Who Is Sufjan Stevens?

Six months ago, I had never heard—or heard of—indie folk singer Sufjan Stevens. My introduction to his music came courtesy of a TV soundtrack I reviewed, Music From The O.C.: Mix 4, which included his song "To Be Alone With You."

Maybe I'm more behind the times than I thought, because even though I was unfamiliar with Stevens, The O.C.'s arbiters of cool had already identified him as someone who connected with their show's hip young demographic. And if subsequent critical acclaim from music industry heavyweights such as Rolling Stone and Billboard is any indication, they chose wisely. Stevens' fifth release, the expansive, playful concept album Illinois, has been widely praised as one of the best albums of the year.

Sufjan (pronounced Soof-yan) Stevens, as it turns out, is a thoughtful, eclectic (sometimes eccentric) musician whose previous four albums are informed by Christian convictions. But his sometimes oblique faith references make him a square peg in a round hole when it comes to the Christian music industry. In other words, don't look for him on the cover of CCM magazine anytime soon.

Steven is also a bit of an oddity when it comes to style. Illinois' opening track, "Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois," clues us in to expect something out of the ordinary. That song and the 21 that follow exhibit a remarkable array of instruments and textures. Stevens plays guitar, piano, bass and drums, then adds flute, saxophone, oboe, banjo, vibraphone, sleigh bells and glockenspiel. The result is a kaleidoscope of sounds tumbling into each other but never trampling over each other. The singer's fragile, earnest tenor vaguely recalls Art Garfunkel's voice and Conor Oberst's work with Bright Eyes.

Opaque, Intimate and Ambiguous
Illinois is the artist's second state-themed concept album (2003's Michigan was the first). Its songs blend stories about famous Illinois residents (Abe Lincoln, Andrew Jackson, Carl Sandburg) an adopted superhero (Superman), statewide locales (Chicago, Decatur, Peoria) and Stevens' own reflections. By turns, these stories are opaque, intimate and ambiguous.

Never have I searched the Internet so much to understand the context of so many songs. The first track relates to a UFO sighting in 2000, while the third, "Come On! Feel the Illinoise!" covers the 1893 Chicago World's Fair. Then the mood turns dark as Stevens realizes he's not so different from infamous Chicago serial killer John Wayne Gacy Jr. ("And in my best behavior/I am really just like him/Look beneath the floorboards/For the secrets I have hid").

Just when it seems the album is about to be overrun by history, the camera lens zooms in on close relationships in "Chicago" and "Casimir Pulaski Day." The former tells the story of friends on a road trip; the latter unflinchingly glimpses a faithful believer watching a beloved friend die of bone cancer, despite his prayers ("Tuesday night at Bible study/We lift our hands and pray over your body/But nothing ever happens").

More references like that one might please those who want musicians to get honest about their lives and their faith. But "Casimir Pulaski Day" also recalls a physical encounter between the singer and his friend. It starts with the line, "In the living room, when you kissed my neck/And I almost touched your blouse." And progresses in a way that hints at a more illicit sexual experience: "In the morning at the top of the stairs/When your father found out what we did that night/And you told me you were scared." Lyrics such as these, and others that mention drinking wine, for instance, will in turn frustrate those who expect everything Stevens sings about to line up neatly with his expression of faith.

Joy and Wonder
On the whole, Stevens' jazzy, improvisational amalgamation evoked in me a sense of nostalgia, familiarity and longing for an idealized American past. Playful flute solos, for example, stirred memories of listening to Peter and the Wolf as a little boy. And though Illinois has no shortage of melancholy, Sufjan Stevens' lush orchestrations are suffused with a rare sense of wonder and joy. He resists the urge to sulk in self-absorbed cynicism, an indie-artist trademark (consider Beck, for example). Instead, Illinois practically bursts with hope.

It also explores ambiguous shades of gray. Some music lovers may gravitate toward this aspect of his craft, while it will make others bristle. In the same way, some will love Stevens' off-balance uniqueness and the freshness of his musical vision; others will just scratch their heads. In the end, whether with his style or his words, Stevens seems content to let listeners grapple with the tension he's created.