So Christmastime has come and gone. The presents have all been torn open, the shredded giftwrap has been excavated from the living room, and the tree is sitting out on the curb turning brown, waiting to be picked up by the garbage man. Unless you're one of those hopelessly sentimental saps who takes until mid-January to let it go, the window during which it's acceptable to play Christmas music has now closed. So what's left to listen to when you want to unwind to something that fits the mood of a cold, frosty winter's day? (Or when you want to close your eyes and imagine such a place if you live in a warmer climate like I do?) Never fear, because Bjork is here... with an album that she released six years ago... in the dead heat of summer. All right, so maybe she didn't whip this one up for the exact purpose I've found it useful for. But I still find that Vespertine, in the short few months that I've had to become acquainted with it, is going to remain one of the best "winter albums" in my collection.

After getting a bit more used to the Icelandic musician's idiosyncrasies by way of 2007's Volta, I decided that it was high time to go back and check out her earlier work, and Vespertine seemed like the perfect place to start - I still remember reading reviews of the album here at Epinions when it was released, and being intrigued by the descriptions of Bjork's snowy electronic soundscapes made up of "microbeats" and the percussive sounds of household items, etc. I should have taken the leap then and checked her out, but I timidly held off. I suppose that was my loss, but it turned out that the summer of 2007 was a good time to finally investigate this one. As much as I normally look forward to summer, I was feeling rather discombobulated after returning from a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Alaska, and contending with triple-digit summer temperatures in Southern California, and I kind of wanted to escape it all. Bjork's most intimate album helped me to do exactly that, with its carefully woven, and often quite sensual, songs of pleasure and pain. (OK, so maybe the naked vocal experiments of Medulla could be considered more "intimate", but I still haven't managed to get my head around that one.)

What's most striking about Vespertine, amidst all of its bells and chimes and layered fantasy-world vocals and little clicking beats, is the warmth of the human heart that permeates the icy soundscapes. While it's true that there are a few songs that tend toward the more emotionally cold side of things, for the most part, it's easy to feel relaxed and encouraged when listening to Vespertine. Whether a song is about an extremely personal subject such as a sexual relationship, or simply about the human heart's need for family and community, I find it easy to relate to her despite the mechanical sound of the album. I've certainly heard electronic music that expresses relatable human emotions before (see The Echoing Green), but Bjork has developed a knack for doing this in her own experimental way. It's easy to picture Bjork as a sorceress of sorts, using machines to do her bidding, but running around the house and animating them with a wave of her wand, taking great joy in their newfound ability to live and breathe and decide whether or not to cooperate with the humans who take their individual functions for granted. Yeah, that analogy sounds kind of insane, but you have to be open to the idea that you might be just slightly crazy to really appreciate a lot of Bjork's music.

Bjork did take some criticism when she released this album, mostly for scaling back the aggressive tendencies of 1997's Homogenic to the point where they were all but non-existent. Any aggression that you're gonna hear on Vespertine is shoved far beneath an icy surface - you can still detect it in a few coldly breathed lyrics here and there, but the music subverts it, making it more of a passive-aggressiveness. I'm fine with that for the same reason that I'm fine with rock-oriented bands like Radiohead exploring their more ambient sides, but consider that fair warning if bpm's are a large determining factor in your enjoyment of an album. There might be a few moments where I'll admit that my interest in rhythm derails my enjoyment of a song - Bjork seems to always throw in one or two where her vocal melodies appear to be floating in the ether, untethered to a discernable rhythm. On Vespertine, those songs actually appear to be adapted poems from other sources, not written to fit into the normal structure of a song lyric in the first place. It's up to the listener to decide what each of those pieces has to offer - I can appreciate the imagery but I do feel that they interrupt the flow a bit in this album's back half. Aside from that, it's hard to find any major flaws, so now that I've actually made it all the way back to Debut and listened to all of Bjork's major albums at least once, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Vespertine is my favorite so far. I'm a relatively new fan, so take that with a heaping teaspoon of salt. (Of course, if you're completely new to Bjork, that might at least hint to you that the chilled-out nature of this album isn't at all a deterrent to accessibility. But your mileage may vary.)

Hidden Place
He's the beautifulest, fragilest
Still strong, dark and divine
And the littleness of his movements, hides himself
He invents a charm that makes him invisible...
The record begins with one of its most beautiful songs - the electronic elements create a thick, oily undercurrent right away, but it's nicely counterbalanced by Bjork's breathy tone of voice, offering an open-armed invitation for her lover to come and meet her in a place that only they know. As she sings about his charming idiosyncracies and the way the he makes her feel completely safe, her own idiosyncracies come to the foreground in the form of a female chorus singing simple "Ooh"s and "Na na na", that blow through the song like a cold but gentle wind. It's delicately romantic, but also fascinatingly detailed - that rapid, percussive whisper you're hearing in the background is apparently the electronically manipulated sound of cards being shuffled.

Cocoon
Who would have known
That a boy like him
After sharing my core
Would stay, going nowhere...
It's only track two, and we've already arrived at one of Vespertine's most fascinatingly intimate moments. Slow, even synth tones and a glitch beat made up of tiny pops and clicks (I believe she used the card shuffling to create this effect as well) are the minimal framework for this one, and Bjork's verse melody is immediately memorable with its persistent high notes. What's most striking here is how sensual the lyrics are despite this peaceful, innocent setting. They could be interpreted somewhat graphically if you're the type who goes there, but this isn't done in a coy, sex-kitten sort of way, despite Bjork's voice being in breathy overdrive. The song evokes a sense of wonder and peace - she's perhaps describing a sexual experience, but it's an unrelentingly romantic one that involves whispered words of affection in the afterglow and falling asleep in her lover's arms and long, leisurely naps together in between the acts of lovemaking. Sometimes I feel like she's revealing too much, but then I'm swept up in the genuine emotion of the whole thing. I wish more songs about sex were like this - genuinely sensual instead of just trying to be sensational.

It's Not Up to You
I can decide what I give
But it's not up to me what I get given
Unthinkable surprises about to happen...
Bjork takes a more repetitive approach on this song, which is simply about letting go of the need to control all of life's minute details, and just let fate/God/whatever take the reins. It's another melodically strong entry (as most of the album is), despite all of the clicking and whirring going on behind her. Bjork seems to love duplicating and layering the sound of her voice, which she does here as she splits into two parts for the simple, but beautiful chorus - "It's not up to you... Well, it never really was." The high point of the song is when the chorus of voices rises up behind her and takes that chorus through to the fadeout at the end of the song. That would have been the perfect ending if not for Bjork quietly squirming her way back into the mix with a strange vocal interlude that sort of works as a bridge into the next song. I guess the two are meant to be related, but that last part is so muted that I usually just want to skip to the good stuff.

Undo
It's not meant to be a strife
It's not meant to be a struggle uphill...
This one seems to be cut from the same cloth as "It's Not Up to You", since it mostly consists of a repeated mantra about letting go of stress - "It's not meant to be a strive, it's not meant to be a struggle up here". Hey, any time Bjork wants to lull me into a false sense of security with music like this, she's welcome to it! The electronic tones and the light, tapping rhythm are fairly typical of the other songs on this album, but what really helps to set this one apart is the little bits of harp playing that are sprinkled in here and there. It's a prayerful, sincere song about wanting to let go of selfishness - and it definitely begins to feel like a bit of a religious experience when she brings that angelic choir back again! The long, slow fade out as the song vanishes into the ether is also quite lovely.

Pagan Poetry
Pedaling through the dark currents
I find an accurate copy
A blueprint of the pleasure in me...
This song immediately brings to mind an epic, fairy-tale setting by using the harp to establish an immediate melodic hook from the get-go, while a stronger rhythm thumps and hisses about beneath, as if some sort of steamy pressure were building up underneath the icy ground. It's a beautiful juxtaposition of sounds, and Bjork definitely went all-out with the sonic trimmings on this one - playful bells and chimes and ripples of echoing vocals abound. It's another love song - the most romantic tracks seem to be the standouts on this album - this time around it seems to be more of an exploration of how falling in love can make a timid person feel fearless. Bjork puts a little bit more grit into her vocals this time, giving a fiery performance that launches into the stratosphere at a few points - it's hard to believe that I once found her vocals eccentric and off-putting, because now I'm totally entranced by them, especially during the climactic moment where everything drops away, leaving Bjork's voice all by itself to sing unashamed in the bridge: "I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him". This is quickly handed off to Bjork's bridesmaids (which are all clones of Bjork, naturally), who repeat "She loves him, she loves him" in the background while she bring the song to a stunning close as she wails, "And he makes me want to hand myself over!" The only question left in my head at the end of this delicious, classic song is this: Why is it pagan poetry? My best guess is that it probably seems so in a world where sexual pleasure and conventional religious beliefs don't seem to mix, where people are all to willing to talk about chastity before you've met your mate, but too embarrassed to admit to the joy that can be found within that union - it becomes pious, perfunctory prose instead of exploratory poetry. It doesn't have to be that way, but I could see how someone could be led to believe, "If enjoying this sort of intimacy is a sin, then I don't want to be righteous."

Frosti
This playful little interlude of computerized bells is just about the cutest and loveliest thing I've ever heard. I'm bummed that it lasts for less than two minutes - it's a beautiful follow-up to "Pagan Poetry" (which itself contains some bells that seem to hint at this song's melody) which bleeds nicely into the track that follows it. It seems like merely an instrumental intermission to break up both halves of the album, and yet it's one of the tracks album that I find myself looking forward to listening to the most.

Aurora
I tumble down on my knees
Fill the mouth with snow
The way it melts
I wish to melt into you...
Now there's one thing that I didn't get to see during that amazing trip to Alaska: The Aurora Borealis. I suppose that's one drawback of it never getting completely dark in the summer. In the winter, though, when it's dark for most or all of the day, and so cold in certain places that the clouds can't even remain afloat in the sky to block your view of the stars, this magnetic phenomenon is clearly visible, and it sort of serves as a light source when the sun's not available. Bjork seems to be describing an awe-inspiring encounter with the aurora when she was a child, being lost out somewhere in the dark, snowy night and too scared to clearly remember her way home, and yet she looks up and sees this miracle of nature that she only knows to describe as a "goddess", and prays that it will never disappear: "Spark the sun off". The harp is once again a dominant fixture during this song - each glittering note seems to represent one of the endless array of glowing stars that serve as the backdrop for this brilliant display of cosmic color. The wordless "Ah-ah-ah"s that seem to be sent down from Heaven itself are more memorable than perhaps any line of lyrics that could have taken their place, and even the little detail of the rhythm being the sound of snow being crunched as it is walked on is perfectly placed.

An Echo, a Stain
Don't say no to me
You can't say no to me
I won't see you denied...
If it were possible for music to slither, this has got to be what it would sound like. There's something borderline obsessive about the dark clicks and whirrs of this song, and the warped, bending sound effects behind this declaration of love - it has a very different feel from the other, more romantic love songs because this one seems to be about the desire to control a person, or perhaps being controlled by your own desire for that person. Part of me loves the goosebump-inducing, chilly mood of this song, and part of me thinks it's a bit too slow and sparse - though it is worth the time spent when it reaches its crescendo and the demanding assertion that "You can't say no to me" comes full circle and becomes a meek, electronically munched-up admission that "I can't say no to you". It reminds me of Evanescence's song "Good Enough", but it's a bit more sinister than that.

Sun in My Mouth
In the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
With chasteness of sea-girls
Will I complete the mystery of my flesh?
Bjork sang about poetry a few songs back, and now she attempts to bring some to life by animating a poem that was written by e. e. cummings, to the tune of a music box. At least, that's the effect that the bells and the harp have on me - but it's performed at a caterpillar's pace. It's one of those songs that, due to the lyrics being a poem, doesn't translate into any sort of a traditional song structure, so it really feels like an impressionistic string of thoughts, each line being delivered with whatever timing and melody she damn well pleases. It's pretty (especially once the strings begin to swell up -it'd almost be a Disney soundtrack sort of moment, but Bjork's a bit too cryptic for all that), and there's likely a wealth of meaning to be mined from each line, but the lack of well-defined rhythm makes it difficult to follow along.

Heirloom
I have a recurrent dream
Every time I lose my voice
I swallow little glowing lights
My mother and son baked for me...
Bjork explores her domestic side with this curiously sweet ode to family - it's the most upbeat moment in the back half of the album, which means that it's a mid-tempo tune. In Bjork's world, being shown love by her family is represented by her mother and son feeding her "warm glowing lights" and pouring hot oil into her throat. Sounds torturous, actually, but I'm sure it must be a metaphor for feeling warmed and illuminated by the bond that she shares with both of them. Things seem even more bizarre when the "I" turns to "we" midway through the song, and she begins echoing herself, as if playing the part of two different people (how exactly two distinct people could have the same mother and son is beyond me, but Bjork tends to enjoy cloning herself in many of her songs, so I probably shouldn't read too much into that.) Low, synthetic bass tones and industrious, clicking percussion characterize the aural mood here. It's not as melodically striking as most of the front half of the album, but it's still an enjoyable break between two of the more difficult tracks on the album.

Harm of Will
This way is, as is she
And he placed her unclothed
Long, long, longlegged
On top of the family tree...
This one might be the album's most "difficult" track - which is nothing after you've spent part of your day making futile attempts to comprehend some of Medulla's more baffling songs - but by this album's standards, it's definitely a dark horse. Bjork co-wrote this one with Harmony Korine, better known as the writer/director behind unsettling indie films such as Kids. Given that, the lyrics aren't as disturbing as you'd expect given the penchant of both collaborators to sometimes go into uncomfortable, dark places, but the overall tone is still very sparse and unnerving. It's as if Bjork is watching through a window as her lover is cheating on her - she doesn't spare us the details, either. (It's mostly one semi-explicit line that I'm thinking of, but anyway, I'll spare you the details.) Even more so than "Sun in My Mouth", this song has a bit of a problem with its pacing, once again due to Bjork untethering the words from any sort of apparent rhythm or pattern. It's as if the thing can't move forward on its own power, so Bjork's vocals have to be the thing to keep nudging it along. The monotonous melody is probably why I feel like I'm losing my place in the structure of it when I listen to this one.

Unison
I thrive best hermit-style
With a beard and a pipe
And a parrot on each side
But now I can't do this without you...
Phew. That last track was a bit heavy, so thankfully Bjork chooses to nudge this thing over the finish line with a gentle, rhythmic ballad about the human need for companionship and community. There's some nice syncopation to this one, giving it a relaxed feel that's almost happy-go-lucky compared to everything that came before it. She's describing a transformation from her life as a lone wolf to someone who is willing to reach out and let her boundaries be blurred a bit, if it allows her to have any sort of deep, meaningful interchange with another person. In a way, this is the intellectual equivalent of the sexual boundary-mingling explored in "Cocoon". Information and genuine feelings are being shared and discussed between her and another individual instead of flesh (or perhaps in addition to it, if it's the same person being addressed in both songs). It's solidified by physical touch as "one hand loves the other" - handshakes, high fives, holding hands, etc. are tactile ways of expressing a meaningful bond with someone you trust, admire, etc. This song sort of takes its time to get going, but it does bring the album to a brilliant crescendo of beautiful strings and the rich, flowing sound of the harp - it's as if the snow is finally melting and small streams are beginning to form on the rocky ground, heralding the arrival of new life after she's been holed up in her bedroom all winter.

I'd actually recommend Vespertine as a good place for a Bjork newbie to start, even though it's not her most immediately catchy or accessible album (Homogenic probably wins that title). It's the most striking evidence of her ability to create a rich sonic collage, and as long as you're up for a mellow, leisurely stroll rather than a grab-you-by-the-throat display of musical aggression, you'll find rich rewards as these songs (or at least most of them) sink into your brain slowly, one at a time. It seems to work best in the winter, so if you're at all curious, then there's no time like the present to give it a spin.

ALBUM WORTH:
Hidden Place $1.50
Cocoon $1.50
It's Not Up to You $1.50
Undo $1
Pagan Poetry $2
Frosti $1
Aurora $1.50
An Echo, a Stain $1
Sun in My Mouth $.50
Heirloom $1
Harm of Will $.50
Unison $1
TOTAL: $14

Website: http://www.bjork.com

Recommended: Yes

Great Music to Play While: Romancing