happy new year, by the way
At one point in Sufjan Steven’s “Christmas Sing-A-Long Seasonal Affective Disorder Pageant On Ice,” "Joy to the World" morphed into the refrain from "Impossible Soul": “Boy we can do much more together/ It’s not so impossible.” A guitarist in a chicken suit, a keyboardist dressed as a nun, and Rosie Thomas in a snowman costume helped fill in the rhythm section. A skeleton suit also fit somewhere in the equation. The song was selected via the “Wheel of Christmas,” full of well known secular and sacred Christmas sing-a-longs. Hundreds of twenty- and thirty-something hipsters joined in, with no discernible self-consciousness or irony. It was a transcendent moment.
This was the scene at Turner Hall in Milwaukee last Thursday night. It was a night of joy. By its end, it seemed true that anything is possible.
While I am a fan, I did not expect too much from the show. I have barely digested Sufjan’s first massive Christmas collection, released years ago. His new one, with fifty nine songs, now has techno and auto-tune to contend with. I limited myself to the twelve-song "Noisetrade" sampler for the time being.
Going back two years, it took a live concert experience for me to really get the “Age of Adz.” That album was a departure, filled with uncharacteristic existential crisis and angst. The beatific, feathery voice, the acoustic guitars and quiet pianos and homely banjos, gave way to drum machines and synthesizers. The lyrics, though still filled with the familiar achings for affection and love, were more ominous. The tone was postmodern and heavy. Soul searching and personal anguish came out in interviews, as devoted listeners tried getting their heads around this sonic ode to Royal Robertson, the schizophrenic sign-painting prophet of apocalyptic disaster and doom. “What’s happening to Sufjan?”, many were asking.
"Impossible Soul" was a particular challenge. At twenty-four minutes, the album closer could daunt even the most intrepid and open-minded listener. It seemed to smash every imaginable song-writing convention. I tried, mostly in vain. But as he performed it, something magical happened. By the end, security guards in the staid Chicago theater were shooing spontaneously dancing throngs back to their seats. Such subversive rowdiness at a Sufjan concert was clearly unexpected. Suddenly, it all made sense. The album popped for me and ascended to constant rotation on my iPod. I accepted the plain truth of Sufjan’s genius. I would never question him again.
Then came “Christmas Unicorn.” Now, I am aware of the Christ symbolism of the unicorn, thanks to a visit to the Cloisters in New York a few years ago, where I viewed the famous unicorn tapestry series along with an explanatory tour by a scholar. So I suspected there may be more here than meets the eye (ear). But the twelve minute song did not immediately win me over, to say the least. I must confess to actually poking fun at it in the car with a friend. “I am the Christmas Unicorn. You are the Christmas Unicorn,” we mocked. It was just a little too much.
But then, he did it again. He performed it, and something transcendent happened. Sufjan got into a costume so outlandish that I cannot really explain, except that it had lots of balloons and streamers and of course, a unicorn horn. From the first moments of the song, one could feel that something magical was about to happen. Oh I’m a Christian holiday/ I’m a symbol of original sin... Oh I’m a pagan heresy/I’m a tragic-al Catholic shrine... Oh I’m hysterically American/I’ve a credit card on my wrist. While the song slowly built, inflatable unicorns were thrown into the crowd. A confetti explosion capped the delight. For a moment, we were all unabashed Christmas unicorns.
I saw Sufjan and thought of Tom Bombadil from "The Lord of the Rings." Singing nonsensically, flamboyant clothes, not a care in the world... no wonder Bombadil is sometimes viewed as a symbol of pre-fallen Adam. Earlier in the night, Sufjan wore a sleeveless t-shirt with the words “X-Mess” spelled out in tape on the back. He told stories about the dysfunctional Christmas disasters of his childhood and even included “That Was the Worst Christmas ever” in his set-list. But now, he was the Christmas Unicorn. He was taking the schmaltz and profanity and tackiness and commercialism and absurdity of twenty-first century American Christmas and leaning into it, owning it, embracing it, absorbing it, becoming it. And coming out on the other side, redeemed. He took it all head-on, and transformed it into something beautiful. All I could say was, wow. I turned to my friend Katy and shamelessly shouted it out. I get it! I am a Christmas unicorn! I am happy!
The seven tapestries of the Unicorn series at the Cloisters include the entire paschal mystery of Jesus, say some scholars. So, in a strange and unique way, the art of Sufjan Stevens.
If there is an artistic equivalent for a saint, Sufjan is it. His show exhibited an effortless and natural blending of sacred and the secular, sublime and ridiculous, divine and human. He is so comfortable in his skin, and so at ease with himself, that it rubs off on the audience. Marketers would say he knows his brand; Christians would say he knows his identity. He is a son of the Father. He is free, no longer under the law. He is the anti-rock star, an everyman that wins us with his personality as much as with his music. He repeatedly gave reverent but non-invasive nods to Jesus. All evening he made gently self-effacing quips that garnered deep sympathy and affection from the audience, while blending things that should not fit together, from four-part medieval choral harmonies of “Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming” to a techno auto-tune romp of “Do You See What I See.”
The blended styles were symbolic. Amid the fragmented selves of postmodernity, here is a man who has managed to gather them all together under one roof, one table, one feast, one self. Everything fits, somehow. He has found a place for them all. Whereas most of us live an existence diluted by many streams of multiple selves, he is a single gushing fountain. Everything God intended him to have, and be, and give, comes out. Perhaps the existential anguish of the “Age of Adz” paid off. The man and artist I just saw perform cannot but be the product of a considerable and ongoing journey of deep personal interior work.
“Joy to the World/ the Lord is come.” Who today can believe it? “We can do much more together/ it’s not so impossible.” Thanks, Sufjan, for reminding us, for pointing us to the joy, to the Mystery, to the Lord. Through your quirky, beautiful art, it all seems so credible again. As long as there are artists like you, it’s not so impossible.
