Album Review: Bjork ‘Vulnicura’.

“If you ever get close to a human and human behaviour, You better get ready to be confused, There is definitely, definitely no logic to human behaviour”, sang Bjork on Human Behaviour, from 1993’s groundbreaking Debut album.  Move on 22 years and we find Bjork wrestling to create a fitting epitaph for her relationship with Matthew Barney.  “Moments of clarity are so rare, I better document this”, sings Bjork on the album’s opening track Stonemilker.  Stonemilker is the album’s most, dare I say it, ‘commercial’ track, a love song for a dying relationship, about the lack of human connection within it and a longing to fix it: “A juxtaposing fate, Find our mutual coordinate”

What is striking about Vulnicura when you begin to listen to it is the glacial quality of the strings which are often like great icebergs coming at you.  This ever present string arrangement holds the loose rhythms of the album together in a beautiful yet at times discordant and disconcerting way, as if to perhaps mirror the confusion felt by the singer at the time of writing the songs.  The music of Vulnicura twists and turns like the knives that Bjork and partner twist into each other, pushing them and twisting them further, exposing every facet of human emotion and creating a wound which Bjork endeavours to heal.

Even the title, derived from Latin, where Vulnus means ‘wound’ or ‘injury’ and Cura means ‘a cure’, making it’s meaning ‘a cure for wounds’.  The title could also be taken to mean ‘A cure for the vulnerable”.  A glance at the etymology of the title tells the listener from the outset that this isn’t going to be an easy album to listen to.  Out of Bjork’s back catalogue, Vulnicura most resembles 2001’s Vespertine, although such is the raw emotion on this album, more so than any other Bjork album, it is a completely different animal.  Vulnicura is more soul searching and introspective than previous works.

In Lionsong, about the state of the relationship 5 months prior to the breakup (so we are told by the sleeve notes), Bjork’s partner is described as lionlike, the more emotionally devoid and therefore stronger of the two.  This is a wonderfully crafted song about the differences between female and male emotions.   “I’m not taming no animal”, sings Bjork, whilst trying to compensate for her partner’s seeming indifference, defiantly and unsuccessfully trying to act the same way, stating “Somehow I’m not too bothered”.  This is a very female album, an album only an experienced woman could have made.  This is particularly evident in the line “Our love was my womb” in Black Lake.  Lionsong is a quest to understand her partner’s emotions and that of the human race in general.  22 years after Human Behaviour and it has taken the breakup of her relationship to truly begin to understand the logic of human emotion.

History of Touches, one of the album’s many highlights, features a broken atonal rhythm reflecting the discourse of the relationship brought about by the lack of contact.  The lack of contact and the loss of connection, whether it be physical or emotional, is a key theme on the album, see also the way in which Bjork attempts to tap into her partner’s emotions on Stonemilker, deciding that trying to get him to show emotion is “like milking a stone”.  The theme of unfamiliarity with a lover due to the different way in which they express themselves is extremely important on this album.  See, for example, the way in which on Lionsong, Bjork likens her partner to a Vietnam veteran:  “Vietnam vet comes home from war, Lands in my house, This wild lion does not fit in this chair”.

The centrepiece of the album is undoubtedly the double emotional shell-shock of Black Lake and Family, two tracks which when twinned together form a mournful, funereal view of the aftermath of a relationship.  These two tracks are very much focused on the loss of the singer’s family.  Black Lake, an enormous chasm of a wound, is the sound of somebody burnt from the fall out of a breakup, angry and hurt and blaming her partner (“Family was always our sacred mutual mission which you abandoned”) whilst Family finds the singer asking, “How can I pay respects to the death of my family” in a funeral setting of incense and burning candles.  On Family, Bjork sings, “How will I sing us out of this” before a glimmer of hope cracks through the darkness with the attempt to use remembrance as a solution in order to move forward.  As a centrepiece to the album, Black Lake and Family are an insight into the very essence of the emotions experienced in mourning a death.  This obviously wasn’t an easy album for Bjork to create and although magnificent in its execution, depth and sheer scope of even attempting to write down such personal and complex emotions, it is certainly not an easy one to listen to.

In Notget, having deemed it necessary to move on by keeping the memory of the relationshoip alive, the singer then focuses on keeping those wounded by the breakup alive:  “Love will keep us safe from death”.  I was curious to notice that the timeline in the album’s booklet stops after Notget but was then faced with Atom Dance, a love song attempting to fix the relationship.  Here starts the remembrance phase of the mourning in earnest.  Atom Dance is music of balletic magnitude, assisted by the haunted vocals of Antony Hegarty, the sound of a whirling, spinning, chemically imbalanced storm brewing.  Part way through the song, the balletic music drops away and jars with the sentiment, “No one is a lover alone”, a reminder that, in spite of emotions felt and emotional differences, we are all essentially the same, we are all but chemicals.

Mouth Mantra is a song about the stifling effects of the relationship on Bjork’s creativity.  “Remove this hinderance, my throat feels stuck” and “I was separated from what I can do, What I’m capable of , she sings amidst an increasing tempo of what sounds like laser shots being fired at the singer, a suggestion of the situation becoming increasingly more difficult.  This is the storm we saw in Atom Dance reaching its dramatic climax.

Quicksand beautifully finishes the album with the sound of the singer trying to pull herself and her partner out of the abyss for the sake of their separate futures and the future of their daughter.  This is the final act of healing the wound.  There is a very Christian message in the song with the line “and when she’s broken, she is whole”, a surmising that in order to heal and be in a better place, one must first be broken.  The final sentiment of the album, “Every time you give up, You Take away our future, And my continuity and my daughters” is a beautiful way to end a beautiful album.

This is not an easy album, but one of the unique beauty which only Bjork can manage.  Bjork stands alone as an artist and trying to categorise her or liken her to other artists is a thankless and pointless task.  Vulnicura is an absolute expression of raw emotion, a tear jerking and sometimes gut wrenching one that I have rarely heard on a record.  With Vulnicura, we are given a glimpse into a very personal and life changing situation, carried out in a manner that other artists could only dream of.  22 years after Debut, Bjork is still pushing new ground and in the process, pushing her emotions to create music that is just as unique as when we first heard her.  You may well shed a tear whilst listening to this album, I did, but that is no bad thing, Bjork has achieved the purpose of the album:  An outpouring of emotion, a work that lets you know exactly how she is feeling every step of the way and the finest example of a break up record I have ever heard.

First Listen To New Suede Songs.

On a decidedly cold and wet but beautiful Spring morning in Bontddu, North Wales, after saying good morning to the dogs and my wonderful boyfriend, I switched on my computer and felt like listening to a bit of Suede to get the day off to a good start.  I have always felt an affinity with Suede.  I discovered them way back in 1992 when they were heralded “The best new band in Britain” by the NME and went on to collect every album and single they released.  From Suede, I also really discovered David Bowie in the same year and will always be eternally thankful to Brett Anderson, Bernard Butler, Mat Osman and Simon Gilbert for turning me on to a man who I would later write my university dissertation about.  My musical journey, save for the 80’s stars which dominated my pre-teen years, whom I also still love, started in 1992 with Suede, Bowie and a handful of other new bands who were then breaking such as Manic Street Preachers (but that is a whole other story and one I shall probably write about on this blog someday).  From these bands, I would trace back the origins of their sound and discover untold number of gems and in turn uncovering a whole new world which still enthralls me to this day and always will.

Turning on my computer, I chose ‘Suede – The Singles’ from YouTube and still felt the euphoria I felt in 1992 as the bombastic opening drum salvo of The Drowners blasted from the speakers across the front room of the cottage.

I had moved on from my early teenage years in suburbia, for which Suede provided the perfect soundtrack and was now listening to Suede’s paean to melodramatic and ambiguous love nestled in the beautiful countryside of Snowdonia National Park.  You can take Suede out of “the disguised suburban graves” and “ride from the bungalows, where the debts still grow each day” as they sung in the stunning The Wild Ones (from the band’s second album, 1994’s Dog Man Star), which is, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful songs ever written, but when you have finally escaped suburbia, these songs still have the power to take you back to the places that they wrote about and still write about to this day.

However, now, as I listened to Suede’s stunning collection of singles from those glorious early days, they took on a whole new meaning:  Suburbia was now just a distant memory in a music obsessed girl’s mind.  I had done exactly what Brett Anderson had sung about on The Wild Ones and had rode from the bungalows, those disguised suburban graves and I was one of “the wild ones, running with the dogs today”.

As I moved on through Suede’s back catalogue of singles, still taking in every word that Brett sung and every note that Bernard, Mat and Simon played as if my life depended on it, such was still the power of these encapsulations of urban Britain coupled with the glam sound that will always fill my mind, I typed ‘Suede’ into Google with the intention of seeing some of those glorious photographs of the band from the early days.  To my excitement, I discovered that a new Suede album is due this year.  Such is Suede’s influence on me that every time a new Suede album is due, I have to remind myself that I am a woman in my early 30’s with full bladder control.  As with every Suede album due to be released, the details were sketchy, with aspects such as the title still to be announced.  I still remember reading with high expectation the details of Head Music (1999), following the glam pop album Coming Up (1996), where Brett teased fans by announcing a letter of the album’s title every week in the music press.  The only details I had to go off were an assortment of interviews with Brett on the web.  On the 25th February 2015, Brett told The Daily Star that the new album is “a journey” with songs flowing into each other throughout the record and that: “It’s an album that needs to be listened to from start to finish. If I was being bloody-minded, I’d demand that iTunes list it as only having one song so that you couldn’t skip tracks on it.”

This started to really excite me as I have always enjoyed concept albums, albums with a start, a middle and an end and albums that feel like a realised piece of work rather than simply a collection of a few singles and album tracks that seem disassociated from certain record companies’ notion that albums must have a number of singles to sell the album and the work as a whole hinges on the ability to sell the product rather than producing a piece of art where every song should be as recognised as the next, as both a piece of art in its own right and also recognised as fitting with the concept of the album as a whole.  Contrary to this opinion, I am a big fan of the single and it genuinely pains me that in this digital age, where I still strive to buy my music from a record shop as opposed to downloading it, the single now seems quite obsolete as an art form.  Pretty much gone are the days when I bought a single with the excitement of wondering what would be on the B side or what the artwork would look like.  Suede were one of those bands where the release of a single was a big event, in a similar vein to The Smiths and Manic Street Preachers.  Nowadays, the single is more about multi-million selling megastars such as Beyonce and the like gaining as much rotation on television music channels as possible.  Back in the day when I was fully immersed in the, also now quite obsolete, Indie music scene, I enjoyed bands who had the ability to incorporate their singles previously released into an album with panache, making them as enjoyable to listen to as part of the album as they were when I bought the single and was still wondering what the album would sound like.  Suede always managed this effortlessly.  I am very interested in a Suede album where each track merges into the next. This idea of merging one track into the next to create an album which sounds like a fully realised work with a beginning, middle and end brought to my mind the Everything Picture album (1999) by the much maligned Ultrasound, a favourite of mine around that time.

If the two tracks from the new Suede album I have just heard, I Don’t Know How To Reach You and Tightrope, are anything to go by, I am on the edge of my seat with anticipation about the record. Bloodsports (2013) was a wonderful return to form for the band after the disappointing 2002 album A New Morning and a decade in the wilderness and I hope just a taste of what the band are still capable of.  If Bloodsports was the sound of a newly re-energised Suede starting with a blank canvass after a decade away, we could think of that album as being in parallel with their debut, Suede (1993).  So, could the new album be a magnum opus akin to Dog Man Star (1994) in the making?  We can only dream.

As I finish listening to every Suede single to date, ending with 2013’s For The Strangers,

I cue up I Don’t Know How To Reach You, perhaps with the anticipation of it being the next single or perhaps just still curious about how Brett’s obvious ambition regarding the new album or simply just longing to hear one of my all time favourite bands play me a song which I will be thinking of for years to come, just like they have often managed to achieve in the past.  The blustery weather sweeping across the beautiful countryside in Wales was the perfect backdrop for what I was about to hear.  Coupled with some powerful and erratic guitar work from Richard Oakes, the gorgeous half ballad and half foot stomper sounded as sweeping as the Welsh weather.  Brett can still sound as longing and lovesick as he did on songs such as The Drowners and the rest of the band are still as able to put a tremendously throbbing beat behind it but this is a band who have now come of age with a renewed sense of purpose and direction.  I am very interested in hearing the final recording of I Don’t Know How To Reach You but if the live version from The Teenage Cancer Trust benefit concert in 2014 is anything to go by, I doubt I will be disappointed.

Next up is the second new song, Tightrope.  Tightrope is a slow-paced acoustic strum-along which recalls some of Suede’s most beautiful moments such as those found on the second side of Dog Man Star and on those wonderful early B-sides such as The Living Dead (from the Stay Together single, 1994), The Big Time (from the Animal Nitrate single, 1993) and High Rising (from the So Young single, 1993).  In Tightrope, Brett still sings of ‘the high life’, “The high life is within you”, like it is a something from an ever occurring distant dream punctuated with gritty, kitchen sink imagery from a life where the only high life is the tightrope he walks upon with the love interest of the song.  Now that Brett has 23 years of highly acclaimed songs under his belt and is very much settled into suburban family life with his partner and children, can such lyrics still be credible or are Suede simply rehashing tried and tested themes?  Are the lyrics in remembrance of the days when the singer dreamt of the highlife in “disguised suburban graves … where the debts still grow each day”?  Is Brett now taking on a persona of somebody still living in a life that they wished to escape?  Were the songs that Suede have sung over the years ever about Brett or were they Brett adopting a character?  There is no doubt that Brett once felt this way and by tapping into the psyches of listeners, such as myself, who dream of escape from the situation or the place that they find, or once found themselves in, he struck a chord with millions.  Listeners to Suede are either still in such situations that Brett still sings about or have been in those dark places, so yes, I feel that the lyrics are still credible although perhaps slightly detached from where the singer is in his own life.  This is still the Suede I know and love and it would be very un-Suede if Brett started singing about how content he is with his partner and children.  I now look at Suede, what they stand for and the words Brett sings, in a different way, probably much as Brett does himself.

Suede, just like their forthcoming new album, is like a journey.  You yearn for escape from your life, you imagine the highlife, a different way of life and when you reach the point in your life where just as Brett sings in I Don’t Know How To Reach You, you think “I never thought it would happen to me”, you can look back on Suede’s impressive canon of work and trace your life up until that point through their songs.  That is the feeling that your favourite bands should evoke and why Suede will always be one of my favourite bands.  But are they still relevant?  Yes, because by rights, Suede should be out there influencing “a new generation calling”.

As I look across the rain and windswept countryside of Snowdonia National Park, I wonder if the journey in question on the new Suede album will lead to happiness and fulfilment?  Again, that would be very un-Suede.  Real Suede fans, wherever their own personal journey has taken them, will always be “real drowners” at heart.