In his long folk-based journey, Sufjan Stevens has accustomed us to shifting his accent here and there and changing his sonic palette in successive artistic peaks: there is the enchanting saga of Illinois (2005), the psychotropic age of Adz (2010). ) and the minimalist and long-suffering Carrie & Lowell (2015). Whether in leafier, electronic or naked mode, Sufjan Stevens manages to remain Sufjan Stevens, and the new show is held in this kind of cathedral built with toothpicks called a Javelin’.
After the (almost) impregnable five-volume Convocations (2021), in which electronic digressions disappear into space, we want to rediscover Stevens, the creator of more manageable songs. Javelin’ presents 10 of them, with the air of a summary of his art as a solid architect, giving priority to texts in which thoughts float about the transience of life and love as the only force that gives it meaning. Here we can place Will Any Ever Love Me?, which spreads fragility and despair in a journey from less to more, starts among the dreamy arpeggios of the guitalin (an American folk instrument related to the oud) and grows with the sounds of the choir. And he appeals to the purity of the soul: “Will anyone ever love me / For good reasons / Without reproach, not for sport.”
forces of nature
Almost everything released on Javelin was created solely by Stevens, with the main exception being the vocal harmonies that permeate the songbook with a heavenly aura. Here they are, in the majestic opening track Farewell Evergreen, which, although giving off the air of a cosmic declaration of defeat (“Goodbye, evergreen / You know I love you / but all that heaven sends us / must burn in the end”), ends soaring with grandeur. The crescendo pattern is repeated in songs like A Running Start or My Red Little Fox; Here the almost whispered singing combines with guitar or piano to continue the dynamics, building to a steamy triumph with the choral suite. Always gentle, like a tidal wave pushed by the forces of nature: here you are delicate, so you are tired.
Sufjan Stevens manages to revolve around a universal and trite subject like love, with a musical language that can be described as unique and unique, without feeling like we have been told all this a thousand times. Saving the top for last, Shit talk is a soothing track (and long: eight minutes), spurred by the wavy guitar of The National’s Bryce Dessner. I end with a quote from a ’72 work by Neil Young: There is a world that seems to want to tell us that what matters is that you are aware that you only live once.