Sufjan Stevens’ Javelin Is Vulnerable, Masterful, and Among His Best
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The post Sufjan Stevens’ Javelin Is Vulnerable, Masterful, and Among His Best appeared first on Consequence.
One part folk hero, one part indie experimentalist, Sufjan Stevens’ discography if full of monumental classics — Greetings from Michigan, Seven Swans, Illinois, The Age of Adz, and Carrie & Lowell — all of which have become staples of “sad indie” playlists for tuned-in music fans (and, apparently, Spotify). But, as he proves with his 10th solo album Javelin, Stevens’ work has far more depth and nuance than the three-letter S-word implies, as hidden within the devastation of the new batch of songs is a surprising willingness to grow.
From the initial announcement of Javelin, fans and critics framed the album as a sort of bridge between Stevens’ two aforementioned sonic interests: the haunted, plainly beautiful folk of albums like 2015’s landmark Carrie & Lowell and the ornate, left-field, electronic-infused indie-pop of The Age of Adz or The Ascension. While these two sides of Stevens were never as diametrically opposed as the narrative suggests, Javelin is indeed a wondrous meeting of the human and the synthetic, of stripped-down immediacy and lush, impressionistic extravagance.
Such dichotomy is evident right from the album’s opening with “Goodbye Evergreen,” a softly sung ballad that fractures into a maximalist explosion of industrial sounds, shimmering production, and human voices. It’s a moving payoff akin to Perfume Genius’ “Otherside,” complete with grand dynamic shifts and pained, understated vocals that establish the album’s conflict between love and the reality that said love can’t hold. “Goodbye, Evergreen,” he sings, ” You know I love you/ But everything heaven-sent/ Must burn out in the end”. Its mournful — goodbyes often are — but far from a hopeless act of surrender, as Stevens frames the narrator as the one taking action, even as it breaks his heart.
Later tracks find similar success mining this formula, starting off with little more than Stevens’ near-whispered singing and acoustic guitar before introducing layer upon layer of orchestration. “Will Anybody Ever Love Me?,” initially simple and sparse, ends with a climactic refrain backed by a choir and sequenced drums, and the mystical forest of baroque folk established in the first half of “Genuflecting Ghost” is eventually snowed over by Paul Lansky-esque synth pads.
Javelin’s cuts that land a little more concretely on the “singer-songwriter” end of the spectrum offer some of the most emotionally affecting moments of the album. The single “So You Are Tired” is among Stevens’ most poignant musings on a love gone sour and features some of the most dejected lyrics found on the record: “So you are seething with laughter/ Was it really all just a joke?/ I was a man indivisible/ When everything else was broke.”
Though the subject matter of the new set borders the songwriter’s usual thematic interests — love, loneliness, spirituality, etc. — his writing remains remarkably authentic and powerful, and it’s a joy to hear him lean on his strengths while avoiding any sense of staleness. Especially for fans who’ve kept up with the developments in the artist’s personal life, the songs of Javelin are likely to hit particularly hard.
Mere weeks before the album was set to release, Stevens shared he was diagnosed with Guillain-Barre Syndrome, a rare, potentially lethal immune disorder that left him immobile. (Thankfully, he assured fans he was in the midst of the recovery process.) Then, on the day of Javelin‘s release, Stevens dedicated the project to his partner, Evans Richardson, who passed away in April of this year.
The dedication lends a different type of vulnerability to the songs of Javelin. While Stevens’ work has always placed complicated emotions at the forefront, the songwriter has never been one to candidly speak about the inner workings of his private life. Though it’s unclear how many (if any) of the songs were written or recorded in the wake of Richardson’s passing, the added context brings Stevens’ abstractions and stories into reality. Tangible, weighty depictions of loss, personal failings, and a longing sense of regret haunt many of the 10 tracks
“In the future, there will be a terrible cost/ For all that we’ve left undone,” he sings on the eight-minute epic “Shit Talk.” “Deliver me from everything I’ve put off/ And all that we’ve lost.”
It may prove difficult to separate Stevens’ songs of heartache (“Will Anyone Ever Love Me?”), morbid thoughts and anxieties (“Javelin (To Have and To Hold)”), and romantic conflict (“Shit Talk”) from the recent tragedies of his personal life. And yet, Javelin‘s emotional gravity is not dependent on the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the album’s release, nor does the project solely deal in the helplessness of such situations. Had Stevens not faced such hardship, or if he had simply chosen to keep such information private, songs like “A Running Start” or “My Little Red Fox” would be just as masterful, touching, and full of love.
Great works of art are can be swallowed by the real-world narratives of their creators. Stevens himself has seen this happen before, as Carrie & Lowell’s relation to his mother’s passing is just as well-known as the album’s contents. As alluring as the myth of the tortured artist is, however, the impact of Stevens’ writing is not reliant on intense bouts with death — which is the case for both Carrie & Lowell and Javelin.
Which is not to imply listeners must take a strictly “death of the author” perspective when engaging with Javelin. But it’s enough to let the beauty and craftsmanship of these 10 songs work their magic, to appreciate them for their magnificent artistry. Follow Stevens as he leads you into the darkness, and join him as he defiantly emerges back into the light.
Javelin closes with “There’s a World,” Neil Young’s dramatic, almost brooding Harvest tune which Stevens flips into a gentle epilogue. The rendition calls back to the wisdom, hope, and agency of “Goodbye Evergreen,” now with the wisdom of making it through life’s hardships. “In the mountains, in the cities/ You can see the righteous area,” he harmonizes. “Look around you/ Has it found you?/ Is it what it really seems?” It’s a sign that perhaps the storm has begun to subside, that, and against all odds, the capacity for love has survived.
Sufjan Stevens’ Javelin Is Vulnerable, Masterful, and Among His Best
Jonah Krueger
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