A Place to Play My Respects | Bjork’s 8th album is a heartbreaking roadmap of dying relationship and its aftermath.
There was to be a sea change in Bjork’s plans for a follow up to 2011’s Biophilia. She was originally planning to expand upon the technological innovation she had worked with on the album, but worsening relations between partner Matthew Barney and Bjork would completely derail those plans. Coming out of a tumultuous break up, she immersed herself in arranging string compositions to keep her mind at ease. It would be these initial arrangements that would begin to form the body of her follow up:
“When I did this album — it all just collapsed. I didn’t have anything. It was the most painful thing I ever experienced in my life. The only way I could deal with that was to start writing for strings; I decided to become a violin nerd and arrange everything for 15 strings and take a step further than what I’ve done before. I had like 20 technological threads of things I could have done, but the album couldn’t be futuristic. It had to be singer/songwriter. Old-school. It had to be blunt. I was sort of going into the Bergman movies with Liv Ullmann when it gets really self-pitying and psychological, where you’re kind of performing surgery on yourself, like, What went wrong?”
Vulnicura means a cure for wounds. This wound is open for the world to see throughout the album’s nine songs. To add depth and texture to the arrangements, Bjork got electronic artist/producer Arca to help shape the background to these harrowing songs. The album’s booklet gives us a timeline to the songs; it starts with the beginning for the breakup and works through the aftermath.
What we start with is a plea. “Stonemilker” begs to break the coldness that her partner is showing to her, “Like milking a stone/ To get you to say it, and/ Who is open?/ And who has shut up/ And if one feels closed/ How does one stay open?” The string arrangements having this cyclical pattern that rises and falls that you’re spinning in circles. We’re grinding our gears to bits just trying to get anything out of this emotionally closed off individual. It aches. Arca’s production provides a languorous heartbeat that is desperately trying to salvage this relationship. On the songwriting, Bjork told the Song Exploder podcast:
“For me it was very important… that the strings were kind of cyclical; this chord cycle that kind of gives you this feeling it can go on and on in circles and gives you this feeling of equilibrium. Like the person who’s singing this song is showing some sort of harmony to someone as an example… I had 30 players, and then I would do 2 sets of arrangements so basically there are, in theory, 60 because it needed that sort of panoramic feeling to have that sort of smooth, cream-like perfection.”
It is one of my favorites on the album. It expertly crafts the emotional landscape of sorrow with just a pinch of optimism that we all have when we’re trying to stave off the end of a relationship.
If “Stonemilker” is a plea, “Lionsong” is an ultimatium. There’s a defeatism behind Bjork’s words, “Maybe he will come out this/ Maybe he won’t/ Somehow I’m not too bothered either way.” The apathetic response of her partner has begun to break her resolve. The strings play well to the despondency while Arca’s beats build the clear frustration between the two. This exasperation can be felt as Bjork searches for anyway to gain ground in this quickly devolving scenario, “I just don’t know how to handle when/ Should I throw oil on one of these wounds/ But which one?/ The joy peak/ Humor peak/ Frustration peak/ Anything peak for clarity.” I thoroughly enjoy how emotive the entire structure of the song is. We’ve all been to the point heartbreak where we just aren’t bothered with how things will turn out. We’re done. Instead of sounding fully bitter, Bjork walks the line of sour and sorrow fabulously.
Probably one of the more gut wrenching moments on the record is “History of Touches”. We’re past ultimatums and realize its the end. What makes this so cathartic is Bjork’s need to hold, love, and be near her partner one last time. Laying in bed, she reminisces on all the love they once shared and makes peace with what is coming to an end, “I wake you up in the night/
Feeling this is our last time together… Every single touch we ever touch each other/ Every single fuck we had together/ Is in a wondrous time lapse/ With us here here at this moment/ The history of touches/ Every single archive.” She uses “fuck” instead of “love making” to give off how tarnished those moments feel for her now. There is a fragility that us palpable here.
One of the darkest and probably most central pieces on the album is the ten long “Black Lake”. It’s raw in its emotion. Each verse is an ever stronger outpouring fervor of deep internal heartbreak. When describing the song’s length, Bjork told Pitchfork:
“It’s like, when you’re trying to express something and you sort of start, but then nothing comes out. You can maybe utter five words and then you’re just stuck in the pain. And the chords in-between, they sort of represent that. […] We called them “the freezes”, these moments between the verses. They’re longer than the verses, actually. It’s just that one emotion when you’re stuck. It is hard, but it’s also the only way to escape the pain, just going back and having another go, trying to make another verse.”
The strings paint a wilted landscape that only further drains of color and life as the song progress. Each verse ends with a sustained note that hums like a flat lining heartbeat. These moments feel like trying to catch your breathe after a heaving sob. Arca’s production builds this overwhelming tension underneath the strings. It’s sorrow that transposes to anger, “You have nothing to give/ Your heart is hollow/ I’m drowned in sorrows/ No hope in sight of ever recover/ Eternal pain and horrors.” The song almost needs to be as long as it is to get its point across. You’d be hard pressed not to share in her pain while listen to this masterpiece.
“Family” is foreboding. It’s like a slow march through a war tore landscape. Bjork mourns to now destruction of her once whole family (father, mother, and daughter), “So, where do I go/ To make an offering?/ To mourn our miraculous triangle?/ Father, mother, child.”. I get this strong maternal urge to shield your child from emotional warfare that divorce and custody issues can imprint on them. This thunderous beat, like the slamming of a hammer, takes us foreword. The strings hum in such horrid ominous tones that only add to the tension. This comes to a fevered pitch toward to the back end of the track as you begin to spiral at the lines “How will I sing us/ Out of this sorrow?/ Build a safe bridge/ For the child out of this danger, danger.” It opens up at the end, the strings thaw bringing light to this desolated landscape. It’s a beautifully effective song.
Now 11 months out from their breakup, “Notget” begins to breathe back in compassion and clarity around how things came to be. It is clear that both parties didn’t want this to transpire, but now must move forward and heal, “We carry the same wound/ But have different cures/ Similar injuries/ But opposite remedies/ After our love ended/ Your arms don’t carry me/ Without love I feel the abyss/ Understand your fear of death.” The strings have this nearly eastern sound as they dance around the entire song. This track has the most Homogenic sound to it. It’s cold, dark, and dramatic in the way “Bachleorette” channeled on Homogenic.
Bjork brings back in Anohni to add vocals to“Atom Dance”. The bouncy, staccato strings bring some warm to this darkened landscape. After weathering this heaving sorrow, she is looking to reconnect to other people to bring her back to the surface again: “We are each other’s hemispheres/ I am fine tuning my soul/ To the universal wavelength/ No one is a lover alone/ I propose an atom dance.” Anohni sounds wonderful singing along side Bjork and solo here. I love the sentiment of confronting this pain and taking it on as a way of healing, “When you feel the flow as primal love/ Enter the pain and dance with me.” This was a track I would usually skip, but after giving it full attention, I love the moment of reprieve that it gives.
We are sunk right back down into the mire on “Mouth Mantra”. It takes us away from the direct theme of relationships to relate her inability to sing for a time after vocal surgery. She grapples with the inability to do what she’s done all her life, “My throat was stuffed/ My mouth was sewn up/ Banned from making noise/ I was not heard.” The strings are heavy and thick. Arca’s beats buzz and circulate around you like a building anxiety. This clear concern of how the biggest instrument Bjork knows is having to recover and the the uncertainty of how this will go is felt deeply in the lyrics: “There is vocal sadness/ I was separated/ From what I can do/ What I’m capable of.” It’s a very emotionally evocative song, but probably the one I connect with the least.
“Quicksand” is the oldest track off the record, having being written in 2011 after her mother suffered a heart attack. Sonically, it has a distinctly different tone from the rest. The beats are completely erratic against the strings that get shallowed up in their grasp. The beats are absolutely chaotic. I have a hard time getting a read on its time signature. It feels like sinking into the depths of quicksand as mournful strings swirl around you. The pre-chorus beautifully displays the dichotomy of her emotions: “When I’m broken, I am whole/ And when I’m whole, I’m broken.” The chorus, “Our mother’s philosophy/ It feels like quicksand/ And if she sinks/ I’m going down with her”, brings to mind desperation. Knowing this is about Bjork’s mother’s health, I connect deeply to the sinking feeling of not being able to change someone’s mind on something even though it could save them in the end.
This to me is the best Bjork album since Medulla. It feels beautifully cohesive and deeply emotive. I have seen some discourse in fans response towards Arca’s inclusion in this project. I think she made this album absolutely shine. There is a album, Vulnicura Strings, that strips away the beats to highlight the orchestrated string work on the album. This album includes a version of “Black Lake” using a Viola Organista (an instrument invented by Leonardo da Vinci that works like a mix between an organ and a viola). I highly suggest checking it out after listening to this album to compare. In a way, the album is a sort of anti-Vespertine. It’s frigid and aching. I love this record and think it’s a highlight in her catalog. My favorite tracks:
- “Stonemilker”
- “Lionsong”
- “History of Touches”
- “Black Lake”
- “Family”
- “Notget”
My overall rating for this album: 9.5 out of 10. I absolutely love almost everything about this record. Aside from my disconnect with “Mouth Mantra”, I can’t fault it as it’s still a good song. Coming out the hell and rising beyond the surface would be Bjork’s next take on her next album Utopia, which we will dive into next.
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