My latest obsession: Sufjan Stevens
It’s not often that I get obsessed with music, being the tone deaf person that I am. Yet, when I do get obsessed – man, then we got a serious problem.
My latest obsession: Sufjan Stevens.

It’s as if the cursed music appreciation class I had to take in college finally paid off. Sufjan’s music sends me to another world, I just sit there lost in the richness of the symphonies; fluttering string arrangements, soaring background vocals, and worldly warmth. He makes me feel like I’m walking through a multifaceted wall of instruments and sound, combining sleigh bells and heart-squeezing electronica. His music is so good that I don’t even mind his lyrics, which are both preachy and too spiritual for my taste.
Here are my three favorite songs of his, if you’re into “Baroque funk” (whatever the hell that is), or Christian music, you can thank me later.
“John Wayne Gracy Jr.” is what started it all for me. I have no idea how it ended up on my computer, but it did, and I fell in love. It’s so morbid, yet so beautiful.
“Casimir Pulaski Day”:
And my favorite Sufjan Stevens song, “Vesuvius”:
Look, Sufjan is even a good writer, and he has a blog! My favorite post of his is about how an American white boy ended up with a name as exotic as Sufjan. The opening paragraph:
“After a few years moving in and out of various towns, religious cults, faddish diets, etc., my parents finally sat me down and apologized for the weird name they gave me. “We were out of our minds!” they admitted. “We didn’t know what we were thinking!” To make up for it, they said, I could change my name to anything I wanted. Anything at all. Something familiar, normal, American, easy-to-spell, perhaps? It was totally up to me. What democracy! What fun! I scanned the possibilities: Benjamin, Jason, Derek, Chad. Endlessly delightful, perfectly ordinary candidates! I was given a week to decide, and a Webster’s dictionary. I scavenged for something conventional, conservative, and concise: Calvin, Colin, Jeremy, Kenneth. I was drawn to the monosyllables of Bob, Rob, Don, John, Dirk, Chad, and Chuck. Oh! To be summoned with one simple, single-syllable sound of the English language. Dave! Matt! Mike! Pat! Pete! Paul! No more spitballs behind the ears and getting my lights punched out behind the dugouts. No more dizzying taunts and esoteric rhyme schemes at recess. No more pokes in the ribs and jokes in the locker room. I was going to be just like Carl and Scott and Steve and Rick and Gordon and Aaron and all those other handy-dandy factory pre-made key-chain-name-tag-button-shot-glass-sticker-greeting-card names you find at gas stations!”



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