An Embarrassment of Riches
Words by Matt Fink
Photo by Sean McCabe

“There’s not much to say, really,” laughs Sufjan Stevens when beginning a conversation about The Avalanche, the album of outtakes from his acclaimed Illinois album. Given the whirlwind of praise that lifted him from an ambitious indie songsmith to the winner of the inaugural New Pantheon Award, Stevens surely knows that even his leftovers are going to require some exposition now, but there is still a disarming charm about the way he continues to tiptoe around the fact that he’s independent music’s most ambitious solo auteur. Even the packaging, with the words “shamelessly compiled by Sufjan Stevens” affixed on the cover, indicates that he’s still not sure why he deserves such attention.

“I guess I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I wrote so much on one particular subject,” he admits. “It’s embarrassing that the outtakes run longer than the album itself. It’s embarrassing that there are outtakes of the outtakes. I guess I’m just admitting to the fact of the proliferation of ideas, and there’s good and there’s bad to it. Even though I’m obviously influenced by the minimalists, I’m from the school of thought that more is more. I always think that you could work harder, you could add more; more could be done to a song. But I’m also really impatient, and I don’t tend to tarry long on one particular song, which is why I generate so much material. It’s sort of a metaphysical search for the perfect song.”

That search is evident on the 21-song outtakes album as it was in the concentrated sprawl and garishly ornate orchestration of its parent album. As stunning as Illinois was for its ambitious vision and careful execution, The Avalanche is even more so because it’s comprised of material that didn’t make the cut. “I don’t think the record is as good as Illinois as a whole. It doesn’t feel as comprehensive,” Stevens explains. “But I think the individual songs are as interesting or more interesting than anything on the record I think when I recognized that late last year, that’s when I realized that I should release them. I’m excited about some of the smaller songs, like transitional, incidental instrumental pieces - a lot of these little song gestures that I had recorded for the record and then never used. Some of those are more exciting to me than the songs.”

Though we’ll never know exactly what it would have looked like, the quality of material on The Avalanche is such that it’s not hard to imagine what Illinois would have sounded like if Stevens had gone ahead with his flirtation to enter it into the canon of double albums. Slightly more experimental and nonlinear than the tracks on Illinois, the outtakes veer from the woozily swirling “Mr Supercomputer” to the delicate “Adlai Stevenson” and the austerely playful “The Henney Buggy Band.” Most surprising, though, are the three alternate versions of Illinois standout “Chicago,” with the track stripped-down and broadened into barely recognizable forms.

“I really struggled with that song. I think those versions reveal something about my obsessive-compulsive disorder and my desire to really master that song. It was very frustrating every time. It’s such a primitive song, but there’s something really appealing about it, so I kept trying new ideas. I think every version is in a different key and a different format. We’ve performed it live so many different ways. I don’t think we’ve ever gotten it right” he says, flashing his notoriously self-critical side. “There’s a perfect form for that song, and unfortunately I think it’s like any Coldplay hit. They’ve mastered that song already. I think what I was really trying to do was to write a Coidplay song.”

Self-effacing kidding aside, having reached a creative height that most artists would spend the better part of their career trying to replicate, Stevens appears to have no intention to continue exploring the same sonic template he has established as his own. Of course, no one would accuse him of treading water just yet, but Stevens seems acutely aware of his need for re-invention, a prospect that could push his artistry into the realms of the Neil Youngs, Bob Dylans, David Bowies, and Becks or expose him as an artist of comparably limited scope. “I’m at a point where I either need to take more risks or a break from what I’m doing,” he says with a sigh, never indicating exactly what he means.

“I think any time there’s a public interest in what you’re doing, you tend to start viewing your work suspiciously like, ‘Why do so many people like it? Maybe I’m not doing something correctly? Maybe I’m not taking enough risks. Maybe I’m not challenging myself,’” he muses. “At the same time, I’m incredibly honored, of course, that there is an audience for what I do, because that’s a rare thing and it’s very encouraging. But I’m very self-aware to the fact that the music that I write is very harmonic, that it’s almost purist in its form, because it’s all very harmonic and melodic. And I wonder if I could experiment with something to kind of sabotage that.”

While the prospect of an artist with Stevens’ momentum sabotaging himself is intriguing to say the least, it would seem that the strictures of the 50 States project would proscribe a similarly disciplined and songwriterly approach for the near future. Still, despite the fact that speculation has nominated any number of targets for his next state-themed album, it’s no guarantee that Stevens will even return to that project with his next release. “I can do whatever I want. I’m not bound by any contract. It’s a free country,” he contends, not sounding defensive. “There’s a lot of stuff that is in the planning stages that I’m excited to work on. Once I’m no longer excited about that project, I think I have the freedom to abandon it. I worked that clause into my imaginary contract.”