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A premature leak mere days after an initial announcement is an inauspicious beginning for any album’s release. Inauspicious, that is, if the final product—ultimately released two months earlier than anticipated—leaves room for anyone to think those months might have been put to some productive purpose. Björk’s “Vulnicura,” though hastily released, is impressively complete. The album relies almost entirely on three sources of sound: Björk’s pure vocals, orchestral strings, and an assortment of electronic noises used frequently for percussion. It is thus arguably Björk’s most coherent album to date; remarkably, this costs it nothing creatively. On each track Björk weaves together her arsenal of tools in an entirely distinct fashion so that no song simply falls into the background of the album. “Vulnicura” finds a place in Björk’s impressive body of work in much the same way—it is emblematic of her individual style, and yet it goes even farther than her earlier work in its unified sound.

What most markedly establishes this cohesion is not quite a similarity in the sounds of the tracks—rather, each has its own character—but the continuity Björk as well as co-producers Arca and The Haxan Cloak demonstrate in their assemblage. Each song gives the strings, often minimalist groupings of violin and cello, a primary role in its instrumentation. Simultaneously, Björk ensures that this construction does not become repetitive by utilizing the strings in a distinct way in every track. The album opens with lilting, expressive cello notes that continue through the rest of “Stonemilker.” On the next track, “Lionsong,” Björk and a violin share the melody during the chorus, a choice that succeeds only because the power and clarity of her voice rival those of the instrument. In “Black Lake,” the strings complement Björk in an entirely different fashion and play long, caressing notes that leave her voice almost a cappella. She even uses the strings to create entirely different types of sound: “Atom Dance” is distinguished as a dance by the pizzicato with which it opens, while the dissonant sounds that characterize its later half seem to have been played on the wrong side of the instruments’ bridges.

Björk and her fellow producers not only use the instruments diversely but also match them to her lyrical content. She goes much farther than simply using pizzicato to craft one song into dance. The music in “Black Lake,” for example, frequently seems to be bringing the 10-minute song to an end until Björk comes in for further verses, [a choice that powerfully depicts her struggle to let go of her former relationship with artist Matthew Barney, which the song describes. “History of Touches” takes Björk's coupling of instrumental and lyrical emotion furthest: its instrumentation is primarily comprised of rippling synthesizer notes that seem to represent the “touches” Björk mentions. When she speaks not of each “touch” but each “fuck,” the notes follow her meaning, growing darker and more intense. The ability that Björk demonstrates throughout her album to portray imagery through music is perhaps more authentic than that of any other contemporary musician.

With her lyrics, too, Björk conveys her meanings in an effective, potent fashion to which few other artists have access. She utilizes words in unconventional, surprising combinations; in “Black Lake,” for example, she complains to her lover that she is “bored of your apocalyptic obsessions.” She depicts love just as beautifully as heartbreak: in “Atom Dance,” she sings “we are each other’s hemispheres,” a metaphor that insightfully conveys the sense of wholeness one feels in a relationship. Her most artistic use of language, however, comes in the oddly named “Stonemilker,” whose title is explained when Björk sings, “What is it that I have / That makes me feel your pain? / Like milking a stone / To get you to say it.” The image is so simultaneously bizarre and impactful that it would be worthy of the most accomplished novelist.

With her command of language, Björk may have been an arresting writer; all the luckier for her fans, then, that she chose to express her talents in the realm of music. Her decades-long career has already seen far more than its fair share of success, and so in this sense, “Vulnicura” is just another element in an already predictable pattern of achievement. Yet Björk’s eighth album manages to be prominent among an impressive discography in the profound subtlety and insight she express in each track. If Björk had not already established a firm place for herself in the history of music, “Vulnicura” alone would have solidified her standing.