SUFJAN STEVENS /// ILLINOIS /// ASTHMATIC KITTY ///
	BEN FOLDS /// SONGS FOR SILVERMAN /// EPIC ///

God lives in America.

After considering the overall ruby shade of our great country evident from the last Presidential election, there's no doubt that He plays a great role in our politics and our lives. Church attendance is at an all time high, while, paradoxically, in Europe, it's at an all time low (perhaps they have better coffee and, therefore, have less to pray for). And as proven with the recent success of the multiple Christian Rock tours, bringing 80,000 holy adolescents to a barren mud-field to headbang for Jesus, the Lord is on the mind, as well as on the iPod.

It seems odd to consider Jesus a musical inspiration when you realize that he's neither a girl that broke some guy's heart nor a drug addiction the songwriter can't break. Jesus is sometimes a point of controversy, sometimes your homeboy, and for many, a role model (on the rare occasion, his image can even be found on toast). Throughout the history of rock, though, there have always been two ways to approach the "son": either with reverence, like Sufjan Stevens, who sees Jesus as his co-pilot, or with jabbing irreverence, like Ben Folds, who considers Jesus to be a passenger just riding alongside with the rest of us in Business class.

With their respective new releases, Folds' Songs for Silverman (not to be confused with the Jason Biggs/Jack Black cinematic disaster Saving Silverman) and Stevens' Illinois, both musicians capture the essence and spirit of America in all its broken and confused religious glory, or lack thereof. On the standout track, "Jesusland," Folds croons his glorious, layered harmonies over biting, editorialesque lyrics, an imaginary conversation he might have with Jesus about the bankrupt state of his modern-day disciples. "Down the tracks beautiful McMansions on a hill that overlook a highway/with riverboat casinos and you still have yet to see a soul," Folds sings in his near-falsetto, assuming an angelic sincerity. The drum brushes gallop alongside the prancing piano, producing a dance song for people who like Gershwin.

Ultimately, Silverman is a fine album, but not Folds' strongest. It seems that Folds has decided to tone down his humor and, as a result, can sometimes come off schmaltzy. But defiantly and laudably, song after song, the Chapel Hill piano man ignores all trends, writing music that could have just as easily been heard on the radio in 1978, when songs dripping with honey and cynicism were nowhere to be found. "Give Judy My Notice," "Landed," and "Trusted" each tells a narrative of a broken man with seemingly insurmountable emotional issues. And with his distinct and sweet harmonic instincts, Folds always fools you into thinking his music is upbeat, but don't let the geek-drenched irony confuse. With his recent realization that faith alone will not get you through life, he's just as scared as you are.

Illinois, Stevens' second album in his 50 States series, is a potent masterpiece. Like those of Folds, each song tells the story of a character confronting his or her personal conflicts and questioning whether there is a larger, encouraging answer to this metaphysical journey we call "life." One song ("Casimir Pulaski Day") is about cancer and prayer; another is about a mass murderer and the ability of the average person to relate to one ("John Wayne Gacy, Jr"); and a third is about Superman, or Jesus-the intention is confusing. Stevens can be literal or metaphorical and floats seamlessly between the two. He keeps us guessing like that, and he's still not telling (in interviews, he tries to answer religion-centric questions ambiguously). Lyrical interpretations aside, Illinois is a wondrous album, full of Broadway-production gospel, distinctive and festive instrumentation (yes, there are sleigh bells on "Prairie Fire..."), orchestra-folk that pierces and penetrates like the bittersweet moments when you realize that all will be okay and also not okay at the very same time. While the album may seem long (at 22 tracks and 79 minutes, Illinois is an experience) it's sensational throughout, a sublime effort that never falters. Stevens' gentle and tender voice is both soothing and seductive, perfectly suited for this godly album.

Ben Folds and Sufjan Stevens, two exemplary and prolific musicians, are both songwriters and narrators-an anomaly in a world of unsubstantial lyrical content and sometimes random, word associations. They are like great authors of post-modern, literature: Folds acting as a Jonathan Lethem, getting his dork on, as he frosts it with a heightened vulnerability; and Stevens, with his awareness of mortality, religion and technology, positioning himself as a devout Don Delillo. These two men, musically out of sync with their generation, both manage to capture the essence of our country today, when God is both everywhere and nowhere.

One questions, the other praises. But ultimately, both acknowledge the presence. Arye Dworken