I know the whole “50 States
Project” was a “joke,” but Sufjan Stevens had me fooled. If you asked me ten
years ago what his 2015 release would be like, I’d have guessed he’d be
releasing “Maine Squeeze” or “Utah-t Me How to Love” or “Get Down on the Dance
Flor-ida,” not reverting to the blindingly gorgeous and hushed banjo-heavy folk
of his 2004 album Seven Swans. It’s
more surprising still considering his last full-length—2010’s The Age of Adz—was an experimental,
electronic drenched epic that sounded like Stevens totally tearing down
everything he’d built himself up to be. And I suppose that’s what happened. Carrie & Lowell is a return to the
sound that made his name, but it’s also his most powerful piece of work.
Inspired by the death of his mother, the songs are at times painfully raw and
intensely personal. Ok, it’s all intensely personal. There’s no room to
breathe, and that’s part of Carrie &
Lowell’s power. The songwriting is of a strength that dispels the notion
Stevens’ peaked on Illinois’ finest
moments and illustrates that his best work may be yet to come. As great and
heartwrenching as the songwriting is, the music here is truly outstanding. Sure
it’s quiet and beautiful like Seven Swans,
but it’s run through a filter of ten years of dabbling in minimalism,
electronics, and hip-hop. It truly feels like the sum of years of hard work. It
takes a delicate touch to pull off an album this intense, and for all of
Stevens’ scope and grandeur on previous projects, this one feels like a
legitimate masterpiece.
Listen to Carrie & Lowell in its entirety at NPR. Ideally in a quiet place, alone, after nightfall for maximum effect.
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