Sufjan Stevens, "Carrie & Lowell"

March 2015 has got to be one of the most exciting months for new music in a long time. The first new Modest Mouse record in eight years, Kendrick Lamar's follow-up to his instant classic breakthrough, Earl Sweatshirt's darkly mysterious sophomore record, and then there's Sufjan Steven's first new album in five years, Carrie & Lowell , which has been described as a "back-to-roots folk" album by Sufjan himself. Indie-folk fans, rejoice. For those who hated the electronic experimentation and overwhelming musical complexity of Sufjan's last record, The Age of Adz, Carrie & Lowell is sonically the opposite of that record. Sufjan has abandoned the abrasive and challenging loudness in favor of extremely simple, sparse, percussion-less, acoustic sounds that many fans will compare to his debut record Seven Swans. But just like every other Sufjan record, Carrie & Lowell has its own unique identity. Never has a Sufjan Stevens record been so consistently depressing, and the album's backstory may help you understand why. The album is named after his mother, who died of cancer in 2012, and his stepfather. Stevens revealed in a recent interview with Pitchfork that he did not have a close relationship with his mother, who suffered from alcoholism, drug addiction, and mental illness. This lack of a real relationship weighed heavy on Sufjan's conscience after his mother's death, and he began engaging in the same reckless behavior that his mother succumbed to (most likely drugs and alcohol). This admission is particularly surprising, since it is well-documented that Stevens is a Christian, and he has always kept a more-or-less "clean" image. But I applaud Sufjan for not hiding his pain, and instead embracing it despite what others may think. Some fans will be surprised to hear Sufjan mournfully croon about "getting drunk to get laid" on standout track "No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross", but these are the words of an artist reflecting on his own personal experiences. But Sufjan does cry out to Jesus in the keyboard ballad "John, My Beloved", which is perhaps the one moment of hope on the album. The "black shroud" he repeatedly references in the single "Should've Known Better" seems to cover the entire album, especially in the ambient outros that connect many of the tracks together. If you do not enjoy sad music, then steer clear of this album. There is no trace of the grandiose, brass-infused tracks found on his magnum-opus Illinois which gained Stevens his cult-like following, nor is there anything remotely similar to the upbeat energy or progressive exploration from The Age of Adz, as previously stated. But if you enjoy simple, heartfelt, and emotionally intense music that urges you to sympathize with the narrator while also critically reflecting on your own life, then this is the Sufjan Stevens record you have been waiting for.







Click here to read Sufjan's emotional interview with Pitchfork
Click here to listen to "Should Have Known Better"
Click here to listen to "No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross"