Lyrics

I'd swim across lake Michigan
I'd sell my shoes
I'd give my body to be back again
In the rest of the room

To be alone with you
To be alone with you
To be alone with you
To be alone with you

You gave your body to the lonely
They took your clothes
You gave up a wife and a family
You gave your goals

To be alone with me
To be alone with me
To be alone with me
You went up on a tree

To be alone with me you went up on the tree

I'll never know the man who loved me

Sufjan Stevens' lyrics tend to float between spiritual and secular. Christians will argue that the lyrics refer to Christ, and yet, you can also read this in a more secular way.

Bob Dylan also had a song called To Be Alone With You, though his lyrics are decidedly of the flesh.

To be alone with you
Just you and me
Now won't you tell me true
Ain't that the way it oughta be?
To hold each other tight
The whole night through
Ev'rything is always right
When I'm alone with you.

To be alone with you
At the close of the day
With only you in view
While evening slips away
It only goes to show
That while life's pleasures be few
The only one I know
Is when I'm alone with you.

They say that nighttime is the right time
To be with the one you love
Too many thoughts get in the way in the day
But you're always what I'm thinkin' of
I wish the night were here
Bringin' me all of your charms
When only you are near
To hold me in your arms.

I'll always thank the Lord
When my working day's through
I get my sweet reward
To be alone with you.

Indeed, Dylan explicitly refers to the Lord, and yet in the offhanded way people refer to the Lord. I suppose Dylan could be referring to Christ too, but somehow you don't really get that feeling.

The other interpretation for Sufjan's song is a man whose discovered he's gay. Consider the lyrics "You gave up a wife and family. You gave your goals." This theory doesn't quite hold up as well with "You gave your body to the lonely.
They took your clothes."

Indeed, the religious interpretation fits the best to the lyrics, suggesting that the person singing would give all he had to be with Jesus, who sacrificed himself. The person says he doesn't know why Jesus loved him.

But being explicit with references to Christ tends to be death knell for songs that want to have broad appeal, so by leaving it more ambiguous, it also leaves the song to broader interpretation.

This is a general issue with lyrics. They tend to be far more cryptic than, say, books. Sometimes you wonder if the lyrics have any real meaning at all, or that the sound of the words just sound good together, regardless of the meaning.

Morning Rush

Weekends are meant for sleeping in. Yet, I found myself up at 7:30 debating whether I should make the trip to Kennedy Center via the Metro. The website said it would take some 30 minutes to make it there, and then I'd likely have to wait in line. I'd want something to eat beforehand too.

You see, they were handing out free tickets to celebrate the tenth year anniversary of the Millennium Stage at the Kennedy Center. Whatever that means. All I cared about was that they were planning to give out free tickets to Sufjan Stevens who would perform for this anniversary.

Now, I figured the kind of people who'd go see Sufjan (pronounced Soo-fee-ahn, sounding Armenian) would be college kids who couldn't drag themselves out of bed at such an early time. But alas, I forget college kids often camp out for basketball tickets for crucial games.

I was planning to eat a healthy breakfast at Dunkin Donuts, but to no avail. The parking lot, small as it is, was full, and therefore, there were plenty of people in line. Instead I went to College Perk, got a coffee I was happier with, and a brownie, and drove to the College Park Metro.

The website for Metro suggested I transfer at L'Enfant Plaza, but I could cut a few stops short if I got off at Gallery Place, then onto Metro Center, and pick up the Blue/Orange line from there. Alas, when I got to Metro Center, I had to wait 9 minutes, even as I had barely caught the Gallery Place Red Line and didn't have to wait.

I knew once I arrived I was supposed to take New Hampshire. Signs pointed to Kennedy Center, so that made locating the building much easier. As I neared it, I didn't realize just how close the Kennedy Center was to the Watergate hotel, so I took a few photos.

The temperature was chilly, but at least it wasn't windy, and indeed, it was sunny.

As I got near the Kennedy Center, I got in a line that was already stretched out the side. It looked like 100 or so people. I had no idea how many tickets would be available. We asked the cop or whatever he was what line it was for, and he asked us what line we wanted to be in. I said "Sufjan", and he pointed further down.

When I got further down, I saw a line, but as a I rounded the corner, the line went on and on and on. There were at least 1000 people, but it looked closer to maybe 2000, maybe 3000 people. I was told there was 2300 tickets. Each person could claim two tickets, so at worst, there would be 1250 people, and at best 2300. Even then, I felt there were at least 2300 people.

I showed up 10 minutes or so before 9 when they would start selling tickets, and still people were coming in. I later heard that some people had camped out two days. Still, I thought it would be fun to wait some, and they kept people moving, rearranging the line, and so even though our chances of getting tickets were small, it was still interesting to see how many people were out there.

The average person looked in their 20s, kind of the bohemian art type with thick glasses, drinking their oversized Starbuck's.

I eventually struck a conversation with the guy behind me, who was a geographer, belonging to some society, and we talked about maps and such for a while. I find it easier to talk about other people's backgrounds than mine, plus I ask questions, more than I gave out answers.

At one point, some of those in uniform directing crowds claimed there were enough tickets, but that seemed unlikely. Even so, we stood in line, watching birds fly above, and planes take off, and the water in the distance.

Eventually, one of the guys said the chances of us getting tickets were pretty much impossible. I stayed a few more minutes longer then decided to leave. As we passed near the front of the line, someone asked how long they had been there, and one said they had arrived at 6:15, which was earlier than I was planning to be there by at least 45 minutes (best scenario). It was nice to know that I was hours late and didn't waste too much time.

Apparently, the optimal time to come was at least 4 hours before, around 5 in the morning, and wait the four hours until they sold tickets. This would still leave you with a bad seat, but at least you'd be in.

I kept thinking Sufjan would easily make ten thousand dollars if each person paid five bucks, which I'm sure most would have been happy to do.

I then ate at a coffee and sandwich place at the Watergate Hotel, which may not be a hotel according to Dave, who thinks it's a condo by now. I thought prices would be outrageous, but it's comparable to other places.

After waking up that early, I got home and decided to sleep. While the trip didn't yield me much, I did get to see a bunch of people who had hoped they'd be among the lucky 2300, but weren't. Politeness ruled, and no one seemed to shove or cut in line so much.

The day was sunny and brisk, and I wasn't too unhappy being out at this early hour.

Touring with Sufjan

Seattle seems like a small eternity ago. I was there during the weekend that Sufjan wrapped up his tour in the US. Last stop, Paramount Theater.

The theater itself looks like one of those old-timey theaters, where someone must still go out and place letters up. This bit of nostalgia is a bit of Americana, where technology rushes forward, but bits of history linger, trying to root us to some time and place, even if that time and place is less than a hundred years old, perhaps indicative of the brief period of American history.

Inside, there is ornate art on the ceiling, on the side of walls, again recalling a period in time when people seemed to care about this. Oddly enough, it reminds me of my trip in India, where buildings built by kings were also ornate. At some point, the craftsmanship needed to create such art has been lost, replaced by plain walls. To be sure, baroque things sometimes look way overdone, far too glitzy for the common man. Yet, they also harken to a time when this kind of excess meant something.

This theater looked like it could easily hold 500 people. I did some mental calculations. My ticket was probably 40 dollars. Sufjan probably makes, hmm, 30 bucks on the ticket. That means 15,000 dollars on the evening. And he's sold out everywhere in the US, presumably at similar sized venues.

And perhaps he needs to make such a pretty penny because his band is huge. For such a personal singer, his stage performances seem more like Broadway, or perhaps, an oddly put together high school stage performance, than a normal band.

At least, Sufjan (or his band) thinks that when you come to a performance, it's more than just the music. I had likened it to Prince. So many bands put all their creativity in the songs, and very little in the actual staging. This may simply be Sufjan's literary background coming through. Stories to be told and seen and sung.

Sufjan's band wore plastic butterfly wings the size of small kites. Sufjan himself donned eagle wings, also kite-like. He would arch his shoulders back and forth, causing his wings to flutter. Reflecting much of his persona, this borders between kitsch and mocking to something profound, much like his 50 states project.

Blow-up Santas and Supermans were strewned throughtout the stage as part of setup. Again, total kitsch and possibly kink too. Who blew them up? (Perhaps machines!). And did they buy out the only Santa/Superman blowup factory. Apparently, most of these were tossed out into the audience who then lofted these dolls upward, in some kind of cartoonish mosh pit, without the angst and seriousness.

All the while, I'm thinking of logistics. Bands often stay one day in a city, and perform the next day in another city. Do they arrange hotels? Do they decide to stay the evening, and then head to the next destination in the morning? Are they taking huge busses around? Are they flying? Does someone go ahead, while the others remain behind?

Do so-called band-aids hang out, hand selected by those who know of the peculiarities of someone's tastes?

I know. Odd thoughts while attending a concert. I'm supposed to be in the here and now. I'm supposed to sing with the lyrics. I'm supposed to laugh at Sufjan's curiously oblique story, one that has been told time and again, but refined because the story didn't quite hold water. It was a large paper mache rooster, and it was raining, and they propped it in the forest and we made a "caw, caw" sound, oh, but roosters make, what is it? "Cock a doodle do!".

We were like brothers, he said, born on the same time on the same day. ("What day was that, Sufjan". He demurred and would not answer). And this meandering story prefaced the song, the Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to get you, a song which seems to be about gay longing, though many have tried to dissect its meaning (maybe the narrator is a woman). It gave rise to a thought that maybe he was singing in the guise of his friend, who had something for Sufjan, and that it was Sufjan that may have freaked out.

Or not.

As I was heading back from Seattle, then heading out to India, I knew Sufjan would similarly be touring in Europe, to eventually conclude the tour in Iceland, land of Sigur Ros, in some church, perhaps of some stature.

This vast entourage would wend its way from town to town. More like city to city. Would the stories make sense? The humor, so attuned to American oddity a la Keillor, might not make sense abroad, but then, maybe it wouldn't matter. Interesting how Europeans and even Japanese embrace bands that don't speak the local tongue, and yet foreign bands struggle in the US. When was the last time you went to a band that didn't really speak English?

No, I don't mean Ozzy.

One of these days, they might actually take a good picture of Sufjan, but then, he'd actually have to look into the camera.

Sufjan in Seattle

I suppose it should have occurred to me when I flew out, on October 13, Friday, the 13th that is, that I made a stop through Chicago.

I was heading to Seattle, my fourth visit there in the last few years. Perhaps outside of DC, and Tennessee, and Ithaca, it's the city I'm most familiar with. I had been hoping to meet up with a few friends, which dwindled to meeting just one friend. But my real reason for heading to Seattle was Sufjan Stevens.

To tell this story properly, I need to wind back two months. Two months ago, I was invited to my cousin's wedding. My cousin had been living (and continues to live) in the Seattle area. Like most (nearly all) of the people I know in Seattle, my cousin works for Microsoft. He met his girlfriend, then fiancee, back at Cornell, I believe, and she came out to Seattle to live with him, and presumably, to marry him.

I had been invited, so I bought tickets for an early August wedding. Three weeks before the wedding, my cousin called it off. Great. I have tickets to Seattle. What now? Don't get me wrong. I love visiting Seattle--and I could have gone, but now it wasn't so necessary to go at that time.

As it happens, I found out that Sufjan Stevens was touring. One place his tour wasn't stoppping was Washington DC, though he had been to the area a year ago. I remember seeing his name, thinking, oh, it's nearly a month. I'll wait til it's closer in time, and by the tickets then. But even about three weeks out, the show was sold out.

Sufjan was the indie darling of 2005. His album Illinois (or more properly, Come and Feel the Illinoize a riff on the Quiet Riot title, Come and Feel the Noise, which itself was a cover of a song by Slade) was cnosidered by many to be the best indie album of the year.

Sufjan was able to deal with two musical topics/ideas that would be anathema to most. The banjo and religious folk music. Somehow, by picking the Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God approach to God, he made it more respectable. Seriously, though, many of his songs aren't particularly about religion, but about personal observations of experiences.

Anyway, Sufjan was touring, and the last stop was in Seattle, so I decided to rebook my tickets for then. I suppose it's awkward to want to watch a concert all the way across the country, and I'm sure I wouldn't have gone had my cousin not cancelled his wedding so late, nor if Sufjan had a DC stop.

It should have crossed my mind, in the layover in Chicago, that I was flying a big metal bird to, well, Chicago, one of the hit songs from Illinois, perhaps my favorite (though listening more closely to Casimir Pulaski Day's lyrics, I can see why that song is a favorite among fans).

Sufjan's opening act was My Brightest Diamond which shares the Asthmatic Kitty label that Sufjan helped start. Its lead singer is Shara Worden, whose songs seem like they could be the soundtrack to some fantasy movie a la Lord of the Rings. She has a creepy, foreboding voice, kind of like the goth girl that's suddenly taken a shining to the geeky guy, who doesn't know how to handle the situation.

Her performance went for nearly an hour, then there was a fifteen minute break.

Sufjan's stage appearance always seems at odds with his songs, which feel very personal. Sufjan seems like the white alter ego to Prince, who was famous for his large stage protections. The Purple Majesty hailed from way up north. Minneapolis was where Prince called home. Similarly, Sufjan calls (or used to) northern Michigan home. He's thrilled about the Detroit Tigers post-season results too.

Sufjan's crew all came out wearing butterfly wings. His productions almost verge on a high school or college production from a very arty department. They aren't done with the polish and sheen of a Broadway production, but I think Sufjan likes the kitsch value. Sufjan himself wore wings that look like a kite, though his wings were of an eagle, or so he claims.

Sufjan does one thing that I find almost amazing. He talks to the audience. I can't tell you how many bands I've heard where the lead just announces the names of the song. That includes My Brightest Diamond. Perhaps it's because Sufjan wanted to be a writer, and writers are at heart, storytellers, that Sufjan is comfortable with this.

It always struck me as strange how someone could be singing, dancing, gyrating and emoting on stage, and yet lacks the ability to string a few sentences together. It's a strange form of autism, I imagine.

Throughout the songs, there was a backdrop showing movies of some sort. This vaguely reminded me of Doves who also did something similar when I went to see them.

Sufjan doesn't sing songs as he breathes them. He sings a little bit above a whisper, a bit more alto than his speaking voice would lead you to believe.

One theme that seems to run through his songs is our need to connect with something larger. The stage was filled with blow-up Superman and Santa dolls. This reminded me of the recent Superman film, the one by Bryan Singer, where Lois has written an article about why the world doesn't need Superman, and the movie goes to show why Lois and the world does need Superman. Throughout, there is a tie between Superman and Jesus, though Jesus didn't seem to do a whole lot of flying.

Being a secularist, I see this imagery not so much as a belief in a higher being, but a need to simply believe, to aspire to something greater.

And some of that manifests itself in animals that fly. Superman flies. Santa sorta flies. At least, with reindeer. They both do good, though Santa tends to deliver bribes more than he does good. Eveyone on stage had these wings. Wings remind one of angels, but also reminds us of a desire to fly, to be more than we can be. Thus, his imagery is of real animals, butterflies and birds. Does he do this because we look at the world and aspire to be what other animals are? Or is it a subtle hint about angels? (Ignoring the fact that folks like Roger Ebert say that angels are not formerly living people, and were never people to begin with).

Sufjan sang The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us, which he renamed as a "bird wasp". Here, he tells the story of friend Franco that he met at a camp, who he discovers has the same birthday as him, even to the minute, and how he created a paper mache rooster, which was supposed to be some eagle. The story is rather lengthy and odd, but elicited laughters.

It made me think that the song, which some of debated as either being gay or being told from a girl's point of view, might actually be told from Franco's point of view, who was gay, and Sufjan was the guy he was attracted too, and at the time, neither knew how to react appropriately.

Anyway, file that under theory 173.

Sufjan seems to strike a good balance between group and individual, between loud and soft, between serious, and irreverent. In many ways, Sufjan doesn't seem to take himself that seriously. He appears to be a musical Charles Kuralt, going from place to place, imitating local customs, showing how people, like, cheerleaders for a college team, want to be part of something. It may be religion, it may be sports, but it's a desire to be part of something, and even if it's not exactly grand, nor perfect, it is who we are.

Perhaps Sufjan doesn't mean to say any of this. Maybe he finds dressing up on stage akin to some experience he had in high school or in college, and finds it's simply a lot of fun. But he's always managed to try to bridge this gap between seriousness and silliness, which is why he avoids discussion of religion, I think.

Look at the lyrics to Casimir Pulaski Day. This is, I've discovered, a real holiday, observed in Illinois. But the lyrics have more to do, it seems, with a lover who's fallen ill, and how prayer didn't seem to help. It takes a holiday observed within a state, and tells a very personal story that seems to question religion. An odd juxtaposition, and I think a much more realistic view of religion than is commonly attributed.

I thought it was odd, as Sufjan came to the end of his set, that he hadn't played Chicago, but alas, there was an encore, and Sufjan and his band came back fluttering on stage for a resounding encore of Chicago. Sufjan is heading off to Europe now to do his European leg.

It made me wonder how he manages these tours. He's typically going from one city to the next. Do you try to fly out that night and get in past midnight to the next city, so you can sleep in, and the team has time to prep for the next day? Or do you stay over at night, and fly in the next morning? Or do some people go right away, and some go the next day.

And how does Sufjan manage so many people. His tour consists of around a dozen people. And those blow-up dolls. He seems like he gives them away at every stop? How do they get so many? And what's the thinking behind, well, blow-up dolls?

Sometimes I wonder how accurate I am, speculating at a distance. Not very, I imagine.