Austinist Show Review: Sufjan Stevens @ The Paramount
A beautiful and excited crowd politely stormed the gates of The Paramount theater Friday night to catch one of indie-rock's most unlikely superheroes, Sufjan Stevens. Arguably the most anticipated and talked-about show of the year this side of The Stones, Sufjan and his prodigious backing band provided a salivating audience of Austinites a glimpse into their corn pone mystique, and we weren't disappointed. If anything, as many questions were raised as were answered about one of recent music's most curious and potent success stories.
Opener My Brightest Diamond's brief set threatened to upstage even Stevens with her engaging stage banter and incredible pipes. Channeling Joni Mitchell in her heyday, lead singer Shara Worden placated then blew away the restless crowd with genre-defying material and masterful musicianship. At one point, abdicating his throne, the drummer positioned himself and his drumsticks in front of a Steinway. As Worden began to sing, the sound of taut piano wire being strummed and struck converted any in the crowd who doubted the strange, energetic songstress. If her album is anywhere near as good as her stage show, don't hesitate to purchase it.
Steven's career has led him to wear many hats: "World" musician, lo-fi folkie, bedroom electronica composer, and mini-symphony conductor, to name a few. Friday night, he inhabited another identity. Opening with "Sister" off of Seven Swans, the show began in familiar territory, climaxing in gorgeous crescendo. Having noticed during their silent entrance that each of the 15 members of his band were wearing sets of matching butterfly wings, Stevens explained their presence at the end of the first song. Requesting that he be referred to as "His Majesty Snowbird" and his backers as "The Chinese Butterfly Brigade", Stevens then picked up a banjo and launched into a slightly sped up, yet equally precious version of "Casimir Pulaski Day."
As video montages played in the background, changing with each song, Stevens and Co. went on to perform a well-picked array from his last three albums. "Detroit, Lift Up Your Weary Head" from 2004's Greetings From Michigan, chugged along agreeably. Getting the jump on post-Halloween merriment, he played "That Was the Worst Christmas Ever", followed by the unabashedly religious "The Transfiguration," predating his "crossover" albums.
Stage banter was limited to various bashful permutations of "It is so good to be here" (although at one point he seemed to forget what city he was in -- big no-no, Sufjan). Notable blurts include his spoken epilogue to a song about supercomputers: "i know there are so many songs about the supercomputer... it's such a cliche, I couldn't help it." Cue audience laughter. Before beginning "Jacksonville," he noted that the city was "a small town with a big heart." Aww, snuggles.
To sate those who'd arrived hoping to catch a glimpse of things to come, Stevens introduced a new selection from a "series of songs about birds" called, coincidentally "Majesty Snowbird." A lengthy piece, it showcased Stevens' hallmarks: a series of mini-climaxes, exhausting dynamic switcheroos, and meticulous arrangement all bolted together by an ironclad musical theme. Its inevitable, dramatic conclusion arrived in the midst of a Trans-Siberian Orchestra-esque octave-stacked guitar solo, complete with key modulations that even Yanni would blush at. It was both exhilarating and a little confusing. Were we witnessing Stevens' evolution into orchestral Prog-Rocker?
The set ended with the tender and towering "All The Trees Of the Field Will Clap Their Hands," at which point Stevens and the band left the stage to a standing ovation. After what seemed like an unusually grueling bout of encore applause, Stevens returned with four of his bandmates to perform "John Wayne Gacey" and "The Dress Looks Nice On You." After so many go-for-broke renditions of his pieces requiring a larger band, the smaller ensemble was a refreshing twist. Both songs captured the beautiful sparseness of Sufjan's earlier albums, with each person onstage contributing delicately, perfectly.
In closing, a reluctant shout-out to the "heathens" who denigrate this pious prodigy. With every set of wings that awkwardly brushed against a live microphone, creating an unpleasant scraping sound in the main speakers, Stevens' superfluous cloying became a little more inescapable. To name a common gripe, his last few albums have trended to include ever more preposterous song titles. Like a grade school history-bee champ with Tourette's, Illinois, in particular, has annoyed a few. Also, his lack of stage presence and negligible connection with the audience won't do much to assuage those who see more sanctimonious posturing than substance.
Whether he chooses to wear the mantle or not, he comes across as a tiny Mozart performing miniature symphonies with more precocity and less bravado. Unfortunately, there are many Salieris at the gates, searching for ways to undermine his burgeoning legacy. This multi-instrumentalist, who has wowed millions with his catalog's unapologetic beauty, has also possibly set himself up for failure, cobbling ever larger shoes to fill for himself and his music. Yet, as much of his material deals with searching for the redeemable in the seemingly lost, whether it be states, cities, bible characters, or himself, lets hope that His Majesty Snowbird remains humble and keeps his feet on the ground.
Considering that he plays on his tiptoes, that might be too much to hope for. But it's certainly endearing.
Flickr photo by Clare Yee Yee
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