![]() Sufjan’s career has defied expectations at every turn. While my own faith never evolved beyond agnosticism, I always thought true Christian witness looked something more like Sufjan and his music than any other popular representation in American culture. His music didn’t exist for the sole purpose of glorifying God but did so better than any ostensibly Christian art by singing about the breadth of human experience. His songs weren’t ever preachy or didactic in the way whatever the contemporary Christian music (CCM) machine churns out but they captured life in its glorious knottiness. Because I was raised as a casual Catholic, I never shared the zealous Protestant religious fervor that’s ultra-common in West Michigan but the way Sufjan’s own Christian faith informed his music was so compelling to me. ![]() The people I grew up with in my home state were disproportionately evangelical Christians from conservative families. Like Sufjan, I was born and raised in Michigan but unlike him, I’ve spent almost half of it living in Chicago, the city that shares the name of his most famous song. You remember who you were when you first heard these songs, how you were hurt and lonely, and how this music uncovered part of you that you didn’t know existed: a capacity to dream and to feel something bigger than you’re capable of expressing. ![]() Beyond the empathy he inspires, deeply listening to an artist whose music has been a constant presence in your life always brings up uncomfortable memories. There’s a reason why when Javelin came out, my friends joked on Twitter about taking a sick day so they could process a new release from him-especially since he’s currently battling Guillain-Barré syndrome in the hospital and dedicated the LP to his late partner Evans Richardson IV, who died in April. For one, Sufjan’s music can be unbearably sad and cathartic. Going through his body of work was such a rewarding and emotionally intense experience. For the past month, I decided to start from the beginning and revisit almost everything he’s ever done for this edition of Discography Deep Dive (Triple D) in the newsletter. His latest album Javelin, a career-best, reinvigorated the spark I felt almost two decades ago. When I listen to him, I realize music can be a miracle, that it contains limitless possibilities, and is the closest tangible thing we have to whatever you want to call the divine. ![]() At 31, I feel the same way I do about his songwriting as I did at 13. Not many artists have been able to find me during such a formative period and keep my rapt attention while being so beguiling, wildly creative, and unpredictably consistent. His songs have been one of the few constants in my life since the light switched on and I became obsessed with music. He feels everything unselfconsciously: grief, sorrow, euphoria, faith, and loves platonic, romantic, or spiritual. states into whimsical epics with 2003’s Michigan and 2005’s Illinois, or turning gleeful electronic experiments inward on 2010’s The Age of Adz and 2020’s The Ascension, this sense of wonder makes his adventurous catalog alive. Whether he’s paring down his songs to their sparsest arrangements to process his mother’s death for 2015’s Carrie and Lowell, wrestling with God via Seven Swans banjo plucks in 2004, channeling the personal and civic histories of U.S. There’s a childlike curiosity and a disarming openness to Sufjan Stevens’ songs. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |