Issue 30: Love in a Time of Heartache

Reviewing the latest album from Sufjan Stevens

Nov 10, 2023

Welcome back to Band Practice where I’ve been listening to lots of new music in an attempt to drown out Will Smith’s “Gettin’ Jiggy wit It,” which has been—for some god-forsaken reason—intermittently stuck in my head for the past few weeks. (Thanks to growing up in the 1990s, I know every lyric and the choreography.) Stand-out albums that I listened to this past month came from Troye Sivan, Naomi Sharon, and Laufey which I may return to in another issue (especially the latter) because they were fantastic and deserve more than a mention. But I decided to devote this issue to one of the best new albums I’ve listened to this year: Javelin from Sufjan Stevens. It’s a start-to-finish must-listen for old fans and those new to his music.

Tone shift!

It took me longer than usual to write this issue. This album was an emotional listen—not only because of the heart-wrenching context behind it (I can’t get through a listen without tearing up) but also because of what Stevens’ music has meant to me over the years—music that has woven in and out of my life in complex, beautiful, and sometimes triggering ways. It required a lot of processing and I wanted to get my words right.

I’m including some of that personal context because music is inherently personal—both for the artist and the listener. It comes alive when it is projected through our own lenses—each note and lyric refracting through our being. There is so much that is alive in Javelin. I will share what this album means to me, its meaning, and why it’s exactly the sort of album the world needs right now.

Okay, let’s get to it.

This month’s must-listen

Javelin by Sufjan Stevens — Album cover for Javelin

Javelin — Sufjan Stevens

Alternative [Released 10/6/23]

There are too many hyphenates to attach to Sufjan Stevens (pronounced SOOF-yahn). A D.I.Y.-er to the nth degree, he does almost everything himself, including the cover art. Everything you hear on Javelin—except for Bryce Dressner’s guitar contributions on “Shit Talk” and the background vocals throughout—was written, arranged, performed, produced, and mixed by Stevens (mostly in his home studio). (There’s also the one notable exception: his cover of Neil Young’s, “There’s A World,” to close the album, which he completely reworked.) I promise you will be in awe when you hear how complex his arrangements are. Additionally, he made a 48-page booklet of collages and essays to accompany the album (I urge you to buy a physical copy of the album to get the full experience).

This is characteristic of a typical Sufjan Stevens album. He creates all of his music with obsessive detail, doing the majority of the work. Each album is like a feast lovingly prepared, with plentiful courses and delights. They range in mood from joyous and celebratory to solemn and reflective and occasionally even silly—sometimes within the same album (see: Illinois). But while intricate, he allows for imperfection. The vocals feel organic and not fussed over, maintaining the feathery shake of his voice.

His work has spanned genres from folk to electronic to classical (the list continues), often veering into the experimental. Javelin is sonically situated in the middle of his catalog—pulling from the best parts of his decades-long career. There are hints of Illinois and its lush symphonic numbers like “Chicago.” It also possesses the depth of heart that made Carrie & Lowell one of his best albums. There are even a few (brief) moments that reference his electronic works as in the track “Genuflecting Ghost.” It is both a culmination of everything he has made and a new beginning—one where he is free to be his fully actualized self, sharing new facets.

My first introduction to Stevens’ music was in college. It was back in the days when (thanks to Apple’s loophole) everyone living in the dorm with a Mac could drag and drop music from each other’s music libraries because we were all on the same network.1 That is almost certainly how I came across his earlier albums, which saw me through a spiritually complicated time.

His music dovetailed with the unraveling of my (Christian) faith—throughout college and a few years after. Though he identifies as a Christian and has used religious references and themes in his music, he has made clear that he doesn’t consider himself to be a “Christian artist,” and has even described “Christian music,” as “didactic crap.” Nevertheless, I felt a (holy, if you will) spirit speaking through his music—never preaching, but nudging me closer to the divine. When I was part of a church band, we would play some of his songs and they felt more authentic and sanctifying than all of the hands-raised “our God is an awesome God”-type worship songs in the church’s rotation.

When I left the church (lowercase and capital) after (to be purposefully vague) something traumatic happened to me, I left behind with it nearly everything involving religion and faith—except for Stevens’ music. This place of trauma and faith unraveling and trying to find meaning is not an unusual place for his music to reside. With this album and others of his, like Carrie & Lowell, he creates where tragedy and spirituality intersect.

This past year, Stevens has had his share of tragedy. He is currently re-learning how to walk after a recent hospitalization and diagnosis of Guillain–Barré syndrome. And upon the release of this album, he shared its heartbreaking dedication:

This album is dedicated to the light of my life, my beloved partner and best friend Evans Richardson, who passed away in April. He was an absolute gem of a person, full of life, love, laughter, curiosity, integrity, and joy. He was one of those rare and beautiful ones you find only once in a lifetime—precious, impeccable, and absolutely exceptional in every way.

— Via Instagram, October 6th, 2023

This is notably the first reference Stevens has made to his sexuality. Until now, Stevens has never spoken of it (not that it’s anyone’s business) but it has been speculated that he was queer. I can only imagine this must have been a painful way to come out. And yet, he presents the album with gratitude and hope, inviting us into a very personal part of his life. In the same dedication, he says:

I know relationships can be very difficult sometimes, but it’s always worth it to put in the hard work and care for the ones you love, especially the beautiful ones, who are few and far between. If you happen to find that kind of love, hold it close, hold it tight, savor it, tend to it, and give it everything you’ve got, especially in times of trouble. Be kind, be strong, be patient, be forgiving, be vigorous, be wise, and be yourself. Live every day as if it is your last, with fullness and grace, with reverence and love, with gratitude and joy. This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Javelin is a liturgy of love in a time of heartache. His songs are like hymns, exploring love from every angle—its joys and turmoils. They are honest and vulnerable, ministering to both love and loss.

As I listened to the album, I imagined Stevens in his home studio recording each instrument and feeling the song in a unique way with every take. “What does the tambourine say to him that the oboe could not?” I wondered. Each instrument had a role in helping him work through his emotions as he created in the face of tragedy, and I can only imagine how cathartic it must have been.

A symphony of one, Stevens opens the album with “Goodbye Evergreen.” After a tranquil introduction, a cacophonous eruption of sound conveys the anguish of saying goodbye to one of his lovers. “Deliver me from the poisoned pain,” he sings as what sounds like the clanging of pots and pans chime in. It’s juxtaposed against the spritely “A Running Start”—an endearing tale of young love bedazzled in bells and woodwinds. “I jump between the trampolines / You throw your arms around my heart / As if to say you're all I need.” This bliss is held to the breast of his agony, reminding the listener that there is hope to start again—reminding himself that there is hope.

Despite everything he’s been through, he has not lost his faith. In “Everything that rises,” Stevens offers up a prayer. “Jesus lift me up to a higher plane / Can you come around before I go insane?” He is answered with the paraphrased words of philosopher Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, “everything that rises must converge.”2 A choir joins him in singing the mantra, giving the feeling of a downtempo gospel number. It’s another one of his “nudging toward the divine” moments that moved me in its sincerity.

The point of the album where I start crying (if I haven’t already) is “So You Are Tired.” The song is deeply emotional—a psalm of a lover’s quarrel. The repeated line, “So you are tired,” offers both sympathy and frustration, conveying the very human thing of loving someone so deeply as they proceed to break your heart. While it could be set to a loud and raging soundtrack, he opts for a subdued but dynamic arrangement that possesses the wonder of a vibrant, moss-covered forest with prickling pine needles dancing. A chorus of ooohs and ahhs act as pauses, providing space for contemplation. It was the first single off the album and was just a hint of the emotional breadth it would contain.

Stevens’ genius it at its best in the penultimate track, “Shit Talk.” It is a perfect example of the kind of artistry he puts into his songs—songs that don’t just build, they bloom. In this eight-and-a-half-minute opus, he masterfully unfurls a series of movements from soft banjo moments to fully orchestrated climaxes. Nothing feels redundant, and sections that seem like endings are actually beginnings.

The song is a heart-wrenching account of what may have been the end (or almost end) of a big, true love kind of relationship. “I will always love you / But I cannot live with you,” he sings. In the song’s almost-final act, the chorus is adjusted to, “I will always love you / No, I don’t want to fight at all,” sung in a round. The determination to leave, the pleas to stay—the layers of tension are immersive as a host of instruments and voices surround. At the end, the see-saw of strings serve as heavy goodbyes. Every petal of the song has been opened, the intricate flower on full display.

To the end, Stevens remains hopeful—even in the midst of everything he’s gone through—closing the album with “There’s A World.” He sings the words of Neil Young in a far more upbeat fashion than the original. “There's a world you're livin' in / No one else has your part / All God’s children in the wind / Take it in and blow real hard.” He still believes in a greater purpose.

Javelin is not only the album that Stevens needed to make to process his loss, but it is also the sort of album the world needs right now: one that shares love and authenticity in a time of devastation. His music dresses the wounds of the heart in all their tenderness, offering hope.

Tracks on repeat: Everything That Rises, So You Are Tired, Shit Talk

Available on Spotify, Apple Music, bandcamp

P.S. If you have the chance to see him live, please do. It’s an incredible experience—complete with costumes.

Thanks for reading! We’re coming to the end of the year and there are just a few more issues before 2024. Keep your eye out for my Winter playlist (drop me some song suggestions!) and my top 10 albums of 2023 coming up in December. I may squeeze in another regular issue before then, too. Subscribe below so you don’t miss any of it!

The playlist!

Want even more good music?? I’m keeping a running playlist of my favorite songs from every new album I listen to this year. It’s ordered chronologically by date listened and I’ll update it with every issue. It’s hours and hours of music, so scroll to the end to get to the most recent albums. The latest batch starts with the song “A Bowl and A Pudding,” (a great track) by Wilco. Two songs that are not to be skipped are the suave and juicy, “One Of Your Girls,” by pop singer Troye Sivan and the explosive “Lips” by Jane Remover which now ranks among my favorite songs this year. Enjoy!

Albums of 2023 - Apple Music playlist

Albums of 2023 - Spotify playlist

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