Sufjan Stevens
BY NICK CATUCCI
Photographs by J. Scott Wynn

Sufjan Stevens, an old soul in baby’s-bottom skin, is not prone to hyperbole or to sudden movements, for that matter. The Brooklyn transplant has promised 50 albums inspired by each of the states and has already delivered two - the short-stories-set-to-chamber-folk Greetings From Michigan: The Great Lake State and 2005’s lauded Illinois. So when the unassuming Stevens quietly pronounced that this show (in one of the city’s most elegant venues, replete with programs and kindly ushers seating business-casual-clad indie adults) appeared not only “dramatic,” but “audacious,” those in attendance could only murmur in agreement and double-check that their cell phones were turned off. Somewhere, a Black Flag tattoo lost a measure of its inky radiance.

To be sure, Stevens brought his own brand of audaciousness, book-ending the show with “Casimir Pulaski Day,” a wafting ballad about a friend dying of cancer in spite of prayers at Bible study, and “John Wayne Gacy, Jr.,” a shockingly beautiful recollection of the serial killer who dressed as a clown. It also helped that his band - which numbered 16, including strings, brass, and three backup singers, who also played plana, guitar, and glockenaplel - performed before a 4,500 square-foot glass wall over-looking Central Park and Columbus Circle, with city steam billowing up behind them as if to underscore their silken dynamic shifts. Just three months prior, Stevens hit the road with the IIlinoisemakers, a seven-
piece group in cheerleader outfits that generated a peppy, carnivalesque show. Here, in this acoustically engineered room with its tasteful, warm-hued lights, only nearby photographers’ clicking shutters disrupted the stillness. Not since Deliverance has a plucked banjo string been as riveting.

Resplendent in a sparkly pinstriped dress shirt and subtle arrangement of black feathers around his neck (he’s been known to sport Boy Scout uniforms onstage), the Christian singer looked even more beatific than usual. And it probably wasn’t just the silence he found satisfying. As part of Lincoln Center’s exclusive American Songbook series, the show actually honored him as part of a tradition dating back to Irving Berlin.

The band divided the set evenly between songs from Illinois and 2004’s stripped-down, faith-based Seven Swans, showcasing Stevens’ impressionistic historical fictions. “Jacksonville,” a Dead-like meditation on Andrew Jackson and race, had the backup singers swaying soulfully in their modest skirts, and “The Transfiguration” told the story of Jesus learning his fate. More altar boy thin preacher, Stevens offered up his works with a technician’s care, losing himself in their intricacies. When he solemnly spelled I-L-L-I-N-O-I-S with his arms, “YMCA” style, during the positively funky “They Are
Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back From the Dead!! Ahhhhhh!,” the show’s glorious absurdity finally emerged as humanistic sacrament.

(1) Despite appearances, no birds were harmed during the set; (2) Stevens with his indie rockestra; (3) a more whimsical Stevens at an August 2005 New York City show

Bonus Tracks
Most talk-show-like moment: The announcer who introduced “Suuuuuufjan Stevens”
Coolest instrument in the mini-orchestra: Triangle
Most obvious dedication: Stevens prefaced “Sister” with, “This song is for my sister.”

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