PT Bruiser

3. Bon Iver by Bon Iver

I could not have been introduced to this album under more favorable circumstances. I was parked in the woods on the east edge of camp, chatting with a pretty girl who served as my Sacagawea in the new world Justin Vernon made. Between the banjo, saxophone, and electric guitar of “Minnesota, WI” and the 80s synth piano of “Beth/Rest,” it felt like uncharted territory for the Bon Iver that I mostly associated with sparse acoustic sorrows (For Emma, Forever Ago) and the occasional minimalist experiment (Blood Bank). I loved it—it was all I wanted to listen to.

Now, as I stop and think about it, I can’t tell you any lyrics from this album—not a single phrase or chorus is coming to mind, and that’s not from lack of listening. I’m sure the words matter, I’m sure they mean something, and I’m willing to believe that one could get as emotionally invested in them as in For Emma, Forever Ago. But on Bon Iver, the sounds of the words—the phonemes themselves—become part of the music. Whatever words Justin Vernon is mumbling aren’t random, but there is so much aural delight to be had that it takes a long while for the content of the lyrics to become any sort of concern.

I said of Helplessness Blues that it was one of a couple albums this year that I could listen to start to finish without the thought of skipping a song even crossing my mind. Bon Iver is the other. There’s no bitterness in the aftertaste, foretaste, or any taste in between—it’s smooth all the way down.