Björk - Fossora

  • The Icelandic artist digs deep into the nature of human connection and employs a clarinet section and Gabber Modus Operandi to flesh out an earthy new sound.
  • Share
  • From the very first moments of "Atopos," the vibrant natural world of Björk's last album, Utopia, vanishes. Instead, she plunges deep into a subterranean realm where knotty ranges of fungi intertwine and twinkle in caves. What was bright is darkened, what was sharp is dulled. Her tenth studio album ruminates on mushrooms, environmentalism and family, and here, the orchestral palette of her last two records has also morphed into something earthy. But this is also underground music culturally, a place where the distant thrum of rave is never far away. Fossora is, as Björk explains it, an "Iceland album," mirroring the rocky but beautiful—and unpredictable—landscapes of her home country. The title is a made-up word that translates to "she who digs." It has also been marketed as her "gabber" album, even though the dominant sounds here are bass clarinets and swinging Latin drum patterns, with only the occasional burst of rapid-fire kick drums. It sounds more like a silent rave headlined by elves on psilocybin. The record features some of Björk's most clever and gut-wrenching lyrics, but her complex, meandering melodies can also keep listeners at an emotional distance. In its simultaneous clarity and vague sprawl, Fossora highlights both the contradiction and the genius of one of the world's most singular pop artists. It's difficult not to feel Björk's pull on opener "Atopos," with some truly fantastic lines meted out over a reggaeton beat. Her words unspool like shoelaces tugged by gravity, gradually coming untied: "Our differences are irrelevant / To insist on absolute justice at all times / Blocks connection," later repeating, "hope is a muscle," one of those Björk-isms that only becomes more profound the more you think about it. On "Victimhood," another deeply layered song about the dangers of both ignoring trauma and succumbing to it, she sings, "To step out of victimhood / has a saintly glow." These are thoughtful, considered phrases that Björk chews on and enunciates with theatrical pacing, moving down the same forked paths and melodic detours that led to 2015's Vulnicura and 2017's Utopia. This focus on text and texture over hooks makes Fossora a direct continuation of the feats achieved on its predecessors—the solidification of a new Björk era defined by lengthy compositions and orchestral instrumentation that bends to her will. The pop artist who once seemed impossibly futuristic now sounds increasingly baroque. Therein lies the rub with Fossora: fans attuned to her soul-baring recent work will be glued to its every twist and turn, while those still enamoured by Björk's early years might find it lacking in tension or edge. While Björk worked heavily with Indonesian duo Gabber Modus Operandi (who were recently accused of sexual misconduct, and now only one member, Kasimyn, is fully credited on the album's final version) on Fossora, most of the beats were produced by Björk on her own, in the deep red second floor room of her Icelandic home. The gabber influence is overstated, appearing in a brief interlude ("Trölla-Gabba") and the occasional eruption at the end of songs, like the thrilling conclusion of the title track. Honestly, it works better this way: these moments of release are more powerful when they're earned. Elsewhere, the album can sound almost like a Disneyfied version of past orchestral experiments. The coy and mischievous woodwinds on "Fungal City", for example, distract from serpentwithfeet's incredible vocals. Still, Fossora features some of Björk's most fully-realised songwriting. If heartbreak loomed over Vulnicura and rebirth ruled Utopia, this one searches for deeper meaning in the ups and downs of life. The most affecting moments are portraits of her late mother, like "Ancestress," where bells echo each syllable of Björk's direct, almost confrontational description of dying: "The machine of her breathed all night / While she rested / Revealed her resilience / And then it didn't." But this time Björk sees things through the view of life as a whole, comparing interactions between humans to the underground networks that fungi communicate through. "This is the odour of our final parting," she sings, "Those have been the perfumes of separation for centuries / Ancestress! / Nature wrote this psalm." Björk's son Sindri adds otherworldly tones to her voice, only underlining the eternal, often familial connection at the heart of so many Björk's songs: to love someone or something is to be one with it, to be a part of it. So much of Fossora is about connection and togetherness. The instruments move in sync with Björk's voice, like the orchestra following her every word on "Victimhood," or the alternately dainty and honking bass clarinets that seem to dance around her like little critters on the rest of the album—or the way the kicks bash and distort the soundscape at pivotal moments. Björk is both in command and in tune with the world around her, reaching out to the afterlife, the spiritual realm and the deepest inner workings of her own psyche. At times startling, floundering and epic, Fossora attempts to meld personal experience with the cosmos, to make experiences universal. Like any such grand project, it's daring and indulgent, occasionally weighed down by its own pretence, and the result is several songs on the album that seem to unspool in no direction in particular. But that unwinding is usually gripping, and like the other two albums Björk's recent renaissance—Utopia and VulnicuraFossora stuns more often than it doesn't.
  • Tracklist
      01. Atopos 02. Ovule 03. Mycelia 04. Sorrowful Soil 05. Ancestress 06. Fagurt Er í Fjörðum 07. Victimhood 08. Allow 09. Fungal City 10. Trölla-Gabba 11. Freefall 12. Fossora 13. Her Mother’s House
RA