Throughout the past decade, Justin Vernon, under the moniker Bon Iver, has rapidly emerged as one of the most ambitious, prolific songwriters of the 21st century who, through diverse collaborations with artists such as Taylor Swift, Travis Scott, Zach Bryan, and Lizzo, has continuously shaped the modern music scene. His collaborative works span from the hip-hop fueled beats of “Monster” and “Hold My Liquor” by Ye (formerly known as Kanye West) to the gray self-exploration of “Exile” by Taylor Swift. Additionally, Bon Iver has continuously transgressed genre classifications in his own musical discography, from the heartbreaking dark-folk debut For Emma, Forever Ago (2007) and Blood Bank (2009) to an expansive instrumental sound on the self-titled Bon Iver (2011). 

His 2016 album, 22, A Million, marked a major shift toward electronic production and hip-hop tropes, mostly influenced by his collaborations with Ye, that preserved his signature oblique lyricism over new layers of synthesizers, including hardware which Vernon and his engineer made themselves to replace his signature acoustic strums. On his latest 2019 album I,I, the acoustic, Bon Iver combined the instrumental elements that brought him to popularity with the apprehensive electronics and synthesizer of its latter musical period. However, in Bon Iver’s new EP “SABLE,” released on Oct. 17, he retreats back to a familiar acoustic sound in the most intimate work—almost painfully so—of Vernon’s career.

Since the band’s 2019 release, Vernon has collaborated on pop standards with Taylor Swift, Zach Bryan, and Charli xcx, released singles for social change, and performed in support of Kamala Harris and Tim Walz. With Vernon’s ever-present role in musical culture, he has charted the role of a creative genius, all while retreating from the spotlight.

“Vernon was widely considered a generational genius, an artist’s artist, an innovator of the highest order,” Brady Brickner-Wood wrote in Pitchfork. “It seemed there was nothing he couldn’t do.”

However, on “SABLE,” Vernon retreats from this singular acclaim to embrace a quieter, more reflective musical composition. Through familiar acoustic elements, Vernon returns to a familiarly intimate solitude with hauntingly private lyrics that investigate recent experiences with heartbreak and depression, while evoking apparent resilience. Throughout the 12-minute EP, Vernon contrasts his signature rich baritone and supple falsetto ranges that masterfully accompany the subdued composition to centralize lyrical honesty.

The EP opens with a 12 second high-pitch note on “…” as if to almost trick listeners into expecting an album similar to its electronically-driven predecessors. But the long note signifies a cleansing power for the audience to be reintroduced to the singer on a profoundly intimate level that undermines his ever-expanding role in contemporary music.

The opening song, “THINGS BEHIND THINGS BEHIND THINGS,” has an acoustic strum introduction similar to Sufjan Stevens’s song “John Wayne Gacy Jr.”

“I would like the feeling / I would like the feeling,” Vernon proclaims.“I would like the feeling gone / Cause I don’t like the way it’s, / I don’t like the way it’s, / I don’t like the way it’s looking.”

In the continuous repetition of his personal confession, Vernon seems almost in disbelief at his emotional struggles, and his alliteration represents the overwhelming and the desperate desire to move past his suffering.

“I am of changing,” Vernon regretfully laments.” And when it comes a time to check and rearrange shit / There are things behind things behind things / And there are rings within rings within rings.”

Vernon presents the intense difficulty and fear of dealing with mental health struggles, equating this inordinate pain and trauma as a room overcrowded with too many “things behind things behind things,” that makes any productive mental improvement feel overwhelmingly impossible.

On “S P E Y S I D E,” named after a region in Scotland mostly known for its whiskey production, Vernon introduces the deep guilt associated with personal relationships that pervade the record.

“I know now that I can’t make good/ How I wish I could,” Vernon says. “Go back and put / Me where you stood.”

Feeling defeated by his inability to create positive relationships in the conditions of his life, Vernon becomes consumed with guilt, comparing it to the colloquialism of “shooting oneself in the foot.”

“It serves to suffer, make a hole in my foot/ And I hope you look,” Vernon begs. “As I fill my book / What a waste of wood / Nothing’s really happened like I thought it would.”

Vernon uses this colloquialism to signify how the guilt from a relationship further permeates his lifestyle to affect even the satisfaction he derives from his art, that he begins to view even his diary as a “waste of wood.”

“Yeah, what is wrong with me?” Vernon laments. “Man, I’m so sorry / I got the best of me / I really damn been on such a violent spree.”

In the third verse, Vernon depressingly arrives at his past actions of self-sabotage, eventually cementing this notion at the end of the record.

“I really know now what had hold on me,” Vernon concludes.

While the first two songs on the EP explore the familiar melodic structures of Bon Iver’s early folk albums with Vernon’s growing lyrical mastery, the third song “AWARD SEASON” largely diverges from this familiarity to emphasize an unexpected poetic structure that is delivered on a more subdued, less signature melody. The song begins with Vernon singing in a cappella.

“I can handle / Way more than I can handle,” Vernon sings. “So I keep reaching for the handle.”

This repetition is similar to the opening track, demonstrating the urgency and desperateness of the emotional tension. Vernon continues this lament with disbelief at how a past relationship has changed.

“Oh, how everything can change / In such a small time frame,” Vernon mourns. “You can be remade / You can live again / What was pain now’s gain / A new path gets laid / And you know what is great / Nothing stays the same.”

The personal and mental tension that the album explores is never settled by a conclusion or a sense of closure, as Vernon describes in the final verse.

“Why do things gotta change?” Vernon asks. “We were on our way / To be best to face / All that comes in gray / It’s so hard to explain / And the facts are strange / But you know what will stay? / Everything we’ve made.”

Instead of finding an artificial sense of closure, Vernon finds solitude in everything he made, which is, presumably, the music he produced as the last proof and memory of their relationship. He decides, in reaction to this heartbreak, to find the nostalgia and passion in the remnants of the relationship that is still present instead of mourning the loss.

“SABLE” seems to encapsulate a cyclical emotional pattern of regret, heartbreak, and resilience that arrives at a similar poignancy which formed the emotional shock of the opening. Both in the introduction and at the end, Vernon is only left with the mere proof of his failed relationship with the music they created. The only progress that the album presents is this realization: nothing really changes. As Vernon desperately introduces this album with a plea for his feelings to subdued, he concludes that he is able to rekindle – or at least observe – not the love that is lost in life, but that is ever present in the music.

“Whereas initially, [22, A Million and i,i] seemed to signal the onset of a never-ending sonic expansion—perhaps at the expense of the genius burning at its core—they now feel a lot closer to what they were meant to signify all along: seasons of abundance that would once again give way to winter, all part of a natural, larger cycle,” Emma Keates describes in an article for AV Club. 

Overall, the emotional trajectory of the EP follows this cyclical trend of Justin Vernon’s discography. With his signature acoustic production and themes of depression, heartbreak, and resilience, Vernon returns to form with this album and finds with it increasing honesty, haunting lyricism, and oscillating melodies.

Carter Appleyard can be reached at cappleyard@wesleyan.edu.