There comes a time in any musician’s career when a conscious untethering is required in order to grow. Whether that be from a geographical place, a physical style that no longer fits, or a sound now spiritually discordant, when your soul says move on, or when your “ardor is trump[ing] every inner inertia,” as Justin Vernon says on “Lump Sum,” you have to clip whatever roots you’re attached to in order to move forward and excavate what is at the core of all good art: the truth.
Vernon has always had this enterprising instinct. Over the course of his now five records as Bon Iver, he has continually shown an extraordinary ability to shut down, update his technology, and start again. He made wide, impressive pivots into the baroque landscape of Bon Iver, Bon Iver and then again with the Kid A-esque glitchy folk of 22, A Million. He’s collaborated with pop and rap superstars like Taylor Swift, Kanye West, and Charli XCX, all the while still respecting, for the most part, the treasured, woven folk threads sewn into Bon Iver’s long tapestry of music.
Last year’s EP, SABLE,—the “prologue” to the full SABLE, fABLE LP—was no exception. Essentially a reprisal of Bon Iver’s older, less experimental repertoire, the EP’s triptych (and the first three songs on the full-length album) of “THINGS BEHIND THINGS BEHIND THINGS,” “S P E Y S I D E,” and “AWARDS SEASON” are about as minimalist and untreated as his tracks have ever been. The lack of momentum felt odd, however, especially since this was the first official Bon Iver release in over five years. But as longtime Bon Iver fans know, nothing is ever accidental.
According to Vernon, SABLE, was “a controlled burning” of his entire musical archive. On “AWARDS SEASON,” he delivers uncharacteristically clear songwriting, thanking the fans and loved ones who have gotten him to where he is today. ”You had taken away all my aching / How could I ever thank you?” But he isn’t just showing gratitude, he’s saying goodbye: “And you know what will stay? Everything we’ve made.”
Arson might seem like a bit of a drastic untethering, but from what Vernon has been saying throughout the album’s press tour, maybe not. “Sable is like this dark black color,” said Vernon on The New York Times’s Popcast. “It almost started to become a cartoon of sad Bon Iver music. I like the songs a lot, but they were kind of these last moments, the last gasping breath of my former self that really did feel bad for himself.”
To this day, no matter what he does, Vernon just can’t seem to escape the sad troubadour, Midwestern Thoreau branding bestowed upon him via his debut For Emma, Forever Ago. A brokenhearted hipster locking himself in a cabin in Wisconsin in order to create a fragile, yet lush indie folk album is an inherently romantic story, and it’s because of this—and of course the album itself—that he was positioned as a True Artist amongst phonies; an emblem of real, raw emotion that fans went to see live for a kind of sonic rapture. Although it might “serve to suffer / make a hole in [his] foot / And hope you look” as Vernon says on “S P E Y S I D E,” when you become the personification of one singular emotion—and one singular album—you start to toe the line into becoming a cliché of yourself.
And, while art is, of course, one of the most profound sources of catharsis—not just for the listener, but for the creators, too—perpetually pouring salt around that open wound becomes unhealthy (Hello: Elliott Smith and David Berman), especially when it’s no longer true. Because while ardor, or passion, certainly breeds truth, they are inflamed by circumstance. It’s been almost 20 years since For Emma, Forever Ago, and Vernon’s circumstances are quite different: He now lives in Los Angeles, quit cigarettes, and trains in the gym almost every day. He’s happier, and it’s manifested in the vibrant, light pop found on SABLE, fABLE.
The album recalibrates on “Short Story,” the “official” first track of the fABLE side, and the first step into this new chapter. Familiar Bon Iverian synths, fuzz, and vocoder adlibs—“it gets brighter”—surge together as if playing back through their entire catalog; a flash of life right before death. Suddenly, the percussion fades and it’s Vernon singing acapella: “January ain’t the whole world,” he says, no doubt a wink at the name Bon Iver itself, which means good winter in French. Two resonant down-strums shoot in and the landscape clears its past, or as Vernon says about fABLE, “a fresh growth blankets the charred ground.”
“Everything Is Peaceful Love” then continues on in the lightness with an R&B MIDI groove backed by slinky, sultry slide guitar. It’s probably the catchiest Bon Iver song to-date, mostly in the sense that it has a clear, digestible hook: “Damn if I’m not climbing up a tree right now / And everything is Peaceful Love.” “From” is similarly honeyed and hooky: “Don’t let it trouble your mind / Just take my love in your time.” Mk.Gee adds additional luster with watery guitar moves, and supporting harmonies from Jacob Collier blossom in the background. “So tell me when the coast is clear / I wanna kiss you ear from ear,” sings Vernon.
Like the previous two songs, much of the album’s sonic elements, anchored by Jim E-Stack (Gracie Abrams, Caroline Polachek) are distinctively sensual. Whether it’s through the reverberated horns and full-bodied organ on “I’ll Be There,” or the filtered string arrangements flitting around the pitched-up vocals on “Walk Home,” there is a dominating, sultry, yet controlled buoyancy. While the lyrics certainly amplify this quiet confidence—“Pull me close up to your face / Honey, I just want the taste,” as Vernon says on “Walk Home”—they pale in comparison to the gooey, lush production.
Maybe it’s because we’re less interesting when we’re happy and in love, although I try not to believe that. Or, it could simply be that the bold, sharp turn from blurred metaphors and itinerant song structure to lines such as “Keep the sad shit off the phone / And get your fine ass on the road” on “I’ll Be There” is especially jarring, practically polar to what was once was a Bon Iver standard. “I’ll Be There” still sounds exceptional, as most tracks do. But even with the unfounded vocal collaborations with Dijon on “Day One” or Danielle Haim on the saxophone-aided “If Only I Could Wait,” the main attraction is still Vernon’s sonic mood and less the actual written content.
That doesn’t mean the album still doesn’t have a clear point of view, however. As seen on the cover, there remains that chunk of darkness—the SABLE—at the center of the outer orangey warmth of fABLE. This story isn’t all happy endings, and there can be no true character of Bon Iver, of Vernon, without a splash of melancholy here and there. As he says on the penultimate track “There’s A Rhythm,” you just have to find the right balance. “Can I really still complain / to be back here once again?” he asks. Soon, a harmony of voices swoops in like an intrusive thought; “Day fighter, Day fire / Stay minding, and mine it.” But it’s a healthy thought; a swelling axiom to remind Vernon to try not to let the darkness eclipse the light he’s worked so hard to see.
With all that in mind, would it be fair to say Bon Iver has finally retired his woodsmen lonerisms for good? Probably not. Just like how Sufjan Stevens will probably never make another Carrie & Lowell, as his parents probably won’t die again, Bon Iver will most likely never make another For Emma, Forever Ago because he probably has better coping mechanisms, and also a lot more money. And at the end of the day, isn’t that a good thing? He’s finally done on SABLE, fABLE what he set out to do years ago in “For Emma:” “Forgo the parable and seek the light.”
