Six years is a lifetime in the music industry. Yet somehow, Justin Vernon’s return with Bon Iver feels right on time. SABLE, fABLE landed in early 2025 like a letter from an old friend — one who’s been through the darkness and emerged, somewhat surprisingly, into the light.
This isn’t just another indie folk record. It’s a double-sided confession that plays out like a therapy session set to music.
The album’s first act — SABLE — plunges straight into familiar Vernon territory. Three tracks of brooding introspection that could’ve been recorded in that famous Wisconsin cabin (though they weren’t). “I would like the feeling gone, ’cause I don’t like the way it’s looking,” he murmurs in that distinctive baritone, and longtime fans might settle in for another beautiful bummer of a record.
But then something unexpected happens.
The album’s second act — fABLE — explodes into technicolor. It’s as if Vernon kicked down the cabin door and walked straight into sunshine. Nine tracks of… dare we say it… joy? From a guy whose brand was practically built on beautiful misery?
Take “Everything Is Peaceful Love” — a country-soul hybrid that sounds like it could’ve been pulled from some alternate-universe version of 1985 where Vernon fronted Tears for Fears. “Damn, if I’m not climbing up a tree right now,” he sings, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice.
The production values are predictably stellar. Vernon’s evolution from solitary songwriter to master collaborator is on full display here. R&B innovator Dijon adds subtle texture to several tracks. Guitar wizard Jenn Wasner weaves golden threads throughout the album’s tapestry. Even Jacob Collier shows up to sprinkle some of his harmonic fairy dust across the proceedings.
But perhaps the most poetic contribution comes from Danielle Haim, who — in a twist of fate that seems almost too perfect — ended up recording her parts during an unexpected snowstorm that trapped her at Vernon’s Wisconsin studio. Some things just come full circle.
What’s truly revolutionary about SABLE, fABLE isn’t its sound (though that’s remarkable enough). It’s Vernon’s newfound emotional directness. Gone are the layers of vocoder, the cryptic wordplay, the sonic obscurity that marked earlier releases. In their place? Raw honesty that hits harder than any amount of studio wizardry ever could.
The album’s structure tells its own story. From the depths of that trademark baritone to soaring falsetto celebrations, it charts a course from despair to… something else. Something brighter. “I’m a sable/And honey, us the fable,” Vernon declares on “Awards Season,” bridging the gap between the record’s dual personalities.
In an age where authenticity often feels like just another marketing strategy, SABLE, fABLE stands as something rare: a genuine transformation captured in real-time. It’s the sound of an artist finally ready to step out of his own shadow — and maybe even dance a little in the sunlight.
Who knew that Justin Vernon’s most radical act would be allowing himself to be happy?
Leave a Reply