Sufjan Stevens has a weird name

I don't quite know where to begin when describing Sufjan Stevens' album Illinois, because I don't think I'll be able to fully get my brain around it until this time next year. Let me start by saying that this is the biggest, most ambitious, most majestic, soaring, lush, and intelligent hour and twenty-something minutes of music I have heard since The Flaming Lips' Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. And in all of the ways that Yoshimi stretched too far into the fantasy realm with its frivolous themes, Illinois remains a brave tribute to all of the many intricacies of a real place and real people, namely the album's namesake state and its variety of characters past and present. The stories here are of presidents, serial killers, bustling cities, small towns, Native American battles, floods, and UFO sightings. Included are the celebrated moments and figures, as well as the low points and outcasts.

Let me say this again...this album is astounding in its ambition. When Stevens embarked on his quest to document all fifty states through concept albums, who could have guessed that he would produce something of this magnitude with only his second effort. To all of you who are already keen on Stevens' ambitious task and own the first installment, Michigan, I can tell you that like the results of this years' NCAA b-ball contests, the competition between the two is never in question when paired in the competative arena.

To describe such a varied concept album is nearly impossible. Illinois sounds like a soundtrack, as it should, but it is not a neatly boxed set of similar songs from similar genre. My only context for comparison is a Wes Anderson film score, in which the off-beat orchestral stylings of Mark Mothersbaugh are offset by the hard hitting rock hits of Bowie, Jagger, and The Who, which are again, in turn, tempered by emotive folk tunes from Cat Stevens or Chad and Jeremy. Who could predict that such an album might even be listenable, much less successful. But like the soundtrack for Rushmore, easily my personal favorite movie soundtrack, Illinois miraculously succeeds as it twists and turns through rich orchestra, sullen folk, and intricate baroque pop numbers.

As a disclaimer, I won't say that this album is catchy, necessarily. This one requires time and effort to reach full effect. I doubt you'll be playing this record on repeat or learning the guitar tab for 'The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us', but like the complex pallette of a fine bottle of wine or a succulant dish, you will be equally satisfied with each listen to such tracks. Okay, that sounds pedantic as hell, but just roll with it, if you will...In the same way that a delicacy is best lauded by the salivatory reponse it induces, so too will such a rich and varied musical text as this be defined by the listeners' tongue-tied response.

This is one of the albums of the year 2005. There is no record that comes to mind that is even in the same realm in terms of its ambition or variety. Scold me for overselling this one if you think I've gone too far in my praise, but come at me with guns blazing before you try and cut this one down to anything less than spectacular.

Gummy Bear Vitamins

It's 45 degrees and raining in Philadelphia on this January Tuesday, and there is nothing I can do but let my mood fall right in line with the oppressive melancholy of the scene outside of my library window. Point is, I am in dire need of relief from this winter of mud and five o'clock sunsets. Music will have to be my savior, but I'm in no mood for rock n' roll.

Luckily, in the mindset matching department, I have been alerted of a new release from one of my favorite artists, Eef Barzelay (aka. the Clem Snide lead singer/wunderkind). For those of you unfamiliar, Clem Snide, a Brooklyn based foursome, are one of the most dependable independent bands of the last decade. Their early albums were fun-loving and ironic, laid out beautifully and candidly in Barzelay's earnest, trembling tenor. 'Your Favorite Music' and 'The Ghosts of Fashion' are must haves, with tracks like 'I Love the Unknown,' 'Don't Be Afraid of Your Anger,' and 'Long Lost Twin' solidifying their niche as poet laureates for the confounded 20-something crowd. Though their bite has been dulled in their more recent efforts by a more romantic approach (see 'Soft Spot'), they continue to contribute albums that are well worth the price.

Barzelay's solo effort, 'Bitter Honey,' is the first of its kind that I know of. Almost every Clem Snide album features a track or two of stranded guitar and vocals, but the band is better known for its creative din of muted horns and banjos played with cello bows. From what I've heard, this album finds Barzelay alone and exposed with only his acoustic guitar for support. His unique voice wallows within a sullen, lonesome range that bleeds honesty and adeptly captures the grey landscape of a midwinter scene. I get the feeling that if I saw these tracks live on a day like today, I would gladly burst into tears.

For folks seeking midwinter medicine of the rueful, lonely sort, this might be your opportunity to injest a healthy dose. Sometimes, a stubborn melancholy can only be treated by indulging its own necessity; too much sun is no good for an honest soul.