The Age of Odd: A Sufjan Stevens Production

I went to see Sufjan Stevens last week, and promptly started composing a review the next day, but as usual, it's taken a week to shape it into a post. Here 'tis:

Last night, I saw Sufjan Stevens, and it nearly gave me a seizure.
I do not mean a seizure of folky sweetness. I mean that the production value- flashing lights, day-glo tape striped clothing, and trippy outerspace-themed multimedia nearly brought on an epileptic fit. (Apologies to people with epilepsy. I had an epileptic dog once.) This is not your grandpa's Sufjan Stevens. In fact, Grandpa would have most certainly had a stroke at last night's concert.

Critics have mostly lauded Stevens' electronic-laden "Age of Adz," though as a long-suffering fan, I was a bit disappointed. But nothing could have prepared me for the stage show at the Beacon Theater. I hadn't had the occasion or spare cash to see Sufjan with his full band in the past. I saw him play a Hurricane Katrina benefit solo in 2005, the year "Illinois" was released. I remember thinking it was a little too poppy, but there were still enough folk gems to placate me. Alternating between guitar and banjo, Sufjan held the Bowery Ballroom captive with his haunting voice. No one dared to speak for the entire set, and the cadence of his voice carried me away to the sublime regions of the mind.

The next time I saw Sufjan, he was playing a few songs at a PEN benefit, and talking about writing. It was perhaps two or three years ago. He played the piano, and graced us with a song that was later released on the "All Delighted People" EP, "The Owl and the Tanager." The whole night was beyond low-key. So I was not expecting a huge spectacle last night. Before the show, my husband joked that Sufjan was going to descend from a pod and there would be flames shooting out. "That's not Sufjan's style at all!" I said. Then later a pod did descend from the ceiling, and there were flames projected on a scrim in front of the band.

They started out playing a noisy version of "Seven Swans." I was on board. Then they launched into "Too Much" from "Adz." The backup girls thrashed and gyrated while speeded up videos of people dancing, posing and removing their jackets were projected on a gigantic screen behind them. It was indeed too much for me. As the bass thrummed, audience members looked at each other with the question "WTF?" rising from their heads. I too was extremely baffled. Was is meant to be ironic, or in earnest? Should I be laughing or storming out of the theater in horror? The band were all wearing day-glo stripes of tape on their clothing, along with bits of silver lame. Sufjan had sequined bandannas and glow necklaces hanging from his odd metallic trousers. My first reaction was that it was the most awful, steaming pile of artistic self-indulgence I'd ever witnessed, but fortunately Stevens at least offered an explanation for his strange theatrics. "The Age of Adz" takes its title, album art, and inspiration from Royal Robertson, folk artist and self-proclaimed prophet. It's easy to see why Stevens was attracted to Robertson's story- his claims of visions, UFO encounters, and reclusive descent into madness are pure melodramatic fodder, and Stevens may indeed see something of himself in this figure.

Sufjan, while always displaying a predilection for certain musical elements (the banjo, jingle bells, and twinkling flutes for example), has been quite changeable throughout his musical career, preferring to chase lofty projects and wrap each album in a concept. This is Stevens' grand Ziggy Stardust space musical, his Bob Dylan-Newport Folk Festival moment, and maybe someday we'll celebrate it. Personally, I tend to think Sufjan is at his best when he's not trying to convey some grand ideal. Some of my favorite songs are on "The Avalanche," an album of unused material from the "Illinois" sessions, and I still listen to "A Sun Came" from time to time. I also adored "All Delighted People" from the moment I got my NPR first listen. The title track and the psychedelic jam "Djohariah" are a perfect example of what the artist can do with a big recording budget, though there are still those comforting folky melodies to offset the big productions. I expected "Adz" to build on the EP, but the two are totally unrelated. Sufjan played two of the softer tracks from it as acoustic buffer between the electric hullabaloo, but he played perhaps nine of the eleven tracks on "Adz." I sat through it, including the interminable closing number "Impossible Soul," in which Sufjan joined his dancers for a lengthy routine, and beach balls, balloons, and confetti hailed down on the audience.

I took a desperately needed bathroom break, and when I returned, Sufjan and his band returned to the stage in street clothes. He played a rousing "Chicago," then pared down the band and played "Concerning the UFO Sightings...," "To Be Alone With You," "Casimir Pulaski Day," and finally closed with "John Wayne Gacy," unquestionably the most beautiful song ever written about a serial killer. As Sufjan played and sang alone onstage, I wept silently in gratitude. It was what I'd really wanted the whole time. Few performers are as gifted solo as they are with a band, but Stevens knows how to inhabit a big venue and make it feel intimate. Stripped down and spare, his quavering voice conveys a stunning range of emotion. I was left with the ultimate impression that the glittery "Adz" show that preceded the encore only served to demonstrate how unnecessary it all was. I love when Sufjan builds up a huge sound, from "A Winner Needs a Wand," to the noisy "Vesuvius" on "Adz," but I really think he's at his best when he lets his voice become the primary instrument. I suffer the musical doodlings because I love his sense of melody and the ingenuity of his lyrics. One can only hope that the artist will reverse directions in his next effort. Perhaps an a capella album might be an appropriate turn?