Lean, Mean, and “Vespertine” (2001)
winter essentials, vol. 3
Let’s stop beating around the bush — Some albums feel vaguely like winter, and others are a blizzard in a horse pill, ready for consumption whenever you’re craving a slightly stormy chill. Remember the feeling of waking up to a snow day when you were small? Or getting snowed in with someone you cared about, knowing the world was outside and unable to reach you? That’s what Bjork’s Vespertine captures — the quiet comfort of knowing you’re insulated somewhere safe, obligations be damned, snow spiraling in the window as the radiator hums and clicks.
We open with “Hidden Place”, a soothing, glitchy number that merges choral samples with soft, synthetic flourishes. The use of electronics all over this album feels uncannily frosty — Bjork works deftly with “microsounds”, that flit in and out of earshot with the transience of melting snowflakes. And on a song like this one, which paints the picture of a private oasis, they seem to bustle with magic. This track speaks both to a playful childlike escapism and a more adult set of desires, summoning images of sexual and emotional freedom in one fell swoop. In short: This song is a blanket fort, and this is the perfect time of year to climb inside.
I had a lively conversation with one of my friends a few months ago about what the “sexiest” time of year is. Most people will say it’s summer — Season of vacations, parties, bikinis, and that effervescent sunscreen smell. There’s a fair argument to be made for spring too, I think, and fall’s got Halloween going for it…But honestly? My pick is winter. The oft-sung “frightful” weather drives us to spend more time at home with the people we care about. And since it’s so cold, we’re more than happy to cuddle up, unfettered by the sweaty, itchy bodies that house us in the hotter months.
Bjork seems to agree with me, because this album is inexplicably sultry from front to back. “Cocoon” is a hymn for new lovers, that’s as tender as it is graphic in its descriptions of intimacy. Its central image is one of a safe place to hide, much like that referenced in the opening track. But cocoons are built to be broken — erupted out of, with flight and panache. So while “Hidden Place” eulogizes security in sex, constructing a hidden language the world can’t parse, “Cocoon” speaks to the excitement and fresh awakening that wait at the other end of that thread. It shouts its message from ice-capped rooftops, never fearing a slip. We’re still in optimistic, fresh-faced territory here, but Bjork’s tale of midwinter romance is picking up pace, and gradually accumulating stakes.
“Pagan Poetry” sees that very innocence mutated into desperate passion, devotion that doesn’t know where to chart its own end. And “Aurora” shares the story of a snow-capped childhood winter, sparkling in hindsight, but oddly full of innuendo . “An Echo, A Stain” explores intimacy in abstract, evoking both violation and bliss, while “Sun in My Mouth” paraphrases an erotic e.e. cummings poem. “Harm of Will”, co-written by director Harmony Korine, offers a brash male perspective on lust, before “Unison” closes the record out on a romantic note. In full, we’re left with a glistening wintry mosaic that’s bright with passion and warmth. The bed is left unmade, and it’s so damn cold that you might as well crawl back under the covers…
This album’s topics aren’t limited to frank sexuality, however — Even the songs charted above trace a whole host of glistening snow day feelings, ranging from loneliness to blissful calm to nostalgia. But some of my favorite tracks on the record are those that eschew the topic entirely, fleshing out Bjork’s winter world with a fuller cast of characters and a lighter take on life. “Frosti” makes sure we’re still feeling chipper and festive after the emotional evisceration of track 5. And “Heirloom” is dedicated to Bjork’s family, the tenderness they offer even when they aren’t together physically.
My most-played track here, however, is “Undo”: a glistening, ambient pop track that reads like a war-torn mantra. It’s not meant to be a strife. It’s not meant to be a struggle uphill. The lyrics are vague, where others on this album nearly shock with their specificity. In context, perhaps we’re supposed to read tumult into Vespertine’s central relationship. Or perhaps this song’s epiphany follows “It’s Not Up to You”, with its desperate strides towards perfection and eventual meditative surrender.
Regardless, this track boasts the message I find myself craving the most, and the one I find seeded throughout the whole project in retrospect. Existing with others — in relation to others, seeking refuge with others, feeling torn up over others — is hard. Existing alone, with our own thoughts and strivings echoing past each other and no outside voice to temper them, is harder. We pick fights with ourselves, and with versions of friends that are half misremembered. We sabotage our own peace, throwing bottles at the wall just to hear something in the dead quiet of night. We get cabin fever, so we devise a plan to burn the whole cabin down and rebuild from scratch. But we don’t go through with it. We breathe. We hold our cabin-mates close. And we wait for the winter to pass.
Thanks, as always, for reading! Can you tell I got my heat back this week? The chaos isn’t quite over, but the light at the end of the tunnel is in view.
Until next time,
Make the damn blanket fort. Don’t go to bed angry.
Clare