In the winter of 2006, Justin Vernon retreated to his father's hunting cabin outside Eau Claire, Wisconsin, nursing a breakup and a case of mono. The album that emerged, For Emma, Forever Ago, carried a falsetto years in the making: his mother played organ at their Lutheran church, and his father taught him his first guitar chords around the years he was also absorbing his parents' country and folk records, and, separately, black gospel singers whose strained upper register he wanted his own voice to reach. What resulted wasn't plainspoken folk — it reached for the hymnal and the wound in the same breath, recorded alone and mixed on a laptop in near-total isolation. Bon Iver's arc since has been a study in how far that cabin-born falsetto could travel, through folk and gospel sampling into glitching electronics, without losing the ache underneath it.
Bruce Hornsby heard about Bon Iver the way most people did — through the algorithm. "Around 2013 I started getting all these Google alerts about this group Bon Iver, because Justin Vernon was shouting me out in the press," he recalled. "When I heard them I was like, wow, this is really serious, really forward-thinking music." Vernon had been listening back for years: his 2011 song "Beth/Rest" reworks the groove from Hornsby's 1990 deep cut "Barren Ground" into a full tribute arrangement. Hornsby's verdict on hearing what Vernon did with it: "I loved what he did with it."
listen for"Barren Ground" opens on a reverbed electric piano chord that hangs and blooms, the glassy synth-pad sheen of eighties adult-contemporary radio under Hornsby's plainspoken verses. "Beth/Rest" lifts that exact chord voicing and rhythm, then multiplies it: the same soft-rock piano tone reappears almost note for note, but Vernon buries his voice in a vocoder and stacks it into a wordless choir. "I love the way his records sound without thinking about whether they're very '80s or not," Vernon said of Hornsby — and the debt is audible in the first four bars, before a word is sung.
Vernon has called John Prine his favorite songwriter outright — asked once to name one, he answered simply, "Prine. Indigo Girls. Dylan." The connection runs deeper than any list: hearing Prine's "Hello in There" on a Discman in his parents' minivan is the moment Vernon points to when asked when he knew music was the plan. "By the time Dad taught me G, C, and D and I'd listened to John Prine, I did actually know what I was going to do," he has said. He returned the favor in 2010, opening a Prine tribute compilation with a hushed cover of "Bruised Orange (Chain of Sorrow)."
listen forPrine's original rides a lazy bar-band shuffle, his voice a conversational near-monotone that lets the images do the work — a songwriter talking, not singing, through his own bruises. Vernon's cover keeps every line but strips the shuffle for hush: an acoustic guitar and a wash of multi-tracked falsetto stacked into a one-man choir, his voice climbing where Prine's stayed level. The words carry over unchanged; what changes is register — plainspoken becomes sung-through, Vernon's signature move applied for once to someone else's song.
Vernon has traced his falsetto to a specific reaction, not a whim: "The falsetto stuff, it must be a reaction to the black gospel singers that I really enjoy listening to... I suppose that falsetto thing is a reaction to those singers like the Staple Singers, Mahalia Jackson, and Sam Cooke," he told PopMatters in 2008, years before Bon Iver released anything resembling gospel. The debt turned literal in 2016: 22, A Million opens "22 (OVER S∞∞N)" with an unaltered sample of Jackson singing "How I Got Over" live, her voice arriving whole before Vernon's own vocals ever enter.
listen forJackson's "How I Got Over" is pure testimony — one voice, no processing, riding on nothing but its own force and a hall's natural reverb. Vernon drops that recording straight into the opening seconds of "22 (OVER S∞∞N)," untouched, then answers it with his own voice pitched and stuttered through digital processing, falsetto splintered into fragments and octaves. "If there's anybody who's ever sung for all of humanity, it's her," Vernon said of the sample — the track is built to prove he meant it, gospel authority framing his own glitched reply.