if I was crying
in the van, with my friend
it was for freedom
from myself and from the land
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes
you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go
-from “Chicago” from the album Illinois
_________________________
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 first of March on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing
Oh the glory that the lord has made
And the complications when I see his face
In the morning in the window
Oh 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
-from “Casimir Pulaski Day” from the album Illinois
__________________________
The live show of one Mr. Sufjan Stevens is surreal enough, but to hear these lyrics reverberating through the smoky, sweaty air of the Mississippi Nights club on the landing in St. Louis adds to the effect. And if it is subversion, it is the happiest, most playful subversion you have ever heard, though sincerely serious at its heart. Talking to a fellow concert goer in line for tickets, I said I heard that Sufjan’s second major album Seven Swans had some pretty spiritual themes. “Yeah, it was a little weird at first,” he agreed, before professing how much he liked it, despite, I think, and not because of its spiritual content, mentioning something about “14 years of Catholic school” as he walked up to get his ticket.
In truth, Sufjan is not subversive, in effect perhaps he may be, but not in his art. He simply makes intelligent, quirky folk music with lyrics that reflect his life, and in as much as his life is touched by Christian spirituality, no touched by God and his Christ, this seeps through. He is not akin to the youth pastor who gets the tattoo so he can relate. At least this is the sense I get. Nor is his art a type of Christian propaganda. Instead it is the best sort, excellent artistry flowing organically from his soul and spirit.
As for last night’s concert itself, I must be honest, I would have enjoyed it far more if I had more listens to his latest CD and any listens to his previous efforts. Also, his music is complicated and sometimes can seem cacophonous to these untrained and unintiated ears. I intend to correct this ear problem sometimes soon. One gets the idea, though,even if one is untrained like me, that Sufjan is pretty much able do whatever he wants with music and employs a plethora of insturments to effect just the purposes and affects he intends. It seems like play, whimsical and full of energy, but still with that aforementioned seriousness, both in reflecting the joy and the brokenness of life. In a song about the serial killer John Wayne Gacy, Jr., an example of the classic folk murder song tradition, which I don’t believe he performed last night, he compares himself to Gacy:
And in my best behavior
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floorboards
For the secrets I have hid

Last night the six or so band members, “the Illinoisemakers,” dressed for most of the concert in old school Illinois cheerleader outfits, performed a series of faux cheers for various cities as they introduced the songs, and even constructed the human pyramid. And they and Sufjan played an assortment of instruments. In addition to the usual suspects, there were the triangle and the chimes and what looked like a keyboard operated by blowing into it and, yes, the banjo.
Ah, the banjo, one of the first things that attracted me to Sufjan’s music, which I first heard on some Christmas music I got from links on a blog, and which I hope and pray is legal for me to have, because I would be loathe to give it up if I found out otherwise. It is lovely. He sings Christmas folk songs of his own penning which alternately rejoice in the season or sadly reflect on its propensity to accentuate loneliness and pain, all the while looking to Christ amidst it all. He also sings and plays some hymns that you are more likely to hear in England (or Pakistan, in my case): “Once in Royal David’s City” and “The Friendly Beasts,” which I can still remember practicing and singing with my brother and mother at about age 12. And I desperately want to make, direct, inspire, storyboard, whatever, a video for his take on “Bring a Torch Jeannette Isabella.”
Last winter, on long nighttime drives, I smiled, I wept, and, yes, worshiped as I travelled through the darkness.