yet, as it records the breakdown of her long relationship with artist Matthew Barney. Its most powerful moments read like halves of tortured conversations: the lyrics repeatedly talk about “we” and “us”, sung with desperation and utter venom. ‘History of Touches’ presents this sharply: “Every single fuck / We had together / Is in a wondrous timelapse / With us here at this moment”. This is her most concrete and visceral lyrical material in years, revealing the damage she feels in extraordinary detail. It is no surprise that she has expressed terror at the prospect of performing these songs live this spring.

The sound of the album also carries an element of threat. ‘History of Touches’ clatters with icy stutters reminiscent of post-internet electronic experimenters such as Oneohtrix Point Never and Holly Herndon. The 10-minute ‘Black Lake’ lurches from tense strings section to industrial, metallic techno to create one of Björk’s most expressive instrumentals yet. ‘Lionsong’ develops into a supple, double-time pop ballad which wouldn’t feel out of place on Radiohead’s In Rainbows.

Significant credit is due to Alejandro Ghersi, alias Arca, who is fresh from producing the sound behind FKA twigs’ meteoric rise in 2014. His solo album Xen’s brand of androgynous and off-kilter dance music is a major point of reference here, as the instrumentals mirror Björk’s own powerful and knotted voice. Co-produced by Björk and Arca, the tracks integrate Björk’s complex and strained string arrangements with similarly tightly woven synth parts, both in sparing quantities. The sound is vibrant and spacious but constantly unsettled; always searching for a more balanced state and never finding it. It fits the tortuous lyrics with astonishing grace.

In the past, Björk has been guilty of indulging in high concept too readily, and obscuring the core of her appeal in doing so. Undoubtedly Vulnicura is a return to that core — a kind of emotional directness that is matched with a similarly pure and focused sound. By ‘Mouth Mantra’, the penultimate track, she exploits the scale that she has abused in her past missteps and forgone in earlier parts of the album. This time, though, the thunderous basslines and screeching vocoder-choirs serve to magnify the voice at the centre of the music, which pulls and twists with precision. That voice has rediscovered its medium, and it can be welcomed back as a truly vital one.