SUFJAN STEVENS ///
INTERVIEW ARYE DWORKEN ///
DATE JANUARY 9, 2004 ///

It is quite possibly the coldest day of the year in New York City, yet Sufjan (pronounced "soof-yahn") Stevens walks into Teany, a small caf?© on the Lower East Side, without a coat. Instead, he is layered in bundles, shirt over shirt. A scarf wrapped around his neck multiple times, tightened to the point of obsessive. He says he is used to weather like this. After all, it was colder in Michigan, the place where he grew up.

Sufjan then sits down at the table, across from me. Much like the music he writes, he is timid and gentle, an unimposing presence. His words are deliberate and soft. I almost worry that my tape recorder is straining to capture his thoughts. The waiter comes over to us and takes our order. Sufjan scratches his stubbled chin and then asks for an English tea but something that does not taste like "aristocracy or royalty. Something common." That's how I like my women, I joke. Sufjan smiles.

I turn the tape recorder off for a moment and ask Stevens if he is comfortable yet with doing interviews. Do you mind this part of the process, I ask. After a long pregnant pause, he proceeds to tell me that he did not expect people to take such an interest in his music. The songs on Greeting From Michigan and on his upcoming album, Seven Swans, were songs that he recorded because they were, more or less, on his mind. He didn't imagine that they would be interesting to others.

But like most of his self-evaluations, Sufjan is underestimating. The songs on his most recent releases are not only interesting, they are mesmerizing. They are evocative trips into the tender-most locations of your emotions. Sentiments of pureness flowing seamlessly into your ears, music that does not want to be heard so much as embraced. And in a time when so many teens are looking for an emotive outlet in whiney vocals and shiny guitars, they would be better off in finding them in Sufjan's sincere and understated beauty, his signature honey-glazed earnestness unmatched in most attempts at poignancy. Moreover, the lyrics are the perfect match to his music, telling tales of desperation and longing ("...in strange ideas, in stranger times, I've no idea what's right sometimes/I lost my mind, I lost my life, I lost my job, I lost my wife...").

While discussing my interpretations and ideas with him, Sufjan admits that he is caught off-guard by the depth of our interview. He assumed that we would discuss things of a more insignificant manner, like how he plays the piano. He hopes that I am not placing too great of an importance on his work. Because, he says, expectations are sometimes very hard to meet. I tell him that I have no doubt that he will live up to them. He modestly looks down and takes another sip of his "common" tea.

Greeting From Michigan came out first but I was told Seven Swans, your most recent release, was recorded earlier?
Seven Swans was indeed recorded before Michigan. It was a project with Daniel Smith of the Danielson Family.

I was wondering about themes in your music. You've spoken about the state project where you would record one album for every U.S. state. What are your inspirations for those songs and ideas; are they ambiguous or autobiographical?
Well, I am definitely thinking about family, geography and place nowadays. Personal history and personal myth. They all inform me when I write. Even Seven Swans is informed by the geography of Michigan. Living in the very urban environment of New York, thinking about geography and landscape...its taken possession of my mindscape. The contrast and similarities between all these varied locations of America. It's quite powerful.

We were both born in '75, we both grew up in the suburbs in the '80s. With your songs, you really grasp the suburban experience. Living in Brooklyn now, is it jarring living in the busiest city in America? It's not calm and serene. If anything, it's anxious and bursting.
Growing up, we lived in Detroit, in the city. Not quite downtown but pretty close. Then we moved up north in the really rural section. And yes, it is so different from here in New York. The way people live, the way they work, the social interactions. There is a lot of noise and disorder. Even in this coffeehouse the music is really noisy [Depeche Mode's "I Feel You" blasts in the background], but I really enjoy it. Sometimes, in contrast, the quiet in Michigan is so powerful that it presses on my ears for days and it becomes so present. Almost the absence of noise becomes a presence in itself. I consider myself an urban person especially at this point in my life.

I find that interesting that you're saying that because your music is so suburban to me. Even the instrumental sections conjure up images of raising a family in economic uncertainty. For me, the whole album is fascinating because of the connection that you have to desperation, the awareness. Some reviews have said your music is like Michael Moore's vision without the political agendas.
Well, I don't consider myself very political. I do have political inclinations but some of the more critical moments on the record are consciously motivated and artificial. I am thinking a lot about the themes, I am researching the characters. I am conjuring an emotional reaction through the research that I am doing, whether it is the destruction of Detroit through the collapse of the motor industry or whether it is any economic problems in the cities in general. I don't have any real and literal connections to these abstractions so what I do is, when I am writing the music, I put myself into the context of it and try to develop an emotional reaction. And my favorite way of doing that is through narrative. A lot of times I use my life as a resource for those narratives. And when you do that as a writer it becomes a lot more truthful and honest. Even though, as I said, these are more or less, fabrications. This is how the writing becomes more bearable because it feels so close to real. That's where powerful songwriting comes from. I have something at stake when I impose myself into these songs. Personal interaction.

You don't think that your albums are so timely. You mentioned that you are not politically motivated. But don't you think that most Americans are not politically motivated...
I know, and it's very sad. We're really apathetic.

But wait - that's a political statement in itself. Personally, most of my political interactions are emotionally-based. I am mad because I was laid off. I am angry because I am getting taxed higher. So, therefore, by creating the emotional atmosphere that you create, that's what Americans today see as political. That is an ultimate statement. Is that what you've been trying to stress as well? Politics isn't numbers, or graphs, or promises-it's addressing emotion.
I might be making observations. For example, the Flint song is not a political song in terms of its tone. It's not making claims. It's a mundane narrative about the details of someone's life who is depressed about losing his job, his dire life. I'm taking on that voice. Maybe the sub-levels of that song become political. A lot of times, I write a narrative and the story and the agenda comes out on its own. It becomes a statement of itself beyond me, the singer. You know, a musician's relationship to his songs is so complex. On the one hand, you're trying to bring sincerity to it by imposing an element of yourself. But on the other hand, I am also trying to disengage the "me" from the music. Hopefully, I am trying to distance myself as far as possible. I am trying to become even further away from the music than the listener is. In certain ways, the listener has that advantage. You have the freshness that I don't have. That I wish I had. It's strange because my personal reflections in the end make very little difference. When I talk to listeners, they have completely different perspectives on the record than I have or ever will.

Like what?
I thought this was an upbeat record.

Ha. Really?
Yeah, I thought it was jangly, upbeat and lively. I was so not in tune to the despairing darkness of the record. I was attempting to make a joyous record. Some reviews were saying "haunting" and "dark" and I was baffled by that.

I don't know if it's dark. I would say that there is poignancy. There are a lot of lyrics focusing on mortality and I saw it as self-aware, not as a depressing thing. Just this knowing that we are humans is not a dark depressing thing. It's more pensive.
It's true. We are just organs. Mortality is a beautiful thing.

Let's focus on Michigan. Is the album an analogy? Are you trying to say this is what the place is about, or does it serve as an example of what's going on in America as a whole?
I could never say that I am the spokesman for Michigan. I see the album as a geographical totem pole because it starts with the mundane and the material world and then concludes with the abstract and spiritual. How it begins with "All the Naysayers..." which is grounded in the here and now, the human physical condition. As the record continues, it becomes more and more concerned with transcendent things, mythical and beyond the physical. I noticed that after I finished the album some writers don't believe in metaphor and that everything has a literal meaning. I'm hoping mine transcends that. I haven't figured it out exactly what that meaning is yet but then again, who's to say that it's up to me to figure that out?

Are you sympathetic to certain conditions or lifestyles? You don't focus on cliches of love and heartbreak that most musicians focus on. I gain a sense of brutal truth, like what people think in their heads when they're alone.
Wow. I don't know. I think you get a better sense of the music than I do because you're a careful listener. Sometimes musicians do things haphazardly. There is a lot of needing and wanting on the album. Wanting to be loved by one's parents. Wanting a job. Wanting a magical experience, nostalgia. Some of those things are infused into the album. Growing up, we are always wanting and we were always driven by our need for things. I don't remember even being completely satiated and I think most people are like that, nowadays especially.

Growing up, what were those needs for you?
Hundreds of things. As simple as a Laffy Taffy - wanting that so badly. Or as something as huge as spending time with my grandfather before he died. Wanting to be loved. I don't want to get too particular because that's not so interesting.

What about being a musician? Did you want to do that?
I don't think I had a choice. From very early on, I felt compelled to be a musician and even to make it in the music world. In college, I was in a band writing pop songs and recording. I gave that up when I moved here.

The unrest, the anxiety that you see here in Brooklyn and New York. Are you conscious of that, having moved from the suburbs? Do you see some of the same conditions in this area and your former home? Does Brooklyn fit in the metaphor of Michigan?
That's a big question. It's more appropriate for a philosopher, probably. When I speak about my own lyrics, I feel clumsy. But you know, it's funny; I feel much more at ease here in New York than in Michigan. When I lived in Detroit I was never quite at ease because I was always anticipating something. All the people that have moved here to Brooklyn are all coming to fruition, realizing their artistic goals and finding themselves. There is a lot of unrest here, true, and there is a desire to be doing something else, something better. But I have a better grasp here of my artistic inclinations. You're assigning a sort of unrest to New York in specific. But that unrest exists everywhere in America. We are programmed to always want more. We are inherent consumers.You know, these are really hard questions and I feel like an idiot if I am answering them wrong. I thought you were going to ask me about how I play the piano.

So, how do you play the piano?
Ha. You know, I definitely feel as a writer, we have a responsibility to be accountable to whatever we write. I really feel that. Sometimes I feel like I have taken on more than I can accommodate.

Does it freak you out?
Yeah a bit. You know, because most of the stuff I write is on a whim. I never expected people to grab onto things like they have. I want to be generous as a musician. I feel a lot of artists hold themselves back too much. Granted, I think everything I do could be a little better. I have a vision and I'm constantly working under that standard. I'm never satisfied. But I want to continue making music and producing albums. Do I think of the criticism and the reactions? Yeah. Of course. If I'm not inherently satisfied with the ultimate outcome how can I expect that everyone will? So, it's a thrill when I hear people love the music.

Can I ask you about the religious overtones of Seven Swans? What was on your mind?
The new one is pretty religious. Gosh, that's another tough one. But I don't know if that has any place in a public conversation because I don't think people are really interested in that sort of thing. Discussing religion is very complicated. I am fascinated with religion and the impact it has on our lives. But again, I'm not sure if it's interesting to hear my thoughts outside the context of music.

Oh, c'mon. You're being humble by not thinking people want to hear your opinions.
No, actually I'm being realistic. ///

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sufjan Stevens once said in an interview that he would like to record an album for each state in America. Since then, he has regretted making that statement upon the realization that there were, like, a lot of states in our great country.

To help Sufjan out, 'Sup has compiled a list of albums that have already been devoted to certain locations. The good news is that Sufjan now has ten less states to worry about. The bad news is that we couldn't find shit on South Dakota.

New Jersey Bon Jovi
The second Heather Locklear heard this hair-glam blueprint, she left Tommy Lee for the smaller-penised Richie Sambora.

Nebraska Bruce Springsteen
An album so haunting, so brooding and so brilliant that it is finally understood why we call this guy "The Boss."

Massachussetts Scud Mountain Boys
Joe Pernice sat in his creaky rocking chair on the porch with his bottle of moonshine and played us his songs of heartbreak.

California American Music Club
Mark Eiztel and company like California so much they named two albums of roots rock after it (the other being San Francisco)

Texas 30 Odd Foot of Grunts
Russell Crowe, stick to acting. Wait...on second thought, just stay home and do nothing. That would be best.

Tennessee Silver Jews
David Berman, one of the most talented poets alive, churns out precious metal on every album. Calling them "The Gold Jews" would be more appropriate.

Pennsylvania Pere Ubu
"Cult" and "following"-two words that mean nobody has actually heard Pere Ubu's music.

Hawaii High Llamas
Someone is obsessed with Brian Wilson.

New York Lou Reed
My name is Lou Reed. I made a great album called "New York." Now go to hell.

Louisiana Chuck Berry
Rumor has it that the thrill on Blueberry Hill wasn't really all that thrilling.