Decatur, or Blog of Applause for Sufjan Stevens

“Goldenrod and the 4H stone,
The things I brought you,
When I found out you had cancer of the bone

Your father cried on the telephone,
And he drove his car into the navy yard,
Just to prove that he was sorry

In the morning, through the window shade,
When the light pressed up against your shoulder blade,
I could see what you were reading.

All the glory that the Lord has made,
And the complications you could do without,
When I kissed you on the mouth.

Tuesday night at the Bible study,
We lift our hands and pray over your body,
But nothing ever happens.

I remember at Michael's house,
In the living room when you kissed my neck,
And I almost touched your blouse.

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.

All the glory when you ran outside,
With your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied,
And you told me not to follow you.

Sunday night when I cleaned the house,
I find the card where you wrote it out,
With the pictures of you mother.

On the floor at the great divide,
With my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied,
I am crying in the bathroom.

In the morning when you finally go,
And the nurse runs in with her head hung low,
And the cardinal hits the window.

In the morning in the winter shade,
On the 1st of March on the holiday,
I thought I saw you breathing.

All the glory that the Lord has made,
And the complications when I see His face,
In the morning in the window.

All the glory when he took our place,
But he took my shoulders and he shook my face,
And he takes and he takes and he takes."

~~ Sufjan Stevens, ‘Casimir Pulaski Day’

So I don’t typically do this, because I’m always suspicious of

a) promotions and

b) people who become dangerously obsessed with any one particular topic (take the Promise Keepers, for example).

That said, I think everyone should stop wasting time reading this and go buy Sufjan Stevens’ new album, turn out all the lights in his or her room, and listen to it as they drift off to sleep, as I’ve done for about two weeks now.

That’s right, I’m paying high regards to a folk album.

But what an album. Stevens swears he is working on a full-length album for every state in the U.S.

He’s well on his way now, with two whole albums. But the newest, “Come On Feel The Illinoise,” isn’t nearly as pretentious as one might expect.

Stevens understands and advances folk rock in a way few have done since Dylan. And if Stevens has a rival for characters sketches, it may only be Paul McCartney.

The music is glorious – understated, textured, delicate. Soft when it needs to be, bouncy and catchy when you start to get bored.

I should note the album is marginally inaccessible at first, with songs written in odd time signatures with unusual subject matter. But you get over it quick. I recommend you start with “Decatur, or Round of Applause for your Stepmother” before anything else on the album. It’s a beguiling intro to Stevens’ style.

But the real meat of the album is brilliantly more subtle than catchy songs like “Chicago.” When was the last time the not-meant-for-any-radio-play-ever songs were the best parts of a record?

One example is a borderline love ballad in which Stevens compares himself to serial killer / child molester John Wayne Gacy, Jr. The song is horrific, containing as much shock value as any Marilyn Manson song. But the tone is part of the fun, and Stevens makes no apologies for Gacy’s behavior. He simply notes we all have a dark side, and a history, and sometimes judgment is best reserved.

Of course none of these attributes is enough to make me pour accolades on a pop musician. Indeed, there were a lot of terrific albums in 2005 that deserve loud praise. And if you’ve spoken to me about music this past year, you've probably heard loads of it.

That said, this album is so highly original, it’s hard to peg it’s musical value. It certainly won’t be a trendsetter like American Idiot was in 2004. And it doesn’t quite have the quirky charm to inspire the indie rockers like early They Might Be Giants. Still, it is charming, in its way, and complex and mature and slightly subversive, without being too sinister.

But one song in particular stands out: “Casimir Pulaski Day.” To summarize: the narrator’s friend gets bone cancer, and dies at a tragically young age. I get the vague impression she was a high school girlfriend, perhaps first love. And while the death is far in the past, the narrator finds a card from the girl when he’s cleaning, and is reminded of the entire incident. The narrator describes praying for the girl, and praying with the girl, and praying with friends, all to no end. God takes the girl anyway.

Depressing right? Not really my style, right? But take heart! The message gets better.

This song is a reflective piece. We’ve all lost a close friend at a young age (though thankfully not a first love for most of us).

And that’s a true test of faith, particularly for the young. We get frustrated, we get angry. We do weird shit like driving to the navy yard in furious sorrow. And dammit, we sure as hell question faith and God.

But here’s the uplifting side: despite the tragedy, the narrator hasn’t lost any faith at all. He is inspired by her faith in her final days, and in a moment of clarity in his mourning, he “sees” God in the window.

And that’s beautiful. This is not a song of depressing death. There is no indication of anger. This is a song of spiritual comfort. This is someone who’s grappled with utter despair and come to terms with his feelings about God. This is someone who is at peace.

Though the tone of the music is appropriately solemn, it’s not a sinister-organ-music-death dirge. For example, there’s a heavenly trumpet solo that leaves the impression of acceptance, of carrying forward, of salvation.

I don’t know whether the song is a personal story for Stevens, or one lifted from a friend, but the words and lyrics come from the heart and their origin hardly matters, because the themes are relevant to everyone (except maybe John Wayne Gacy, Jr.)

This is the brilliance of the song: it’s painfully personal, but it’s meant for everyone. And songs like this capture the very central core of human emotions – we all share suffering, memories both happy and sad, and moments of spiritual calmness.

This is an example of the rich textures on Stevens’ album. I promise not all of the songs are this depressing. But sometimes, art should reflect the complexities of life. It gives us perspective, and it’s a terrific relief from the irritating blandness of radio pop.

Happy listening,

Sketch E.