Great Day No. 2/ More Illinois Prattle

That's two in a row, folks. Only today, there was surprise! My super friend Sista was in town for the weekend so we met up and had a great afternoon. I miss her and she is the sweetest. I hate saying goodbyes.

After a yummy dinner courtesy of Erin and watching Super Troopers, which I hadn't seen before and loved, I came home and finally tripped on the stairs. What I mean is, all year I've been bounding up them two-by-two and have been getting faster and more careless, and it finally happened. Needless to say, I was shocked.

What I didn't do is clean anything.

I don't care how much I write about it, but Sufjan Stevens' music astonishes me. Illinois has lost none of it's luster over these last few weeks, and I listen to it once through every day. I've found that I even approach it differently than other bands' music. For one, it is a very complete package- no song lacks in lyricism or instrumentation or melody- so it's constantly engaging. And then there's the fully developed themes he writes about, and in a very, very beautiful fashion mind you. Stevens' songs are about very human struggles, and on all different levels. There are songs like "Come On, Feel The Illinoise!" which can be read as commentary on advertisement and spectacle-based society, or can be very personal and moving as we extract meanings and empathize with the lyrics and narrator. The point is that the themes don't become stale after time, just like in good literature. There are too many songs whose novelty wears after so many listens, due to the one-dimensionality of the lyrics, intentional or not. I guess I prefer to think a little more, and Sufjan's music is perfect for that.

On the flipside, I love Trey Songz and Twista's "Gotta Make It," which could be the most cliche-ridden song ever. And I could've sworn it was a Kanye production! Chipmunk-soul or whatever. But it's gold, man.

Great Day No. 1



I'm listening to Sufjan Stevens' Enjoy Your Rabbit for the first time since I got it. Better than I had expected, for being a strange electronic album. It's interesting to listen to his compositions in this way, and pick up on the nuances that make the music so clearly his work, even though it's in a different medium.

Yesterday was wonderful, thanks to Val and Keith and Erin. Val and I played golf in the afternoon at the Davis Muni course. It was so nice, as always, to be with her and catch up and talk about everything. She's got the gift of being very comforting and easy to talk to, and at the same time she's a great listener. And she's always fun to be around. The most personable person I know? Val. I am glad I get to see her this weekend back home also!

And of course, the Last Supper went off without a hitch. And I'm invited for dinner tonight!

"My ex-girlfriend's a model in Florida! She wants me back but I don't take no shit!"


The title is courtesy of Grandaddy, and I think it's hilarious! New EP out soon.

This is my last weekend in Davis for almost a year- how strange, leaving. Everything Ambivalent! It's all in fun though, and this weekend shall be no different, complete with golfing and The Last Supper + Going Crazy and... cleaning. So it's all in fun until Sunday afternoon.

The other day I bemoaned my being unable to see Interpol in September. And then I remembered that Edinburgh is a big city and there will be a thousand more shows to go to than there will be here. Like Four Tet w/ Explosions In The Sky! Not only do I like Four Tet, but The Boss does also! Funny...

"Conviction" is still in progress!

-The Team

From the Archives:

I never really listened closely to Neutral Milk Hotel's On Avery Island, or if I did it was years ago. It wasn't just that I preferred In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, but Avery Island never stood out to me besides the instant and urgent catchiness of "A Baby For Pree." So when I came across this verse from "Gardenhead/Leave Me Alone," which is a song I don't usually sit through, I was stunned. I can't believe I never noticed this:

Follow me through a city of frost covered angels
I swear I have nothing to prove
I just want to dance in your tangles
To give me some reason to move
But to take on the world at all angles
Requires a strength I can't use
So I'll meet you up high in your anger
Of all that is hoping and waiting for you

This is as achingly gorgeous a lyric as I've ever heard, the line about "dancing in your tangles" stands out especially. Heartbreaker.

-The Team

Owen Wilson is, like, sooooo underrated omg...

Field Maloney's excellent article for Slate on Owen Wilson and his relationship with Wes Anderson hit, in my opinion, the nail squarely on the head. Wilson is clearly underappreciated- he is widely regarded as hilarious, but isn't given due credit for his intelligence and razor-sharp wit. His laid-back demeanor doesn't help any, although he doesn't seem to mind. But if the significance of his contributions to the writing of Rushmore, Bottle Rocket, and The Royal Tenenbaums with director Wes Anderson, were at all unclear before, they aren't any longer. For The Life Aquatic, Anderson's latest film, Wilson (for whatever reason- probably time) gave up writing duty and was replaced by Noah Baumbach. There is a clear drop in quality, signified I think by the complete loss of touch with 'reality,' which was Wilson's most important gift. Anderson has fallen increasingly in love with the fantastic locales in his imagination; these are precious places indeed, where there is an ever fading sense of danger or importance. By danger I don't mean physical danger, for in The Life Aquatic there were modern day pirates with plenty of guns, but I mean danger we can relate to, a human danger. The father-son dynamic Anderson explores loses its significance and wastes its potential in his fantasy world, for there isn't any context. The movies he wrote with Wilson, however, truly were touching, and Anderson's semi-dream-world setting gave them beauty and charm. In everything came together, a delicate balance was achieved and the results were stunning. Max Fischer's relationship with Ms. Cross displayed the charm and the danger I alluded to before, as they shared sweetly funny scenes as well as had very serious troubles. For all of Anderson's romantic notions, there were Wilson's sharply poignant reality checks.

So will Wilson and Anderson ever write another movie together? Why would I know! But I hope they do, because I am one of their legion of Biggest Fans.

-The Team

Oh No! This Isn't What I Wanted AT ALL!!


So I was up a little early, checking some stuff out when I come across this. If you scroll down to the middle of that pack of tour dates, somewhere around the 14th of September, you will see that INTERPOL IS PLAYING FREEBORN HALL. Yes, that Freeborn Hall. So why am I not excited? Because I won't be here. Dammit!

-The Team

Here's to Things Picking Up. Tomorrow.


I erased this post because moping doesn't do anything for you. I'll just say that today I became disheartened and I'm not entirely sure I should be. So while I wrestle with that, or hopefully forget about it, I'll give you this: I am about done in Davis. I mean that in every way. I am happy here, but feel I need to get home before I leave abroad so I'm grounded somehow. It's sad how little time I have in Goleta but something I've got to live with despite how much I hate to think about it. It's hard realizing summer school actually takes so much summer. That sounds stupid but you can see how I mean it. I feel like a wreck right about now so perhaps I should just go sleep it off. Or I'll keep bumming myself out. You know the days, the one's you've got to bear down and get through because tomorrow things will pick up. Right Scarlett? Right?

-The Team

Likenesses/A Day in Sacramento


Gary Busey reminds me of Britt Daniel. I would say it the opposite way but I knew of Britt Daniel first so that's the way it goes. I've learned that Gary Busey is insane and funny, although in a bit of a sad way. But these websites on Busey are rad and hilarious.

I went on a tiring bike adventure today with my uncle all around Sacramento. The highlights:

An El Salvadorian restaurant, which reminded me of La Super-Rica back home. It really was about as good. Papusas are delicious I discovered.

River trash. By this I mean white trash in the vicinity of a river or lake or boat. There were boat drag races on the American River and there was so much river trash watching I couldn't believe my eyes. But I did. And then we took a dip in the river at a beach that was nothing but river trash! It was hilarious and a bit pathetic, with the adults wading off the bank with beer and cigarettes and pot, and their lil' ones running about their ankles and getting yelled at.

A good Indian restaurant. It was a buffet, and I tried all the curries and liked about half of them. Mostly the lamb and chicken.

Oh Sacramento. My notions of Sacramento as a weird-ass city/town have been reinforced tenfold.

-The Team

Advance Warning!

I just watched an episode of MTV's Advance Warning show, which presumably exposes me to hot new bands and artists. This episode featured four acts which I will profile for you:


1. The Click Five - These cocky bastards went to the prestigious Berklee College of Music. I hope I don't have to tell you what a waste that was. They make very annoying guitar pop, which also lacks interesting musicianship (so much for Berklee). You know who else went to Berklee? The great Keith Fullerton Whitman. The contrast? stark.


2. Paul Wall - This sucks. I like hip-hop fine but this is just stupid.


3. The Shout Out Louds - They are from Sweden and they make the most boring indie-dreck I've ever heard. Their live performance dragged and dragged and the singer whispered the entire time. They looked like Strokes and Kings of Leon lovechildren, and really those bands aren't that different. Musically, both very tight. The Shout Out Louds, however, are bland in the same way that Eisley are bland. Nothing grating or challenging, but samey and altogether boring. But Eisley are hot and unpretentious and therefore forgiven.


4. Senses Fail - I didn't even watch their segment. I guess the name gave them away. I thought we were on the tail end of the Drive-Thru epidemic? Wishful thinking on my part.

The show also claims to have introduced us to the Arcade Fire. I've rolled my eyes enough tonight, so I'll leave things at that.

-The Team

"Conviction"

Since I finished my book and feel inspired, I've begun to write a short story! Haha who knows if I'll finish it, because I am really not a finisher of things. But I hope I do. Here is the first paragraph (because I don't have much more than that):

I told you I was leaving because there was no point to staying here, or anywhere for that matter. And you couldn't blow me off because you knew as well as I knew that our life was broke and breaking, but you acted cool anyhow and I left you behind because I knew you wouldn't mind. Anyway I knew I wasn't running away from whatever it was kept us on our knees and awake at night, but I thought if I stayed still any longer I might as well be digging my own grave. And it wasn't like I was making a mistake leaving because how could going anywhere be as bad as going nowhere? Maybe it would be a mistake if I had planned it out, with maps and cash and extra clothes. Nothing hinged on this, it wasn't success-or-failure, because that could only invite danger. I was just leaving.

What hilarity awaits our young protagonist? We can't wait to see! And also, listen to Joanna Newsom's "Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie."

I do as I please/
Now I'm on my knees/
Your skin is something that I stir into my tea/
And I am watching you/
And you are starry, starry, starry/
And I'm tumbling down, and I check a frown/
It's why I love this town. Well just look around/
Just see me serenaded hourly! Celebrated sourly/
Dedicated dourly; waltzing with the open sea - /
Clam, crab, cockle, cowrie: will you just look at me?

That is today's theme song.

-The Team

We Sailed Away on a Winter (Summer)'s Day, Our Fate as Malleable as Clay

Thank you James and Sarah and Adam for coming to visit! It was of course nice to see friends, but I recognized that I really don't have a summer this year. At least nothing like I'm used to, and it's like anything else, good and bad at times.

Two years ago, after high school, I had the best summer of my life. I was in love with so much- a freedom, a sweet girl, an opportunity and a responsibility. It was idyllic and I am grateful to have experienced it, knowing I can look back happily at that special time. But I really don't expect anything to match that again, not in a bitter way of course, but just because it was the essence of being seventeen. What a beautiful thing! To enter the world with my exciting ideas and plans, and lack of plans, the sheer importance of everything. I listened to an actor recently in an interview talking about some kind of temporary medical condition he was in which left him unable to move one side of his face. What I loved was how he described it, something to the effect of "I was seventeen, you know, I cried." But it was also the way he said it, spot on, capturing the heartbreak perfectly. It's not the adolescent embarrassment or the adult resignation, exactly, it was a young man thinking of the future as within his grasp finally- terrifyingly real and important. And I love that in its complete lack of pretense and its admirable conviction. And I think of that as bittersweet and beautiful as passing things so often are.

On my own isn't so bad though, as I've had ample time to reflect, or rather meditate, for it is as much projecting as anything. And despite my time spent lost in thought, I feel very satisfied and productive. I like to feel I'm taking care of myself, working a job, although it's nothing too strenuous or demanding. I welcome the responsibility, though, and want to become a "stand-up guy." I always liked that description and the ideas it encompasses. And I'm making progress and am happy with myself in that regard. Summer's slow, fluid pacing is wonderful in that I am able to recognize and appreciate everything, no matter how small. Minor miracles add up, and it's amazing how your heart and mind react, harmonizing and creating a very basic and serene sense of contentment. The only lingering sadness is that there just isn't enough time, but then again if I had it my way I would surely be in danger of idling myself into a rut. So I am grateful things move, and take me with them.

-The Team

Podcasting and Physics

Man, it's nice having someone read me news stories instead of trying to wade through the constant influx of RSS feeds and figure out what's worth actually reading (Yes, I like Slate). My first impression of podcasting was that it was nothing more than a novelty, and I disregarded it. I also didn't really know what it was. I don't know if I think much differently now, but so far so good. I even listen to the stories I would have skipped over before (everything except "Explainer"). Here's hoping that New Scientist will follow suit and offer some aural assistance as well, as that is the hardest to read on a whim despite being quite interesting. Pretty soon I won't even listen to music anymore, just DJ's reading to me about cat ladies and the rise in self-storage and other trifles such as how to pronounce Judge Edith Brown Clement's last name. That, and for some reason unknown to me I wake up to NPR in the morning. I would like to think that NPR is at least 40 years away for me, but apparently someone had other plans for me.

def: stretch - n. When ESPN's 50 States in 50 Days project resorts to administering the following facts about Idaho: Napoleon Dynamite was filmed there, and memorable songs about Idaho include Ben Folds Five's "Twin Falls."

Hearing the phrase "Yes, the chickens have large talons" on sports television is second in strangeness only to having a Ben Folds Five b-side that even I, a huge BFF fan, don't know mentioned on air as a song we, as Americans, should be familiar with.

In fun news we are learning circuits in physics and today I built a circuit with four AA batteries, eight AAA batteries, and one D battery wired to a grand total of four small christmas lights. When I managed to close the circuit, I saw about the brightest thing ever for a split second and then the lights were blown out. Science.

-The Team

"I think I lost my Illinois shirt."




Walking is the best. You lock into a rhythm and can walk forever it seems. We walked a lot on Sunday, down to the BART and around San Francisco. At Rasputin I dropped "a significant amount" on some great music, notably Pavement's Westing (By Musket And Sextant), My Morning Jacket's Acoustic Citsuoca, Joanna Newsom's The Milk-Eyed Mender, and M.I.A.'s Arular. That last one is a bit of a departure from my regular, folky ways. It's a vibrant and energetic record, a melting pot of American hip-hop and South American raggaeton and baile-funk, a product of musical globalization. Aside from being flat-out sick and danceable, it's pretty inspiring to think of the future of pop music, where the next big thing could come from absolutely anywhere. Come together, man. We walked around and talked, sometimes in Spanish, and enjoyed the city. What a beautiful place! With its slopes and streets and people and the sun shining clear, it was ideal.

After much walking we headed to the Great American Music Hall and picked up our tickets at will-call, amongst the heartbroken and desperate loitering outside the sold-out venue. We got right up front, against the stage, and didn't budge until the end. The opening act, Liz Janes, began by playing a ukelele and harmonizing with her xylophonist, who was very cute in her dress and little hat. These first few songs impressed me with their old-timey feel, which didn't sound forced. Her voice was especially powerful when she explored her register, as on the song "Poison and Snakes." She ditched the ukelele for a diminutive guitar, which against her big (not fat in the least, just large) frame looked a little funny. The songs she played next were decent and sounded a lot like Cat Power, but were missing something. Perhaps it was the minimalist instrumentation, but I think it's more a lack of presence. Chan Marshall's music doesn't seem to lull like Janes' did, or maybe it's that when it does there is still a palpable tension, and it's touching. Fortunately she returned to her ukelele stylings and wrapped the set up with some beautiful traditional songs and one by a Seattle songwriter.

Sufjan Stevens came on next, and started with a solo rendition of "Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois" on guitar. It was gorgeous and fragile, and a little more immediate than the album version due to its minimalist setting. His Illinoisemakers joined him for the remainder of the set, and it was glorious! They had cheers lined up for various Illinoisian locales, which were executed brilliantly and pretty funny. I was a little disheartened when the visibly nervous Stevens, who had already made some (very minor) mistakes with the lyrics, didn't sing the last verse of "John Wayne Gacy, Jr." I doubt he meant to cut it off so abruptly, as it is what makes the song so brilliant, and really it shouldn't matter because the man had a lot on his mind as the main performer as well as orchestrator of the madness. It all turned out beautifully, and he even snuck in "A Good Man Is Hard To Find," which is a non-Illinois favorite. And I cannot forget that they endeavored to play "Come On Feel The Illinois!" which was clearly a difficult song, technically speaking, to reproduce live- and they did it well.

Nos fuimos satisfechos y cansados, y tomamos el tren de noche a casa.

-El Equipo

Orinda House Party/The Oakland A's...




...tried their best. Of course it was too little, too late. I can't complain though, because it was everything I wanted otherwise. I even got to boo Kenny Rogers firsthand. Makes me wonder how long that will last- it certainly doesn't seem to affect his pitching. Our seats were at the very top, above third base, and despite the negligable chances of catching a foul ball, the view was pretty and expansive. And there were home runs, which amaze me. To hit a ball that far!? That must be fun.

We went to Adam's friend's friend's house party Saturday night. Talk about random! It was pretty hard to branch out to all these people, they seemed to be all pretty good friends, as they are mostly from Orinda. Funny that such a small-town-America place is in the bay area, which always strikes me as urban. Anyways, the people were nice enough and I got pretty bored as the night unwound. Those kinds of events, where I know I won't see any of the people ever again, seem to make me forget my very nature, as I think to myself, "I will go crazy and not care because it doesn't matter!" However, this doesn't happen, especially if the atmosphere is low-key like this one was. So, I drink the good free beer and chat and get the not-caring part down, but never really go crazy. A party with good friends is conducive to reckless abandon, and a party with good friends this was not. But again, I met nice people and am only observing, not complaining.

-El Equipo

Naan 'N' Curry, Food of the Gods

Friday we went and got some Naan 'N' Curry. Joder tio! Era deliciosa! Curry is one of my new favorite foods, and I can eat naan for days. Good restaurant indeed.

Adam also gave me a gift from Spain! Me dio una camiseta hilarante! Apparently this brand is all the rage in Spain. How awesome is that.

-El Equipo

And then the Bad News/Goodbye T.A.B.



"I'm as sad as can be," said Byrnes. He said it best.

He Woke Me Up Again

This morning Sufjan Stevens was on KCRW (Santa Monica) and played a beautiful set with some help from friends. I listen to his music so much differently than anything else I've ever heard, as if I'll miss something if I'm not careful, taking in everything at once and picking out parts and dwelling on them, it's really strange and wonderful. I think every song has a favorite lyric and a favorite musical nuance, which makes it nice to hum or sing throughout the day. I am so, so hopeful for his show on Sunday in the city. I hope for it to be intimate and fun, the kind of somber celebration his music seems to warrant. I am also excited to see Adam- it's been so long! I love him.

On Saturday I will be seeing my beloved A's beat the Texas Rangers. I can't wait for this, my first pro ballgame of the year. I often wonder what it is that makes baseball games so beautiful. It's what they conjure in my mind, a nostalgia for an innocent and proud and gloriously out-of-time past I have, and probably in fact most people have, of course, never experienced. And I like that any baseball game will do it for me, will fill me with a silly pride, shameless and joyous and important as anything. In the big leagues it's the honest rivalry and class, the fireworks and expansiveness of the ballpark, the hot dogs and sodas, the tradition. And at the opposite end of the spectrum it's the intimacy and the summer sky and the sunflower seeds. See? It's perfect. And I am glad to hear Zach is a fan now too!

I've been deep in thought for a while now, and it's made me feel at peace, and in the right place, which is wonderful. Mostly it's been religion on my mind, and I am glad to say that thinking about it has not made me uneasy, but rather made me feel like I am understanding, that things have been falling into place wherever I look. It's not an explanation for anything and it's not a spectacle, but more of a recognition and admiration for the relationships between myself and, well, everything. Things I can see and things I can't, things I comprehend and things I don't. My idea of grace, and also lately my ideas of forgiveness and compassion. What is more beautiful than to forgive and to empatize? What is more human? I know I'm re-hashing ideas I've already mentioned, but they have really captivated me. I feel I've so much to thank, from my family and friends to art and literature. My only uneasy feeling is that throughout all this I might seem insincere or that I'm putting it on. And it's absolutely not so, I am only excited and curious and grateful and, above all, happy. I really don't mean to make myself seem above anyone with all this discussion- I know I would be tempted to look at somebody else in my situation, going on with this air of importance, skeptically at the very least.

In reading The Violent Bear it Away, I've come across a beautiful quote, but first let me give it some context. The tension in the story comes from the relationship between a young boy, raised assured of his destiny to become a prophet, and his disenchanted uncle. The boy is religious, of course, and has chosen to undertake the baptizing of his uncle's only child, a mentally retarded boy. The uncle is dead against it, and is portrayed as an academic, efficient and lifeless being. But his intense fits of love for his child, Bishop, are described like this:

He was not afraid of love in general. He knew the value of it and how it could be used. He had seen it transform in cases where nothing else had worked, such as with his poor sister. None of this had the least bearing on his situation. The love that would overcome him was of a different order entirely. It was not the kind that could be used for the child's improvement or his own. It was love without reason, love for something useless, imperious and all demanding, the kind that would cause him to make a fool of himself in an instant. And it only began with Bishop. It began with Bishop and then like an acalanche covered everything his reason hated... The longing was like an undertow in his blood dragging him backwards to what he knew to be madness.

Isn't this the essence of compassion, to love as a doomed endeavor? I couldn't tell you why, though, just that it seems that we all, every one of us, deserve it. Reason is beautiful and of course as important as anything, but at the same time so is this.

And that is where I'm at right now.

-The Team

I Can Play "John Wayne Gacy, Jr."

That is the good news. However, I'm even sicker than I was yesterday. But to play this song, fingerpicking and everything, makes it all worth it! Also, I've filled one side of a cassette on my little recorder with me playing and singing. Hooray! Now if only they were my own songs... I've been working on my singing, because that is where I'd like to improve the most, to the point where I'm not afraid to just sing, especially if someone's listening. I guess that means expanding my range so I can sing higher mostly, as well as making my delivery more precise. Wow, that makes it sound as if I was actually a singer.

And undoubtedly the coolest way to sing is in a falsetto. I firmly believe the falsetto can make a song, boost it that extra amount and make it amazing. And there are a few kinds of falsettos, or rather the falsetto can do one of a few things to a song. For example, Ted Leo's falsettos are a big part of what makes his songs so freewheeling and fun. It's like he gets worked up to the point where his voice just soars and it's really breathtaking and exciting. And regardless of whether he's on key or not, it works superbly. And then there is Britt Daniels' falsetto, in full effect on "I Turn My Camera On," which he tells us is modeled after Prince. Needless to say, it just radiates cool, sweet untouchable cool. By far the best voice in rock n roll. Finally there is Sufjan Stevens' haunting ghost-falsetto, which is quite fragile and delicate and honest. It's the climax of a fever dream, stripped and more than a little unnerving. Now, if only everybody would use a falsetto, music would be, like, at least ten times better. But can women have falsettos? Judging from the name I guess not. So music would be five times better. Still, how cool.

Last but not least, tomorrow is the All-Star Game! And hamburgers and friends and the heart and heat of summer. I hope I feel better, because this is what it is all about. Podsednik will steal the show. so clever...

-The Team

Today I Woke Up Sick/ On Hipsterdom

It's the feeling you have the morning (afternoon) after you've stayed up insanely late, except I didn't stay up insanely late. Only normal late. But I've a sore throat and runny nose, and feel really tired. Fortunately none of these are in full effect, leaving me feeling exactly mediocre.

This weekend, and preceding week, have been very nice. I have exactly a couple of good friends here (pun most definitely intended!), and thankfully I never feel like a third wheel or hanger-on with them, as could easily be the case with any other couple. Rather, we all enjoy being together and adventuring or cooking or just relaxing. I will miss them extremely come August and Everything After. I hope somebody catches that one. I tried to find Keith in his office today, but realized that with his office being the entirety of the Shields Library stacks, it was a lost cause. And then whoever checked out Alan Hollinghurst's The Line of Beauty God knows how long ago has not returned it by its June 30 due date, and I've been wanting to read it for a while now. So why didn't I put in a request? I figure I'm enjoying The Violent Bear it Away so much I will finish that, and then I might not have time to read Hollinghurst, or it will have been returned by then anyways. I realize that this is of no interest to anyone, including myself, but figure I could always check back here when my logic escapes me later on as to why I'm not reading The Line of Beauty. And so it goes.

Lately the marvels of the Internet have been making themselves known to me- from the multitudes of music blogs to, gasp, web comics, to the wonders of message boards. The first are handy for discovering new music or rarities, which is my cup of tea. I suppose that's why this journal even exists, despite our obviously different goals. As for web comics, I've found Questionable Content, which I found very clever while catching up through the archives, but lately have found a bit boring. Dinosaur Comics is my favorite, and really the only other one I've bothered to follow. I am at a loss to describe it, not because it's necessarily that indescribable, but more because it is quite strange and very smart and very funny. Which brings us to message boards. Today I joined the new Sufjan Stevens message board, my first time actually becoming a member of a board. And after exactly two posts I doubt I'll be contributing anymore in the future. Just stealing the members only downloads. The reason for this is unfortunate but I think true for many boards like this. I went with the notion that I would "meet" other fans who share my enthusiasm and be able to discuss the music. But I realize I regard his music as very personal and intimate, which makes it hard to talk with others I don't really know about its effect on me. However, this isn't the entirety of the problem. One thing I saw which about sums up the message board experience is one of the very first posts, in which a member introduced herself as something to the effect of a bigger fan than all the other members, someone who loves and understands his music much more than we could hope to, and should be immediately made a moderator of the board, as she confidently sat above us atop the hipster hierarchy. What a bitch! It is this indier-than-thou posturing that repels me from the social aspects of music, from concerts to message boards. This person is the equivalent of that dick at shows who's seen the band like 50 times before their latest cd came out and can therefore spend the entire show talking with their back to the stage about the shortcomings of the performer, or the latest it-band, looking absolutely and ridiculously too cool for school. I cannot stand that, and should have known better than to think a message board would be any different. So I will let them discuss amongst themselves the merits of this-or-that b-side and so on and so forth ad infinitum (or until the board shuts down due to renewal fees, whichever comes first). As I said before, Sufjan is best listened to alone anyways.

-The Team

In which I Write what I Couldn't Tell You on the Phone

Dawn,
I fear that sometimes the concept of weight is lost on me. By which I mean I cannot comprehend the import of a situation, and it bothers me because I can tell that much. "I'm sorry" is so much less than I'd like to give you, and so much less than you deserve, but alas, it's all I have. Know you are in my heart, in your very special place you've carved and decorated and comforted in our time together and apart. You are there, where I think about you and care about you and hope, hope, hope for you every day. I have romantic notions that you knowing this, understanding how you are loved, will be enough to solve problems. But you have scrapes and bruises and more than you could handle, I can see that. Things that sting and pull and press you all the time, and I can't pretend to know how those things go. I'm left reaching for something, feeling as if I'm shortchanging you while you entrust me with open wounds. I guess all I can honestly offer is my presence of mind and spirit, although I realize it's not much consolation in such a situation. I will be as a doctor on call, a steady hand and mind and heartbeat at the ready, and please use me despite my incapacity.

And please also know something, that I think you are beautiful and strong and capable as ever. On this point, I don't care what you think because I know you and I know the things that have happened to you and there aren't a million reasons in the world could make me think any different. And know that a day is coming where misfortune and its unhappiness will fade and give way to the peace and contentment and relaxation you so very much deserve, perhaps sooner than you think. I hope to talk with you soon.

Yours,
-Brian

For the Grieving and the People of London, For my Sister Melissa

"Thirty-seven people/ At seven A.M./ On the bus/ In the train station" A song has come to me since waking up to today's news, and of course it sounds like Sufjan Stevens in my mind. I'm happy with the guitar melody and am trying to come up with lyrics and a vocal melody, which I've always struggled with, as I am wont to copy the style of whoever it is I've been listening to lately. But I think I'll go through with this one, and I'm excited. Not to make light of the subject, of course- the entire reason I'm making a song is because these bombings affected me so. Saddened not only for the victims and their loved ones, but for the man who could be moved to do such a thing, that this would speak to him as a justified action. What does a man think before taking part in such an event? Is it of his wife and kids, the world he loves, with the sorrow of importance, a deed which must be done? Or is it of the these things with the pride and honor of a guardian? And then I inevitably think, what is it that I would do if what I believed, my love and my values, were dying before me? And I am grateful I have never had to and will hopefully never have to be in such a situation. I don't think this is naive, to reduce actions to questions, but I do think it would be foolish to pretend to know the answers.

As I alluded to before, times like these tend to make us refocus on that which we love and cherish, and things we take for granted. Which makes me think of someone who I realize has made me immeasurably proud, especially in the past year as I see her grow. My sister Melissa has always meant the world to me. And I realize how mature she has become and it makes me then realize how much I love her and how important she is to me. To see her becoming an increasingly considerate and honest individual, I appreciate her heart and mind and also the wonderful bond we share. And I miss her, dearly.

-The Team

Illinois, or, Brian and the Two-Day Fever Dream, or...

In an attempt (futile?) to preserve magic in my life, I try my very best not to listen to music before it's released- refusing to download singles or albums regardless of legality, and even trying to avoid hearing things on radio (mostly internet) which I anticipate greatly. Such was the story with Gimme Fiction (oh, how it paid off!), and although I caught a bit of "I Turn My Camera On," which blew my mind and set me thinking of all the possibilities the long-player could have in store, I managed to hold out until it was in my hands. And so the story went with Sufjan Stevens' lates opus Illinois, the only record I pined for more than the aforementioned Spoon. To make matters worse, I probably could have downloaded every track on the album multiple times over, as seemingly every mp3 blog I know posted new Illinois cuts every day. Again I perservered (tantric? maybe).

To say it has paid off would be a half-truth, as much a disservice as a compliment. It has altered my life considerably throughout the two days I've had it; I've been unable to sleep soundly or feel fully awake (I guess those go hand in hand though), I've lost track of things, I've been lost in deep thought constantly. I don't want to call the album inescapable, because I've not tried to get away, but rather I guess I've been actively engaged, or something to that effect. I see this seems hyperbole, but I'm as honest as I can here.

The first song, "Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois," took me aback. This is Stevens, stripped and unsettled, gracefully washing over me, freezing me and wrapping me back up to keep me warm. I say graceful because that is what I think is the essence of Sufjan Stevens' music, a grace which is beauty tinged with sadness and despair. Or, the beauty in the humanity of the saddest and most devastating situations- I can't word it properly. I have been thinking of the notion of grace for some time now, especially since reading Marilynne Robinson's Gilead, a book which can best be described as graceful (what do you know?). But this is not grace as in something like a ballerina's pirouette, as I said before it encompasses much more- humility, pride, beauty, acceptance and love come to mind. I also think it is inextricably tied to God, if not because it is, after all, God's grace. Now, I have never really considered myself religious, but have opened up quite a bit lately with all these beautiful works of art I've found I enjoy more than anything else. But more on that some other time I guess.

Anyways, Illinois has made me feel like I've reached an important understanding, as if things have aligned on different levels, and it feels amazing. Empathy is a major part of it. To be able to identify with another is maybe the most beautiful, most human thing we are capable of, and Sufjan empathizes masterfully and gracefully with the characters in his American saga. For although he's said they are mostly fictitious characters inhabiting the album, lines like "I've made a lot of mistakes/ In my mind, in my mind" from "Chicago" are just as much a confession, quiet and forceful and universal, from Stevens himself. Nowhere is this more evident than in "John Wayne Gacy, Jr.," possibly the most affecting, haunting, and beautiful song I've ever heard. What Stevens makes of the life of a serial murderer and rapist is nothing short of devastating, telling the story as matter-of-fact, which I imagine is quite a thinner line to walk than it seems. It would be incredibly easy to misword and turn such a touchy subject into lyrics which peg the writer as a sympathetic monster or a cold, condemning narrator. Though the latter wouldn't be necessarily a bad thing, it could never be as beautifully horrifying as Stevens makes it. To hear Sufjan and his backing female vocalists sing as if in a fever dream, voices rising and beginning to quiver, "Twenty-seven people, even more/ They were boys, with their cars/ Summer jobs/ Oh my God," reaching a ghostly falsetto on the last line, is gorgeous in the saddest of ways. But the clincher comes in the last verse, as Stevens admits "And in my best behavior/ I am really just like him/ Look beneath the floorboards/ For the secrets I have hid." It is this moment, at once heavenly and absolutely human in its honesty and empathy, which makes the album for me. Transcendent to be sure. And chilling to be sure.

I will not write of the absurdity of Stevens' 50 States project or make comparisons to Michigan or Seven Swans (better and better). The album is a small miracle, the most human of wonders and therefore most poignant. It is yourself, stepping back, reassessing and realizing and ultimately reassuring. If anything, I am grateful for this work, this art. It has had a profound effect without being at all sentimental or precious, which I can appreciate. Only graceful.

-The Team