“I don’t know where to begin.” It’s the tender and honest lyric at the top of singer-songwriter Sufjan Stevens’ “Death With Dignity,” the song that opened last week’s show on Nov. 5 at the Cobb Energy Performing Centre. Home video footage of kids frolicking in the grass in the 1970s is projected onto split diamond-shaped screens behind him. “And I don’t know where to begin,” Stevens repeats.
The lyric encapsulates the nostalgia and heartbreak of his newest work, Carrie & Lowell, an album devoted to Stevens’ fervent attempts to reconcile himself with his complicated childhood in the wake of his estranged mother’s death.
Since the release of his first solo album in 2000, Sufjan Stevens’ music has traversed a myriad of topics — Christianity, Greek mythology, serial killers and homages to Illinois and Michigan — just to name a few. But with Carrie & Lowell, Stevens takes a break from his mythological imagination and deals with the intimate, inescapable realities of mortality and grief that are right in front of him. Last week, he spent the first segment of the show performing the entire track-listing of the eulogistic album, adding in two songs from his more electronica-heavy 2010 album, Age of Adz.
Stevens’ performance was pure art. Throughout the show, he demonstrated his extensive oeuvre by compiling layers of rich sound, switching between guitar, piano, recorder, banjo, vibraslap and various forms of percussion instruments. Moments of loud sound interpretation were quickly followed by minimalist interludes of just him and his guitar. His angelic voice was complemented with guest vocals from his four-person band, in particular Dawn Landes, who blanketed Stevens’ voice with delicate harmonies.
During the performance of “Fourth of July,” which is perhaps the darkest song on the album, Stevens sat at the piano and recounted the last bedside conversation he had with his mother in 2012. The song is riddled with childhood rhetoric, rhymes and confessions.
“And I’m sorry I left/but it was for the best/though it never felt right,” Stevens sang from his mother’s perspective.
Stevens’ mother abandoned him when he was just one year old, unable to handle parenthood amidst her own alcoholism, homelessness and schizophrenia. A single spotlight shone directly on him until the final chorus of the song, when he began to chant, "We’re all going to die” over and over again. Then, the spotlights started to circle around, projecting onto the audience, ultimately shifting the song from the individual to the universal by reminding the crowd that these topics, although heavy, are inescapable and real to everyone.
Although Stevens may be drawn to complexity and sorrow, there is an immense undercurrent of hope and forgiveness that exists beneath his solemn lyrics.
“Don’t back down, concentrate on seeing,” he sang in his performance of “Should Have Known Better,” filling an initial regret with awareness. The song ended with him pointing upwards, whispering the word “illumination” until the stage went dark. It is through these moments the Stevens is able to strike the balance between regret and absolution, darkness and light.
Stevens ended the first segment of the show by performing “Blue Bucket of Gold,” the last track of the album. He finished the song with a 20 minute spectacle of what seemed like an improvisation of pure noise, disconnecting himself from the audience and getting lost in the music. The sound built and built until its diminuendo, and the stage lighting followed the same trajectory as the music itself — rainbows of light were quickly met with darkness. Though this displayed his extensive talent as a multi-instrumentalist, the audience might have been more receptive to him using the time to playing more songs.
Nonetheless, the audience were on their feet by the end.
Stevens did not address his fans until he walked back onstage for the encore.
“I really tried to create an encore set that is fun and exciting … but no matter how deeply I delve into my repertoire, it’s just misery and morality,” Stevens said, joking about his affinity towards darkness. “I think I get it from my parents … they were obsessed with death in a very unflinching, flippant way."
Towards the end of the show, he spoke in metaphor about the miraculous experience of watching his niece being born at home.
“The midwife in the living room kept saying ‘Bear down! Mother Earth, bear down!’” Stevens said. “And whenever I have these depressive excursions thinking about death and mortality … I think about that. Bear down when it feels unbearable. When it feels like you can’t make it through, you bear down. I remember my sister in law bearing down, and then beautiful new life appeared out of her.”
The audience clapped at the sentimentality, his words offering brief profundity and a glimpse of encouragement amongst the emotional heaviness that came with listening to Carrie & Lowell. He then delved into the “oldies” segment of the show, where he played crowd favorites, the most notable being “Chicago,” the smash hit single from his 2005 album Illinois. The entire crowd sang along.
After a night of contemplative and moody tracks, Stevens ended the show with a goofy cover of Drake’s “Hotline Bling.” Opener and alternative R&B singer Gallant joined him onstage, and, together, they danced foolishly in front of a projected picture of Drake. The cover left the audience on their feet, dancing and laughing hysterically at the absurd dissonance that comes at the intersection of Sufjan Stevens and Drake.
As an artist and a human being, Sufjan Stevens undeniably succeeds at doing the hard and important work of making peace with his past and childhood. He climbs the mountain of acceptance in attempt to reach forgiveness. He uses his music as a purely cathartic form. He recognizes that there is meaning in suffering and despite inevitable darkness and sorrow, Stevens chooses to dance.
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