It's a good time to be a Bjork fan if you're in New York City this spring. There's her career-spanning retrospective opening at MoMA on March 7 -- which will showcase the imaginative Icelandic musician’s imaginative work in pop music, performance art, film, costumes and fashion, and instrument design. And an immersive 3D film from director Andrew Huang. Plus, there's a string of performances at Carnegie Hall, City Center, and at this summer's Governors Ball music fest. But surely Björk wouldn’t allow such a bright spotlight to pass without pushing something new out into the world, right? Of course not.

Last week, via her Facebook page, Björk unveiled plans to release her latest album, Vulnicura, in March. But as things go on the internet these days, the album immediately leaked -- and the record was rushed onto iTunes this week, some two months early. Co-produced with Venezuelan producer Arca, a.k.a. Alejandro Ghersi -- who has collaborated with Kanye West and FKA twigs -- with contributions from Antony Hegarty and The Haxan Cloak, Vulnicura is described by Björk as “a complete heartbreak album" following the chronology of an emotionally devastating period in her life.

So here we are, with a brand new Björk album. Yay! But how is it? Members of the Soundcheck team decided to take it for a spin, and have these knee-jerk reactions.

For those already familiar with Björk's delightfully restless, globe-smashing songs and her ambitious multimedia approach to music creation -- or at least to those who tinkered with the iPad app released in tandem with her 2011 album Biophilia -- Vulnicura will seem strangely restrained in comparison. If you boil down the dark swirling textures that make up the album's sonic template, there's really only three minimal instrumental components: orchestral strings, flittering programmed beats, droning electronic synths, all of which punctuate and intertwine with Björk's idiosyncratic voice. Likewise, where so much of Björk's music conjures bizarre and wondrous worlds that marry nature and technology, here, she explores something far more candidly personal, more human in scope than anything she's made before. These are essentially songs about the dissolution of her relationship with her longtime partner. And as she invites us inside her thoughts, to stew in her uncertainty and pain, she allows us to viscerally feel the love lost. While still an oblique, challenging album at times -- would you expect anything less from someone as endlessly curious as Björk? -- Vulnicura is a contemplative, dramatically moving song cycle built around struggle, and ultimately, recovery. (Michael Katzif)

Will these strings, electronic noises, and a voice infused with supreme sadness make for compelling listening? Sometimes the vocal harmonies are reminiscent of Medulla, Björk's brilliant and bizarre recording involving voices. What appears to be Björk's emotional black hole on the record, is the aptly named “Black Lake,” a ten-minute song with cringe-worthy lines like "Did I love you too much?", and other diaristic sentiments. It makes me hope for more of her singular eloquence and weirdness, which was almost delivered with the line “You betrayed your own heart / corrupted that organ." Honestly, Vulnicura is hard to listen to, but with moments of brilliance shining through: imagery of a rocket re-entering, other celestial imagery – “siblings of the sun” and the exquisite track with Antony Hegarty, “Atom Dance.” Björk can try to sing herself through a record of heart and life-partnership wreckage, and we will pay attention. Thing is, will we listen again? (Caryn Havlik)

Should I be surprised that Björk starts a hotly anticipated record with two sprawling, six-minute sparklers of skittering electronics and beats that never really resolve themselves? In 2015, in which the year 1989 is the cheery, upbeat benchmark for songs about heartbreak and personal rediscovery, should I be surprised that lengthy, minor-key, scat-like vocalizations pack such a punch? But then: Am I surprised …that I’m surprised? As icons of Iceland go, Björk is second only to exploding volcanoes that disturb global migratory patterns and occasionally blot out the sun. And she’s released a record with plenty geothermal energy: dazzling electronic stabs that subduct beneath strings, and burst again to the surface, then start the process again. It’s the oft-promised, seldom delivered “breakup record” that actually sounds like deep, dark currents making their way to the daylight.

Highlight: “Atom Dance” has a title that had me prepping for a Thom Yorke-like dissociative freakout (that actually comes in album closer, “Quicksand”), but it sails coolly on rococo electronic flourishes and sweet strings, with Antony Hegarty’s brassy trumpet of a voice catching you totally unawares after 40 minutes of Björk's gorgeous — if occasionally exhausting — vocal branch-swinging. (Dan O'Donnell)

This may be Björk's most hushed, pensive effort yet. Past "slow" albums, like Medulla, were often filled with details that hinted at a hidden layer pulsing beneath the surface. There's some of that here -- "Black Lake" and "Notget" for example -- but much of the album centers on the beautiful string orchestra arrangements, which, even when aided and abetted by keyboards and programmed beats, seem a self-contained sonic world. This supports some of Björk's most plaintive and emotional singing, especially in the leading track, "Stonemilker." Offering a knee-jerk reaction to a Björk album is a tricky thing. Very often they only reveal themselves after repeated listening. But if pressed for a standout track, for now I'll say "Stonemilker" -- reserving the right to switch to "Family" and its tremulous strings or "Quicksand" with its odd, syncopated beats when I get to listen further. Which I will certainly do. (John Schaefer)