2015 was a great year in terms of music. Modest Mouse released their latest album since 2009. Tame Impala put out an album revolving around a complicated love life. There were throwbacks to the seventies with Steely Dan, Billy Joel, and Robert Plant making appearances at several otherwise-denoted-indie music festivals. And the next-best thing to Real Estate was the release of two albums from side projects of the band members.
One music act stands out above all of these, however. If it weren’t for the free KEXP download of “Should Have Known Better” that ended up on my iPod, I wouldn’t have become a fan and fallen in love with this album. But it happened, and I am ever so grateful. I regret being late to the Sufjan train and not recognizing his work sooner. Sufjan Stevens, the god-like and God-fearing mastermind of modern indie-folk. What is it about his music that has captivated my attention?
"Carrie & Lowell," released March of this year, deals with the tragedy of losing someone, as Carrie, his mother, passed away from cancer in late 2012. Yet this album also grapples with Stevens’s relationship with his mother, who left her children to their stepfather (Lowell) due to her depression, schizophrenia, and substance abuse. Despite all this, she still wanted to prove that she loved her children. In a way, removing her unstable self from her children showed how much she wanted to protect them. In the months following her death, Sufjan struggled with the attachment he felt to her, and at the same time, the emptiness of growing up without her around. (You can read more about Stevens and his childhood in this fantastic Pitchfork interview here.)
From the sound of the first track, you wouldn’t know this was an album about a tragedy. “Death with Dignity” features bright guitar and soft vocals, ironically opening up the album with Sufjan singing, “I don’t know where to begin.” This song is deceitfully pretty, as the subject of Sufjan’s mother is first introduced. The next track, “Should Have Known Better,” reflects upon Sufjan’s failure to properly grieve and deal with his mother’s death while featuring some familiar “Chicago”-esque electronic sounds.
Throughout the rest of the album, songs like “All of Me Wants All of You” and “Drawn to the Blood” emphasize the emotional burdens Sufjan struggled with. “Fourth of July” is a conversation between Sufjan and Carrie on her deathbed, a reminder that “we’re all gonna die” Even the happier-sounding songs like “Eugene” and “Carrie & Lowell” reflect the longing he felt for his mother when he was younger (“I just wanted to be near you”).
Yet there is some hope found in all of this. In “The Only Thing,” Sufjan remembers everything that kept him from following the same self-destructing depression of his mother. Somehow, his music makes you feel emotions you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. Perhaps this song perfectly captures what makes this album so phenomenal, as it emphasizes the way in which Sufjan was able to endure the pain and grief and, in the end, create this album. He took the darkest moments of his life and turned them into something beautiful.
This is not Sufjan inviting you to “come on and feel the Illinoise,” this is him telling you to that it’s OK to cry and be angry, to punch the wall and grieve like a person should. But in the end, Sufjan produced a heart-wrenchingly exquisite album. This is an album for those dealing with loss, with separation, with the feeling of being overwhelmed by life. This album is for those whose coping mechanism is all-too-relatable lyrics that, too, share their grief.
As the album draws to a close, you wonder if he has finally reconciled with himself. “Blue Bucket of Gold” still has him wondering if Carrie really loved him, as any estranged son would. “Tell me you want me in your life,” begs Sufjan, as the song slowly transitions into exit music blissful as the feeling you get right as you fall asleep. As he describes, “I didn’t know (my mom) well in a lot of ways and I didn’t know how to say goodbye on the last track with articulation. So I quit playing piano and vocals and just stopped. I wanted to surrender her to the beyond with noises that sound bigger than just me.”
There is cathartic relief in those inexplicable sounds. In the five stages of grief, “acceptance” is the last stage, where a person “recognizes the new reality” that they now live in. Despite his mother’s behavior, Sufjan still felt a connection with her. This last song part doesn’t even need words to help him address the ghosts of his childhood and the regrets of being distanced from his mother growing up. Just wordless noise that surrounds the listener, letting them know that acceptance is possible.
Brian Wilson once said, “When you listen to "Pet Sounds," use earphones in the dark.” I think this can be applied to "Carrie & Lowell," too. This is the best advice I can ever give you, because you can’t really describe music with words—you have to experience it yourself. This album redefines how much emotion can be carried in one song, and in creating an album so beautiful, Sufjan taps the emotions we are otherwise too afraid to feel. Whether or not you can relate to Stevens, you can surrender to his music just as he surrendered to his mother. And maybe, just like him, you can find some sort of comfort and peace through his music.
