Sufjan Stevens is an artist who, after a long wait for his first visit to Australia, arrived with a lot of baggage. And I don’ mean the nine musicians and their gear who accompany him on stage to fill out his trademark blend of triumph and melancholy. There’ the “will-he-or-won’-he-finish-it?†50 States project that lifted him above the radar but looks set to haunt the rest of his career. There’ the Christian faith that informs his lyrics, which, judging by the crowd tonight, swells his fan base with some particularly ardent supporters and that could make him an easy target. There are the albums of reclaiming-from-the-cynical Christmas songs and the long and frequently punctuated song titles. There’ the dressing up game – he’ looked like everything from a ’70s trucker to a boy scout. Will he bring the cheerleader pom-poms? Will it be the wings? And personally there is also the niggling suspicion that this self-proclaimed Artist in Search of the Perfect Song should consider being less prolific and that his musical palette is beginning to sound very limited, especially considering the vitality of experimentation on his first two albums. Add on some murmurings about his sexuality in certain corners of the blogosphere and you have quite a trolley-load of Samsonite.
Despite all that, while not bubbling over with excitement like some of those around me, it’s a gig I was definitely looking forward to. The performance began with a low-key entrance, Stevens lingering in the shadows as the band gradually formed musical shapes from an artful dissonance. Pictures drawn from stars formed and collapsed on a projected backdrop as the title track from Seven Swans emerged and the power and brightness of live brass brought the air alive. The band began to move through faithfully rendered selections from Illinois and Michigan. A highlight was ‘Concerning the UFO…’ from the former, inducing the spinal shivers that for me are the mark of great live performances. While living up to his multi-instrumentalist tag, Stevens initially remained distant, managing to play the piano – set up side on as is usual – with his back to the audience. He eventually made his way to the front of stage for the delicate intimacy of songs like ‘Casimir Pulaski Day’. When he spoke, to these ears he sounded tired, even weary, perhaps also evidenced in the occasional vocal difficulty when moving from his usual breathy whisper into more forceful terrain.
Over the course of the evening it was these more intimate songs such as ‘To Be Alone With You’ from Seven Swans that were most successful. While the sound was full and rich elsewhere, ranging from delicacy to triumph and cacophony, after a while these three distinct and vibrant musical colours that should have formed the core of a sophisticated palette instead began to merge into something resembling brown. Unless you were waiting to hear a favourite song you could have heard the first four songs and left and not missed much musically – there were no surprises here. Considering the number of musicians and range of instruments available on stage the overall homogeneity was surprising. Even the distinctive talent of Shara Worden (who appeared in support with her project My Brightest Diamond) all but disappeared into the ensemble. As if to mirror this, the visuals began to look like nothing more than a series of screensavers, and by his own admission Stevens’ banter wasn’ up to its usual standard as he’d left his script somewhere. But he came across as friendly enough albeit someone who felt more obliged than inclined to speak. Either way the audience appreciated the effort as again intimacy won out.
The notorious frills included the band dressed like the crew uniforms of some 1970s rainbow spaceship; Stevens gyrating in an illuminated hula hoop next to a fluffy booted female accomplice, and, for the pre-encore finale, wings on each band member. I don’ doubt that he’ a man of good humour but in the context of a performance that blinked dully when its eyes should have sparkled, all this seemed less like child-like fun and more like a banker wearing a pair of deely boppers.
There were fine musicians, some fine songs both familiar and unfamiliar, great sound, an eager crowd, sideshow entertainment and musical beauty – it should have been great. But we must have caught an off night, because it was considerably less than the sum of these parts. It’s a shame considering it could take years to get another chance to see him on Australian soil. The audience seemed oddly and literally unmoved: in uptempo sections barely a head nodded. But the frequent whoops and standing ovation showed that we were in the minority in feeling underwhelmed. Perhaps the answer is simple enough: I don’ have enough faith.
Johnny Merkin
