ORIGINAL RELEASE DATE: AUGUST 20TH 2010

It seems now that Sufjan Stevens did anything and everything except release a proper follow-up to his 2005 magnum opus Illinois. There was of course the collection of it’s ‘b-sides’, The Avalanche, which itself ran to almost eighty minutes, and then the appreciated but not essential culmination of five years’ worth of Christmas EPs, boxed together in the comprehensive Songs For Christmas (it includes stickers, die hards). The mixed-media instrumental bloom that was The BQE, a homage to the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, followed in somewhat subdued but no less magnificent fashion. Collaborations with The National in addition to contributions to the Dark Was The Night compilation also appeared, alongside an imaginative reworking of Joni Mitchell’s timeless Free Man In Paris.


It’s clear now that Stevens used these events as musical stepping stones to move from one to the next in a non-linear and ever-evolving fashion. His discontent with production and the decline of the album as a platform for showcasing music as narrative was surmised with the statement “What’s the point of a song?” Tellingly, this existential crisis occurred around the same time as his own form of mysterious illness. The result was more ‘Adz,’ but just before this showcase came All Delighted People, a somewhat discursive ‘EP’ that just so happens to run one hour in length. Getting through from start to finish is a feat in itself and one feels many critics had trouble getting to grips with it; Stevens released the entire thing online on August 20th 2010, with not so much as one cryptic clue of what was coming.


All Delighted People is musically not far removed from what we’d come to expect from Stevens. True, in part it’s more You Are The Blood than Illinois, but there’s an experimentation on tracks such as Djohariah that build in ways that were already set in stone as far back as Michigan. That track closes this EP, swelling to an astonishing seventeen minutes and has been described as a “guitar-jam for single-mothers.” An ode to Stevens’ sister, it feels like a constant wave of apologies and even though the lyrics don’t come in until over half way, it’s so beautifully paced and has many layers that are really worth investing the full running time for. All Delighted People centres around two versions of the title track, the first Original Version opening the EP and wavering over eleven minutes, picking up surprising pace as it progresses. Complete with magnificent orchestration and a balancing act of lyrics versus sublime choral flourishes, it feels as though the song could climax and peak every few minutes or so. At times awkward and bloated, it’s a magnificent beast that Stevens can all too easily tame and then release for a dramatic finale. Five years have evidently taught him unusually great restraint on otherwise verbose and taxing musical arrangements. Its counterpart, the Classic Rock Version, doesn’t sound like any classic rock I grew up listening to, but then I’m pretty sure anyone who’s previously called an alternative take Multiple Personality Disorder Version (Chicago, The Avalanche) is having the last laugh. Stevens frequently strips back the clutter such as on Enchanting Ghost, surely one of his most sublime and alluring compositions to date. The acoustic guitar and banjo are accompanied in such serenity with piano and autoharp swells, but perhaps the understated vocal delivery is the most evocative thing here. Heirloom follows in a similar fashion and has come to represent Stevens at his most familiar and comforting; the balladeering troubadour that just clicks in all the right ways, as complete and reassuring as the sun rising. We now know this is not the Sufjan Stevens of present, nor is he likely to return to this identity any time soon.


If The Owl And Tanager is haunting in its hushed state, then it’s all the more beautiful for the evocative lyrical imagery it conjures; Stevens sings of Tannery Creek, blood in the meadowlark and a dejected sense of isolation while a simple piano motif is repeated throughout, often taking off to accompany a dramatic desperation and sorrow. This unease is carried through Arnika, Stevens repeating “I’m tired of life / I’m tired of waiting for someone.” The sound of a creaking swing brings about this constant back and forth of happiness and sadness throughout our lives and all the little trivialities in between. “I’m going, I’m going” becomes a motif before the final killer, “No, I’m not afraid of death or strife or injury, accidents, they are my friends.” Both songs have ridiculously beautiful melodies which are so deep-rooted in the overall make-up of the songs, it’s almost as though they wrote themselves.


With the release of The Age Of Adz seven weeks later, the general attitude is that All Delighted People acted as a curveball, a final farewell and culmination of songs that Stevens had spent the previous five years (or possibly longer) working on. This shift in style isn’t just experimenting for the sake of it; Stevens has no other path to go down. All other avenues have long since been exhausted and whilst some have declared this shift as a retreat to the electronic patterns and structures he first entertained with Enjoy Your Rabbit and A Sun Came, the Stevens of present is wholeheartedly more in sync with his work than ever before. His craft has become a true artistic endeavor and it’s all the more resonant because he’s constantly at odds with it. The grapple and strife when finding yourself in that place of uncertainty and confusion is a path that most real artists must tread in order to maintain their vitality. All Delighted People captures it perfectly; ‘Adz’ even more so.