Sufjan Stevens – The union of our states
“It’s a little immature, and lazy, as a writer, to be implying these terms as modifiers, assessing and labeling,” Stevens charges. “I don’t think it’s fair to me, personally, or to the religion in general.” Clearly, Sufjan shares more in common philosophically with, say, the Dali Lama than evangelical tyrants such as Pat Robertson. “How could anyone hear the music I write, the art that I’m making,” he asks, “and not recognize that?
“When religions in general, and Christianity in particular, become confused with a power structure, that’s a big problem,” he concludes, apropos of our current administration’s co-opting of the church, and its tendency to spout rhetoric about “one nation under God” to justify all manner of overtures. “The principles of Christianity do not exist in power. The whole point of it is a complete giving up, of yielding, and being of service.”
Although Stevens had some familiarity with the state of Illinois prior to starting work on his latest album — he made periodic road trips to Chicago in college — the resources he had to draw upon were markedly less than those at his call for Michigan. So he did lots of homework.
He began by accumulating as many antique books and promotional materials as he could find from small town historical societies and community organizations. He read the works of Saul Bellow, and, particularly, Carl Sandburg (who won the Pulitzer Prize in 1940 for a biography of Abraham Lincoln, then another, eleven years later, for an anthology of his poetry). He reached out to friends and acquaintances with ties to Illinois and asked them to submit short personal essays, “sharing as much anecdotal information about the small town experience as they could find.”
Consequently, though Illinois hardly offers a comprehensive history of the state, it celebrates a wide bill of fare, from the Great Godfrey Maze (two-and-a-half miles of paths cut through a seven-acre corn field, open annually from Labor Day till Halloween), to Revolutionary War hero Casimir Pulaski, to the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893, which attracted over 700,000 visitors to the Windy City.
There are obvious omissions: the stockyards, the Chicago Bears. “I actually wrote three or four songs about Abraham Lincoln, then didn’t record any of them,” he reveals. “So much of this project was about putting blinders on, and focusing on what really inspired me immediately.”
Hence, the song sure to garner the most attention out of the album’s 22 tracks is “John Wayne Gacy Jr.” Time and again, Stevens’ research brought him back to the state’s emphasis on heroism. He felt the need to temper that, with an Al Capone…or a serial killer. The hushed tune initially seems shockingly sympathetic: “The neighbors, they adored him/For his humor and his conversation,” Stevens sings. When he discloses that Gacy also murdered 27 people, his voice ascends slowly, in an incredibly tender pianissimo, forming three words: “Oh my God.”
“I was just drawn to him because he was very popular in his community, for quite a long time,” Stevens says. “He was very involved in the Democratic party, and was well-loved. I liked the juxtaposition of that, with the horrifying thing that was hidden.” The more he researched his monstrous inspiration, the greater his curiosity grew. “I couldn’t really figure out why that was,” he admits. “It made me uncomfortable.”
Stevens was born in 1975, the Chinese Year of the Rabbit. Individuals under this zodiac sign are purportedly the kind of people others like to be around: affectionate, pleasant, and obliging, but with a tendency to be overly sentimental, even superficial. Does this description fit? “Yes, that is a great assessment,” the singer admits, cheerfully. “Although I’m a little passive-aggressive and critical, too, and slightly subversive.”
Rabbits are also cautious and conservative, making them successful in business, particularly in realms such as theater, law and diplomacy. Still on target? Yes and no. “I can’t act to save my life,” he says. “And I’ve never considered being a lawyer; I’d rather be a street cleaner. But a lot of what I do is very diplomatic. In any type of relationship, there is a degree of diplomacy involved.”
In fact, the course Stevens has chosen requires more diplomacy than is asked of many other musicians. He has no outside management, and, aside from some joint releases with Daniel Smith’s Sounds Familyre imprint, he has released all his albums on the tiny Wyoming label Asthmatic Kitty. Although plenty of outside suitors — labels, managers and other ne’er-do-wells — came courting in the wake of Michigan, Stevens still prefers to call as many of his own shots as possible.
One of his few established business affiliates, booking agent Ali Giampino, discloses hopes that he’ll soon start releasing shorter EPs as part of the 50 States project. Otherwise, at his current rate of productivity, the last one won’t be issued until 2053, making him an astonishing 122 years old.
Yet surprisingly, given his self-professed tendency to be a “control freak,” Stevens would rather see the project completed by other musicians than die with him, should he fail to finish it. “I could easily pass it on to someone else, or commission other people,” he points out.
Regardless of who wraps up this undertaking, Sufjan Stevens will be remembered as an original. At a time when patriotism is wielded as a weapon against U.S. citizens and foreign allies alike, Stevens has found a way to make being a resident of this country a point of pride and joy once more. Like Aaron Copland, George Gershwin, Scott Joplin and Van Dyke Parks before him, he takes threads of different, uniquely American musical and cultural idioms, and fashions them into something new. In short, Sufjan Stevens is a national treasure.