With Fossora, Björk returns to solid ground — quite literally. This tenth studio album, released in 2022, marks a shift from the airborne, flute-filled dreamscape of her previous record, Utopia, into something earthier and more grounded. Where Utopia reached for the skies, Fossora digs down into the soil, drawing on rich, physical textures and personal history.
In her long and unpredictable career, Björk has always pushed herself to explore new sonic environments. Each album opens a different world. Sometimes that world is futuristic and brimming with electronic experiments, other times it’s intimate and raw, focused on the human voice or strings. Fossora is unique in that it blends this spirit of invention with deep emotional reflection. It’s rooted in grief, family, and connection to place — shaped by her return to Iceland during the pandemic and the loss of her mother, environmental activist Hildur Rúna.
Sonic Exploration
From the very first notes, Fossora signals a bold shift in sonic landscape. Björk’s production choices here are striking — neither polished in a traditional pop sense nor rough around the edges for effect. Instead, the album feels intentionally textured. The mix is clean, but layered in a way that feels alive and shifting, like a forest floor teeming with movement. Sounds pop in and out of focus, giving the impression of something organic and constantly evolving. This approach suits the album’s themes perfectly. It mirrors the idea of something growing beneath the surface, unseen but vital.
The production is handled largely by Björk herself, with input from long-time collaborators like Bergur Þórisson and side contributions from artists such as Serpentwithfeet and Indonesian dance duo Gabber Modus Operandi. Yet it never feels crowded. There’s a careful attention to space, allowing moments of chaos and calm to breathe side by side. The low-end, in particular, is more present than in her recent albums — a deliberate choice that adds weight to the overall sound.
Musical Arrangements
Instrumentally, Fossora is perhaps Björk’s most eccentric record in years. It features a bass clarinet sextet at its core, which becomes a signature voice across the album. These deep, woody tones ground the music in a darker, more earthy register, contrasting with her trademark vocal leaps and whispered phrases. The clarinet arrangements are not only unusual, but also bold. They swell, flutter, and pulse, acting more like synthesizers than classical wind instruments.
On top of this, the album incorporates pounding, percussive beats that often verge on hardcore. Tracks like “Atopos” and “Fossora” fuse industrial rhythms with gabber — a genre of Dutch electronic music known for its fast, aggressive energy. It’s an unexpected pairing with the chamber-like woodwinds, but somehow, it works. This collision of styles adds a sense of urgency and rawness that sets the album apart.
Despite these extremes, there are also moments of real beauty and calm. Songs like “Sorrowful Soil” and “Ancestress” are more restrained, letting choral voices and poetic phrasing take the lead. These tracks echo her earlier work on Vespertine and Medúlla, where intimacy and emotional expression are foregrounded.
In terms of genre, Fossora resists easy categorization. It leans into avant-garde classical, experimental electronica, and industrial noise, but it also flirts with baroque pop, minimalism, and even folk. Björk blends these influences not as pastiche, but with purpose. Each shift in sound feels tied to the narrative or emotional arc of the song.
Lyrical Analysis
Björk’s lyrics on Fossora feel more personal and emotionally charged than many of her recent records. At its core, the album is about roots — familial, emotional, and physical. The lyrics reflect this through themes of grief, memory, motherhood, and the pull of home. These aren’t abstract ideas floating in metaphor; they are grounded in real experiences, often deeply intimate, yet still wrapped in her unique poetic language.
One of the most powerful through-lines is mourning. Several songs explore the death of her mother, but Björk resists the temptation to sentimentalize. On “Sorrowful Soil,” she sings of generational duty and maternal strength with raw reverence, calling it “a eulogy, not a complaint.” Later, “Ancestress” feels almost ceremonial. It moves like a funeral march, detailing her mother’s last days with clarity and restraint, but never coldness. The lyrics are personal, even biographical, yet still leave space for the listener to find their own meaning.
Motherhood appears as both a source of strength and vulnerability. In “Her Mother’s House,” which features her daughter Ísadóra, Björk touches on the complexities of letting go. The song is delicate and loving, but it also captures the fear of being left behind. Lines like “The more I love you / The stronger you become / The less you need me” are simple, but heavy with feeling.
Despite the emotional weight, there is also a sense of resilience. On “Atopos,” the lyrics focus on connection and shared responsibility: “Our differences are irrelevant / To insist on absolute justice / At all times / It blocks connection.” It’s a call for empathy and collective healing, fitting for an album born out of isolation and return.
Lyrical Depth
As always with Björk, the lyrics aren’t always direct. Some tracks slip into abstract phrasing, layered with imagery of fungi, soil, and strange growth. The mushroom metaphor recurs — representing not only decay and regeneration, but also the idea of hidden networks and unseen support systems. This symbolic language encourages interpretation. It invites the listener to dig deeper, to sit with the songs rather than simply hear them.
The emotional impact of the lyrics is strong, not because they aim for universal relatability, but because they are honest. Björk doesn’t disguise her grief, her joy, or her confusion. Instead, she filters them through a lyrical style that is both idiosyncratic and poetic. Whether it’s the sharp clarity of her storytelling or the dream-like surrealism of her imagery, the words always feel purposeful.
Cohesion and Flow
One of the most striking qualities of Fossora is how well it balances contrast with continuity. At first listen, the album might seem fragmented — oscillating between harsh rhythmic blasts and moments of fragile beauty. But with time, a strong internal logic reveals itself. The track progression is not linear in a traditional sense, yet it carries a clear emotional and thematic arc.
The album opens with “Atopos,” a bold statement of intent. Its clattering percussion and rich clarinet textures set the tone for the record’s earthy, grounded atmosphere. From there, Fossora moves through cycles of intensity and introspection. Songs like “Ovule” and “Victimhood” offer more reflective moments, while tracks like “Fungal City” and “Trölla-Gabba” inject bursts of manic energy. Despite these shifts, each track feels like part of the same ecosystem. There’s a deliberate pacing at work — not rushed, but always evolving.
Midway through, the album deepens emotionally. “Sorrowful Soil” and “Ancestress” form a clear emotional center, slowing the tempo and letting grief take full focus. These songs are not only central thematically, but also act as structural anchors. They provide a pause before the album builds again in complexity and rhythm, eventually closing with “Her Mother’s House,” a soft, heartfelt epilogue that mirrors the album’s grounding themes of family and continuity.
Thematic Consistency
In terms of thematic consistency, Fossora is remarkably cohesive given its eclectic sound. Whether she’s layering guttural basslines or serene vocal harmonies, Björk maintains a clear sense of purpose. The imagery of soil, fungi, and the underground appears not just in the lyrics, but in the production and arrangements. Even the most experimental moments feel rooted in the same conceptual ground.
That said, a few transitions may feel abrupt on early listens. The leap from the raw sorrow of “Ancestress” to the chaotic rush of “Fagurt Er Í Fjörðum” might catch some off guard. But these shifts are less about disrupting the flow and more about illustrating the unpredictable nature of emotional recovery. The disjointedness, in this context, feels intentional rather than accidental.
Standout Tracks and Moments
While Fossora works best as a full-body experience, there are several tracks that rise to the surface as particularly impactful, whether through innovation, emotional clarity, or pure sonic daring. These moments not only define the album’s character, but also highlight Björk’s continued ability to surprise and move listeners after decades of artistic reinvention.
Ancestress
“Ancestress” is perhaps the emotional heart of the album. A tribute to her late mother, the song unfolds with a ceremonial grace. The lyrics are direct yet poetic, capturing the complexity of familial bonds without slipping into sentimentality. What sets this track apart is its structure — it doesn’t follow a conventional verse-chorus pattern but moves like a procession. The orchestration swells with dignity, and Björk’s voice carries a weight that feels lived-in. It’s not just a song; it’s a ritual.
Atopos
“Atopos”, on the other hand, grabs attention through sheer force. Anchored by heavy bass clarinets and pulsing gabber beats, it sets the tone for the rest of the album — earthy, confrontational, and rhythmically unpredictable. The use of clarinet in such an aggressive, dance-like context is genuinely fresh. It sounds like nothing else in her catalogue, yet it fits within her ongoing exploration of blending acoustic and electronic worlds.
Her Mother’s House
“Her Mother’s House”, featuring her daughter Ísadóra, closes the album with an aching tenderness. Their vocal interplay is understated, almost hesitant, but that quietness gives the song its power. It’s a graceful exit from an often chaotic album, one that reflects on the passing of time and the shifting dynamics between parent and child. The final moments, where their voices intertwine, feel like a soft blessing — humble, sincere, and intimate.
Fungal City
Another standout is “Fungal City”, where Björk teams up with serpentwithfeet for a track that feels both surreal and euphoric. The rhythm skips and swells, the clarinets bloom in strange directions, and the lyrics imagine a kind of underground love story rooted in nature. It’s playful but layered, tapping into the album’s central metaphors while still pushing its musical boundaries.
Memorable Moments
As for memorable moments, one that lingers is the abrupt silence and vocal rawness in “Sorrowful Soil”. The track begins with choral layering, then strips down to reveal Björk’s voice, unfiltered and solemn. The line “You did your best” — directed at her mother — lands with a simplicity that’s almost disarming. In an album full of technical innovation, it’s this emotional restraint that leaves one of the deepest impressions.
Artistic Contribution and Innovation
Fossora doesn’t just exist within the framework of contemporary music — it expands the framework. While Björk has never fit neatly into any single genre, this album further distances her from conventional boundaries. It’s not designed for easy categorization or mass appeal, but rather for those willing to engage with its complexity. In that way, it challenges the norms of how music is consumed today, especially in a streaming culture driven by immediacy and accessibility.
In terms of genre, Fossora straddles several: avant-garde classical, experimental electronic, industrial, and art-pop. But rather than blending these styles in a trendy, genre-hopping way, it fuses them with a specific artistic purpose. The result feels organic rather than forced. Its use of bass clarinet ensembles, choral textures, and gabber beats is not just unusual — it’s unprecedented in the context of a major pop-adjacent artist. Few albums dare to pair woodwind orchestration with distorted club rhythms, let alone make them feel symbiotic.
Innovation
What’s most innovative about Fossora is its thematic and sonic unity. The metaphor of the mushroom — both as a symbol of decay and regeneration — is carried through every layer of the album: from lyrics to instrumentation to rhythm. This isn’t innovation for the sake of novelty; it’s a thoughtful artistic choice that shapes the entire listening experience. Björk’s decision to root this album in the physical, emotional, and ecological landscapes of Iceland adds further depth. It’s not just a sound world — it’s a lived one.
In the broader music industry, Fossora reaffirms Björk’s role as a boundary-pusher. She continues to create albums that resist commodification. At a time when many artists are pressured to follow algorithms or trends, she offers a reminder that music can still be a deeply personal and experimental art form. This commitment to artistic integrity sets her apart and keeps her work relevant, not because it chases what’s current, but because it redefines what current can mean.
Closing Thoughts
Fossora is an album of contradictions — wild yet controlled, intimate yet expansive, grounded in grief but teeming with life. It finds Björk deepening her artistic voice by turning inward, both emotionally and sonically. Rather than chasing reinvention for its own sake, she builds something that feels rooted in her past but branches into unexpected forms. The result is one of her most personal and ambitious projects in years.
The album’s strengths are many. Its production is rich with texture and intention, offering a listening experience that reveals new details with each revisit. The instrumentation, particularly the use of bass clarinets and gabber-inspired percussion, pushes genre expectations while still feeling purposeful. Lyrically, it reaches emotional depths without losing the mystery and poetry that have long defined Björk’s writing. The sequencing, too, is deliberate and effective, guiding the listener through a varied yet cohesive soundscape.
That said, Fossora is not without its challenges. Some listeners may find the abrupt shifts in mood or structure disorienting. Others might struggle with the density of the arrangements or the lack of immediately accessible melodies. But these are not flaws so much as artistic choices that demand a level of patience and openness. For those willing to step into Björk’s carefully constructed world, the reward is significant.
As a body of work, Fossora reaffirms Björk’s status not just as a pioneer, but as an artist deeply committed to personal expression. It will likely stand as a turning point in her discography — a moment where grief, motherhood, home, and experimentation converge into something uniquely moving.
Official Rating: 9/10
This score reflects an album that is bold in vision and rich in execution. While it may not be universally accessible, Fossora succeeds in offering a deeply layered, emotionally resonant experience. Its innovations feel earned, and its vulnerability feels real. It is not perfect, but it is profound — and that’s often the more lasting achievement.