During a recent interview on the New York Times podcast “Popcast,” Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon was asked whether he sees himself as an alpha male or a beta male in his circle of friends. Vernon chose the former. Combined with the press photos for his fifth album Sable, fable—where he, among other things, poses as a big-game fisherman—this reinforces the image of him as a decisive leader who knows what he wants and ranks highest in the pack.
Whether one considers his pack to be Bon Iver—the band Vernon has led since the mid-2000s, though few can name any other members—or the loosely defined scene and genre that is today’s singer/songwriter landscape, it’s easy to conclude that Vernon often leads the way. In many respects, he is our most modern singer/songwriter. Partly because of how he sings and writes songs—the sample-heavy 22, A Million was a genre-defining example of thinking outside the man-with-a-guitar box—but equally because of how effortlessly he moves between different creative contexts.
In today’s music industry, words like “sellout” and “indie” have largely lost their weight and meaning, as artistic identity has morphed into brand-building. This shift allows Vernon to move freely between being an alternative rock darling and a cherished collaborator for many of today’s biggest pop and hip-hop stars.
His fifth album, Sable, fable, is in many ways a kind of summary of Bon Iver’s various directions over nearly 20 years of releases. In the first three tracks, taken from last year’s EP Sable, Vernon returns—for the first time in a long while—to a nearly traditional singer/songwriter role. He once again sounds like the sparse and heartbroken singer from the 2008 debut For Emma, Forever Ago.
The subsequent Fable section is more expansive in every way, building upon predecessors 22, A Million and i,i. The arrangements are more lush, the influences numerous, the guest artists and musical tools more varied. Lightly distorted sampled vocals and tiptoeing piano blend with slide guitar and subtle nods to ’80s-era Prince-style funk.
Bringing together two such extremes on one album without sacrificing cohesion should be incredibly difficult, especially when the parts are so clearly divided as they are here. Yet Vernon manages the feat of making Sable, fable feel unified—largely thanks to his soaring falsetto, which connects the stripped-down singer/songwriter expression to the more expansive and exploratory rock. Sable and Fable also mirror each other—where the first part expresses worry and uncertainty, the second responds with cautious hope.
Vernon wavers between faith and doubt, but always ultimately lands on the side of belief. That feels unusually comforting in times when we need every hand we can hold. Perhaps that, too, is a form of leadership?
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