When Doves Cry, or, Sufjan Stevens Dances Into Kansas City, The Land of Applebees and Law Firms, and Says, ‘Please Don’t Throw Things, I Love You, It’s Going To Be Okay.
Sufjan Stevens w/ DM Stith, Uptown Theater, Kansas City, MO

[show_avatar email=julie@iwenttoashow.com align=left avatar_size=62] I’ve read a metric titload* of Sufjan Stevens show reviews since the tour started in Montreal two weeks ago, and not a single one has mentioned DM Stith. Let’s rectify this ridiculous oversight right now. An album review on the Onion AV Club called him “Sufjan Stevens’ dark shadow,” and opener DM Stith earns the title. He told the crowd he was only going to sing four songs, in a self deprecating, but genuinely reassuring tone. When he first announced on Twitter he would be accompanying Sufjan Stevens on tour, he mentioned the possibility that he’d get tomatoed by the Sufjan-crazed crowd. I held no enmity in my heart for the man, for he seemed sheepish and sincere and he plays wicked piano and can therefore do no wrong.

The first three songs were from Heavy Ghost, and they were ominous and haunting and gorgeous. I had a great time revisiting his album on the drive back to St. Louis. It’s a completely different listen with the piano, and I highly recommend grabbing it. As David said, “It’s the best $10 you’ll ever spend.” A lot of imagery and language echo between Heavy Ghost and Sufjan Stevens’ new album. You can listen to streamed versions of four of his songs on Muxtape, including “Morning Glory Cloud,” the beautiful and ill-fated song with the clapping loop. His final song was new, and I’m very much looking forward to hearing it again.

And now that that’s taken care of…

I’ve annoyed the piss out of every friend I have since the day the EP All Delighted People dropped in August, following five years of songwriting silence from Sufjan Stevens. Just one week after the EP dropped on Bandcamp, the announcement went out that a new full length album was coming, and that it would sound nothing like the EP. Mere days after that, it was announced that Sufjan would be touring to support that new album. My reaction to that announcement would have been more excited, but was stunted because earlier in the summer, Google Alerts sent me an e-mail of a Sufjan Stevens tour announcement in which he was coming to St. Louis, and I announced it to all of Twitter before I noticed that it was a five-year-old blog post. Oopsie. But Kansas City is only five hours from St. Louis, so I gleefully planned a road trip. And since the day I snagged a ticket during the Asthmatic Kitty concert presale, I have been insufferable and obsessed.

I’d apologize, but I’m Not Sorry.

[ASIDE: If you’re looking for a level-headed, objective opinion, pinch this off and move on. I drove 600 miles and sat in line for four hours to see this show. Cognitive dissonance alone would be enough to make it epic for me. Also, this review is really long. It’s kind of a concert review and an album review, if that helps justify its length. Regardless, this is about a man who wrote a song with a 54-word title. Excess is expected, nay, required.]

I don’t think it can be understated how brave it is of Sufjan Stevens to even set out on a tour with new music after his fans had five years to obsess over his last album. And he shows up with black lights, projector art, a new sound, and dancing and cursing! That’s like, say, Prince becoming a Jehovah’s Witness, suddenly shunning sexy writhing and naughty lyrics and touring on his brand new album of songs about Jesus and then most of the ticket holders don’t bother to look this up before they are subjected to a spirited falsetto rendition of “If I Was Ur Savior” sung before seven neon crucifixes. Can you imagine? NEON JESUSES.

I was really dreading being the only one in the crowd who was there to see new material, but for the most part, that wasn’t the case. I’m not saying people weren’t complaining, but only one dude openly heckled him with, “Why don’t you play something old?!” Behind me, I could feel the people who were resistant to change relax a little every time something familiar happened.

As a kind of easing into the unknown, Stevens opened with the title track from his second album, Seven Swans. This was a scary version of “Seven Swans,” which is already kind of scary without embellishment. Instead of the marginally loud, discordant piano parts that interrupt the slow banjo and hushed vocals on the recorded version, two full drum kits on each side of the stage kicked up at intervals, scaring the bejeezus out of us. Interesting note, near the end, Sufjan enunciated the lyrics “She said, I am Lord, I am Lord, I am Lord,” instead of “He said…” He did it in a very deliberate and affected manner. It was odd and awesome, and it changed the whole meaning of the song for me.

After “Seven Swans” the rest of the performers filed in. To clarify a misconception perpetuated by reviewers: Sufjan Stevens does not have backup dancers. He’s got backing vocals, and they’re dressed in spangly outfits, and they have choreographed dance moves. It’s all very Dirty Projectors. At this point in the evening, the backup singers wore silver leotards with silver Judy Jetson dresses pulled over the top.

“Too Much” kicked off an evening full of Sufjan Stevens’ heartfelt dance moves. I tried to burn the memory of the dancing into my head, but a lot of things had to move to make room for what happened later. There wasn’t anything ironic about his dancing; he was very focused on it and obviously had practiced a lot. He seemed to be slightly uncomfortable with it, like he was irritated that he was that he wasn’t better at it. I found his miming of lyrics especially helpful in several places.

Speaking of lyrics, I bought The Age of Adz on vinyl and on CD from the merch table and neither one has liner notes. Asthmatic Kitty confirmed on Twitter that there are no official lyrics or credits for the album. Sufjan consulted a thick sheaf of copy paper tagged with fluorescent post-it note tabs on a lectern for reference (I was two people from the front, I SAW IT ALL). He told the crowd that the EP and the new album were “process music,” and that we were basically going to be subjected to months of his therapy. I can see where one wouldn’t want one’s therapy on paper for public consumption, but it’s sad that the lyric sites have a ton of incorrect lyrics, and they mess up some of the best lines.

He went straight from “Too Much” to “Age of Adz,” with the giant Royal Robertson image projected on the screen.

While Sufjan’s Christian audience members chewed nervously on the lyrics, “When I die, I’ll rot, but when I live, I’ll give it all I got,” he pulled out a low-key number, introduced by telling everyone to “put on your slow-jam pants.” “Heirloom” from the All Delighted People EP comforted those Christians with its banjo plucky goodness, its lilting la la la laaaas.

Comfort was short-lived because “I Walked” was next up, the song with the most elaborate choreography. Sufjan’s dancing is almost David Byrnes-ian. Check out the video from the Chicago show).

Sufjan picked up the acoustic guitar again and everyone else left the stage for “Futile Devices,” another spare and comforting number for the youth groups, you know, unless you’re paying attention to the sweet love song and you notice he says, “you are the life I’ve needed all along, I think of you as my brother…” Giggity.

Then everyone came back out on stage, the back-up gals now wearing very brief satin shorts over their leotards, and what looked to be a nearly-invisible version of those nylon netted things one had to wear over one’s clothes in elementary school gym class to designate what team one was on. The projection screen was dark and speckled with stars and Sufjan started singing my second favorite song, “Vesuvius.” I loved how he’s singing about staring into a volcano and contemplating suicide and the backing vocals are chanting softly, “jump jump jump jump.”  Plus, it’s got a section where two dudes play recorders, so Team Old School Sufjan wins another point.

Then the projector turned off, the dancing stopped and shit got real for Sufjan’s wistful farewell to youth, “Now That I’m Older.” A real dirge of a song with Greek-tragedy level moaning, it’s one of the most beautiful songs on the album. The crowd stood so still, it was creepy.

Sufjan gave the lecture about Royal Roberts, the schizophrenic Louisiana sign painter whose artwork and life helped inspire the new album. Sufjan told us he understood the guy because he views his own creativity as a sort of madness state. “Get Real, Get Right,” was/is the only song directly dedicated to Royal Robertson and his madness and misery (also, the only song on the album overtly saturated with god). As the brief historical lesson concluded, he felt the need to address the confused faces staring at him. It was really sweet how Sufjan seemed concerned about the kids who haven’t caught up with him yet. He explained that he had to experiment with abstract electronic sound because songwriting wasn’t loyal to him anymore, and he realized it was all “‘Muppets Take Manhattan’ and ‘Cats’, and Debbie Gibson up in here.” He wasn’t necessarily apologetic, just understanding.

After the emotionally draining “Get Real, Get Right,” our sweat-soaked Sufjan grabbed the acoustic guitar again. He thanked the crowd, thanked Kansas City, “The land of Applebees and law firms” [Since I’m from St. Louis, this is funny to me. I imagine KC was not amused]. Then he sang the mellow Elliott Smith-y song, “Enchanting Ghost” off the All Delighted People EP by himself, while everyone was off stage. Okay, he forgot a verse and had to stop the song and look up the words. But it was a neat human moment and oddly fitting for the vulnerability of the song. Then Sufjan snuck backstage, too. When everyone came back, it was clearly go time, Skippy.

The backup vocals had big hipster sunglasses, Sufjan wore a day-glo visor slung to the side with a fat silver Christmas-tree-tinsel ponytail in the back, his own pair of plastic sunglasses, and an after-thought silver garter around his right thigh. The bearded keyboard player wore a hat that looked like the Dirt Cheap Chicken, DM Stith pulled his hoodie over his head and put a visor on over the top of it, and I leaned in to the boy next to me and said, “Settle in, looks like it’s time for ‘Impossible Soul.’” Sufjan acknowledged his hilarious 90s outfit by busting out a few bars of Salt ‘n Pepa’s “Push It.”

The 25 minute proggy mayhem of “Impossible Soul” is divided into five movements. We were sprayed with silly string, there was dancing, there was the infamous vocoder section, the cheerleader sing along, and the classic-Sufjan acoustic ending, after which he surely had nothing left to give.

And instead of going to get a drink and taking a well deserved nap, he broke into “Chicago” from Illinois. His voice was pretty trashed at this point. He hadn’t had a day off since the tour started and the new songs are a lot more challenging vocally than his older material. I was fearful enough for the shows down the road to unselfishly forgo an encore. But the crowd demanded his return to the stage, demanded he deliver what they came for: more brilliant but prima facie innocuous Illinois chamber pop.

The encore was short and tidy, and after “The UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois”  and a cracky “John Wayne Gacy, Jr,” Sufjan stood back from the microphone taking in the applause with a pained smile. He then pressed his hands into his throat, gesturing meekly that he had to stop. He thanked us and left the stage.

Thus ended my very first Sufjan Stevens concert after five years of anticipation.

I’m sad he didn’t do “I Want to Be Well,” since the youth pastors still don’t know he drops 14 badass F-bombs in it. I also would’ve liked to have seen “All for Myself,” live. But still, it was the best concert I’ve ever seen, and I have a feeling as he works his way across the country, the reception for the new material will get a far less frigid. It is a testament to the strength of the new material that, if you told me six months ago Sufjan Stevens would sing “John Wayne Gacy, Jr” 20 feet in front of me and I wouldn’t break down and weep with joy, I’d completely dismiss your crazytalk.

A five-year songwriting hiatus and hints of never doing another album really messes with the heads of one’s fan base. Watching his music evolve as he works his way back to the song is a fascinating experience. Both the All Delighted People EP and The Age of Adz are a monument to the creative process, and every piece is the structural rebuilding of a broken heart. With them, an all growed-up Sufjan Stevens acknowledges the world is a mess, but it’s not so impossible.

Setlist
Seven Swans
Too Much
Age of Adz
Heirloom
I Walked
Futile Devices
Vesuvius
Now That I’m Older
Get Real, Get Right
Enchanting Ghost
Impossible Soul
Chicago

Encore
Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois
John Wayne Gacy, Jr

Extras for That Ass:

Please refer back to my review of The Freelance Whales for a mere hint of my Sufjan Stevens fanaticism. Like Sufjan, I’m not fucking around.

At a Sufjan Stevens concert, a 21+ alcohol wristband designates you a godless heathen and is all the protection you need to keep anyone from trying to pray with you, plus it helps the cool people identify each other. Also, telling people you’re gay gets you hella elbow room.

It’s no wonder Sufjan Stevens disparaged of touring with Illinois. He’s not the freakin’ Indigo Girls. His voice is delicate and subtle, people. Your singing? It’s totally audible. And if you can’t carry a tune, it’s totally fucking annoying.

If you want to look at the lyrics from The Age of Adz, I have a Google doc with my version that I transcribed over several weeks, including updates from stuff I caught live.

If you keep track of these things (as I do), when he first came on stage, he wore the same checked, button-down shirt he wears in his album photography (with the crappy straw cowboy hat). After a couple of songs, he got overheated (it was pretty damned hot in there), so he took off his shirt revealing a sleeveless, black Nike t-shirt underneath. Don’t worry, his jeans weren’t tight enough to be judged full Williamsburg hipster. His haircut was reminiscent of Animal (of Bitch and Animal fame) circa 2005. Some of the projected artwork during “Impossible Soul” was sequentially ordered photography set to look slightly animated, and a few of the sequences showed Sufjan with a bit of a fauxhawk, so I think he’s in an awkward growing-out phase now.

*“Titload” is on loan from the slang collection of @allyrulzno1. It’s the new shit-ton.