Vulnicura abruptly hit the digital shelves last week; a rush release sparked by yet another early album leak. Hopefully it caps off a bad run for Björk – her new album documents the last gasps of her long-term relationship with artist Matthew Barney and it’s not an easy ride. But it’s also an invigorating return to form, shaking out the unfocused excess of her past three albums and returning to her more established template of soaring strings anchored by throbbing, amorphic beats.
As the open wound on the cover art suggests, this is a very personal record. Musically, it has much in common with 2001’s Vespertine, but replaces that album’s sensual discovery of a new love with a stoic, analytical breakdown of a difficult breakup. The nine songs are in three parts: prior to the break-up, the months following and an undated final trio that closes the album somewhat open-endedly.
The opening song, Stonemilker, is the most accessible, and would sound at home on 1997’s Homogenic. The warning bells of a communication breakdown are ringing loudly, even at this early stage, with Björk describing the interaction between her and Barney as “like milking a stone.” She takes a studied, anthropological approach to try to make sense of the emotional disconnect and compartmentalise the breakdown in an effort to “find our mutual coordinates.”
Lionsong grasps at hope with the chorus “Maybe he will come out of this loving me,” and documents the intimacy of “our last time together” in the bittersweet stock take, History Of Touches. The ten-minute Black Milk is the eye of the storm, a bleak autopsy with an accusatory tone. From here, Björk is less accommodating with form and melody, but the results are no less compelling – closer Quicksand is a particularly effective interplay between Björk’s unmistakable vocal, cascading strings and collaborator Arca’s twisting, thudding beats. Vulnicura is heavy but liberating, and it’s easily one of her best.
BY CHRIS GIRDLER
