Published on May 25, 2006
Note to Sufjan Stevens: If you’re going to record an
album about my home state, you’d better make it good, since
Michigan has a rich history of musical talent.
I was intrigued when Stevens, who is from Michigan,
decided to record a 15-track collection devoted to his and my home
state. It’s his third disc and the first of his ambitious 50-state
project (to date, he’s only written about two states). After all,
could Stevens sum up the rich diversity and history of the state in
just one disc?
Turns out he can, but this music is so rustic and
low-key that one would think Michigan is the most depressed state
in the union. Instead of celebrating the state, Stevens writes odes
to the unemployed in Flint, the homeless in Muskegon and the widows
in Paradise (a tiny Upper Peninsula town).
Most of the disc has a backwoods folk appeal, using
rustic guitars, woodwinds, light backup singers and banjo, most of
which Stevens plays himself. Michigan has an interesting folk music
scene, which Stevens taps into here, and the end result is often
haunting, depressing and complex, equal parts love letter and
mournful elegy.
Stevens mainly focuses on how great Michigan used to
be and how it can achieve greatness again. The opener “Flint (For
The Unemployed And Underpaid)” is a stark piano ballad about the
formerly great city (“Since the first of June / Lost my job and
lost my room / I pretend to try / Even if I tried alone”). “All
Good Naysayers” is a bit perkier but the lyrics make no sense,
while “For The Widows…” is an ode to widows in Paradise and
fathers in Ypsilanti (no, I don’t know why either). Stevens uses
only a banjo and some horns on this one, beneath lyrics like “Is
there some idea to replace my life / Like a father to impress /
Like a mother’s mourning dress / If you ever make a mess, I’ll do
anything for you.”
The sadness is made worse by Steven’s hushed, smoky
voice, which makes the occasional bright spots that much better, as
on the love letter “Say Yes! To Michigan,” a slogan the state
adopted in the 80s. “Still, I never meant to go away / I was raised
in this place / Still I often think of going back / To the farms,”
he says, sounding like he means it. “Tahquamenon Falls” is a nice
instrumental piece as well, using bells and other percussion to
create the mood.
“The Upper Peninsula” sounds good but the lyrics
don’t fit the song, singing about the despondency of a family with
no money or hope, while “Holland” is a pleasant acoustic piece
about a teenage summer. “Romulus” has a slight John Mayer feel but
the lyrics are a sad “ode” to Stevens’ mother (“We saw her once
last fall / Our grandpa died in a hospital gown / She didn’t seem
to care / She smoked in her room and colored her hair / I was
ashamed, I was ashamed of her.”
The emotional and lyrical centerpiece here is
“Detroit, Lift Up Your Weary Head,” an eight-minute elegy about the
once-proud Motown. Opening with horns and bells, the song shifts
into a swinging folk sound, while Stevens alternates between
lamenting the city (“Once a great place / Now a prison”) and
rattling off a list of fond memories while overdubbed vocals
quietly back him up. The piece closes with a church organ solo and
a sustained single synthesizer note.
Some of the tracks don’t have anything to do with
Michigan, so Stevens just inserts random cities in the titles,
while the closing “Vito’s Ordination Song” sounds like an ode to a
brother or son. The bonus track “Marching Band” sounds like the
rest of the disc and is nothing special.
With this release, Stevens shows his idiosyncratic
lyrics and debt to folk music, as well as effectively professes
love for his home state. But the lyrics are too obtuse or sad to
really resonate at times, and set to the somewhat happy music are
even more cryptic. The project sounds more like Stevens is getting
memories and personal demons off his back while letting the rest of
the state knows he cares about it, but in doing so he fails to
include the positive side and the rich history (both musical and
otherwise) Michigan is known for.
Still, for a haunting indie-folk sound that most
artists aren’t making anymore, you can’t go wrong with Stevens.
Just avoid listening to it on a rainy day, and believe me when I
say Michigan is not nearly as bleak and depressed as Stevens thinks
it is.