One standout, “Victimhood” conjures, with its creeping industrial-orchestral pulse, the folk terror of Ari Aster’s horror films the lyrics are part shadow work, part feminist thought. But the theme of personal growth is inextricable from her mycophilia: She finds so much nourishment and possibility in the dark, mossy understory of life. At times, Fossora’s mushroom-centric imagery can feel a little like an overwrought metaphor. “Fungal City” moves the record toward the light of new love-but not too bright-with techno beats, bemused bass clarinet lines, and the supporting coos of serpentwithfeet (something of a musical hopekeeper himself). Life cycles are at the heart of Fossora, whose title translates to a Latin feminine form of the word “digger.” The abstract a cappella interlude “Mycelia,” named for fungal root systems, is a beguiling mix of calm and hyperspeed that could soundtrack a time-lapse video of moss and mushrooms overtaking a forest. I love Björk’s generous articulations of her mother-that Hildur’s dyslexia made her the ultimate improviser, the way her “vibrant rebellion” requires trilled Rs-but the more cutting lines are the things left unsaid or hard to face: “Did you punish us for leaving? Are you sure we hurt you? Was it just not ‘living?’” and “You see with your own eyes/But hear with your mother’s/There’s fear of being absorbed by the other.” It’s that push and pull of not wanting to lose your mother’s voice in your head, combined with not wanting to make her same mistakes. ![]() The lyrics reflect the arc of a mother and daughter’s love passed through decades: As childhood memories merge with scenes of hospitals and pacemakers, Björk steps into the role of valiant “hopekeeper” for her mother while the clock ticks down (literally, there is a ticking clock in the song). ![]() Built from anthemic strings, sparse beats, a sprinkling of chimes and gongs, and vocals from Björk and her son Sindri, “Ancestress” is among the singer’s most striking songs about hope because it shows the limits of it. “Sorrowful Soil” was written before Björk’s mother passed, and “Ancestress” was written after, as a more personal eulogy. Certain phrases cut through and carry the melody: “emotional textile” (what a mother’s nest is made from, naturally), “self-sacrificial,” and “nihilism.” Björk’s mother was a nihilist, a fact that is dramatically emphasized in a vocal hook despite her nature, the musician seems to say, she did her best to raise children, an act that disregards one’s own nihilism for the future. With a baroque choral arrangement and bass chords that function like a church organ, the song sounds solemn, to be sure, but there’s something strangely funny about boiling down a woman’s life to her menstrual cycles and prevailing worldview (Björk seems to recognize this, grinning over the lyrics’ oddness in our recent cover story). ![]() ![]() “In a woman’s lifetime she gets 400 eggs but only two or three nests,” she sings, pausing for emphasis and buoyed by women’s voices from the Hamrahlid Choir. The first, “Sorrowful Soil,” is Björk’s attempt to mimic Iceland’s traditional style of musical eulogy, consisting of melodramatic melodies delivering dry biography, but from a matriarchal POV. The most poignant songs on Fossora are the towering twin tributes to her mother, the environmental activist Hildur Rúna Hauksdóttir, who died in 2018.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |