Sufjan Stevens
The Age of Adz

"I'm getting tired of my voice. I'm getting tired of the banjo." It's from this May 2006 statement that the analysis of a work like The Age of Adz should begin. Just a year earlier, Sufjan had released one of the best albums of the past decade; a peak unreachable that is worth an entire career. With Illinois (2005), the fame of this Detroit artist had reached a boundless audience: songs like "Casimir Pulaski Day" (one of the most beautiful and poignant pieces ever composed) had traveled the world, giving enormous visibility to the young songwriter. That voice, which gives a profound sense of naivety at every listen, had managed to narrate stories of murderers, friends lost forever, failures, legends, and American myths. All with an almost alien candor, at times disorienting. Yet, at the height of his career, Sufjan senses a feeling of alienation that leads him to rethink many of his projects (including the idea of composing an album for each American state). The sense of dissatisfaction with his music and his way of composing would accompany recurring chronic pains and, as he stated in a 2010 interview, a strange viral infection that debilitated his nervous system. In this climate, Sufjan creates the material that would flow into The Age of Adz, an album that would mark a colossal turn in the artist's career. This work was preceded, a few months earlier, by the EP All Delighted People where the canons and compositional style of the songwriter didn't seem to have been much affected.

No one expected, therefore, what would soon happen with the arrival of the new album. In early October 2010, The Age of Adz becomes available on the market. The cover alone indicates a clear change from the past: all the album's artwork draws on the works of Royal Robertson (who, similarly to Sufjan Stevens, had always flaunted his strong spirituality). By his own admission, Stevens will reveal a strong correlation between his life and that of this Louisiana artist, to the extent that many of the lyrics of the new album would be nothing without his inspiration. Speaking specifically of these 11 compositions, one cannot help but highlight the role played by the initial "Futile Devices." Musically speaking, there don't appear to be any major changes: everything seems to fit within the logic of the previous albums, although there's a noticeable novelty in the use of arrangements and equalization work (especially concerning the voice). The more muffled sound and an accentuated echo effect given to the voice stand slightly apart from the tone of previous works. Nothing foretells, however, what is about to occur with the arrival of the subsequent "Too much." A cascade of noises, foreign to everything one would expect from this singer-songwriter, introduces a rhythmic section entirely entrusted to a drum machine. If one is accustomed to what had been done in Michigan and Illinois, the sensation is one of total alienation. In truth, the track is less convincing in the first part; it feels like the juxtaposition of the compositional rhythms of the past and the urgency of experimentation create a clunky mechanism.

Yet in the finale, the impossible happens: a rhythmic base (composed of something akin to laser rays) is hurled at breakneck speed into the arms of the usual string section. The marriage, albeit unlikely, seems to work and has a certain logic: so much so that the subsequent title track will open by following the same pattern. This new fusion between the traditional sound (represented by winds and strings) and rhythmic structure (mostly digital) proves to be a happy formula at various points on the album (a recipe that, among other things, brought success to Matthew Herbert with his Big Band). As partly anticipated, the innovations introduced in this work can be summarized from different perspectives. First, it should be highlighted how the entire rhythmic structure has been overhauled: very little space for analog sounds and much experimentation with electronic drums and effects. The result is a very synthetic sound that cleverly exploits interventions at the edge of glitch and broken rhythms seasoned with omnipresent bitcrusher. Patterns are often not used but, on the contrary, there is much play on continuous changes of register and very ethereal interludes. Overall, there is an impression of having a framework that oscillates between a very saturated sound and very plastic impulses and beats. The strings and winds are perhaps the most connected to past compositions, except they make excessive use of ascending and descending scales (which create that vortex sensation that accompanies much of the tracks). The interaction between these two elements inevitably influences the same compositional method and gives a much more erratic and experimental rhythm to the songs. Furthermore, it's noted that the lyrics are much less tied to religious themes than in the past: from this point of view, this album can be read as a journey within the individual dimension (in fact, the use of the third person and the usual references to news events are almost entirely absent). Finally, to return to what was said at the beginning of this review, a special mention goes to the use of the voice (while the banjo is completely set aside).

There's an operation of upheaval that influences this artist's very way of singing. Beyond any work in mixing, Sufjan himself works on timbres and tones he's not accustomed to. A cadenced and more fluid progression is preferred, able to give a sense of space and distance (in this, he is assisted by the use of choirs and counterchants). Much of this is due, above all, to the use of effects and filters. Thinking of this songwriter grappling with such instrumentation (especially for those who were impressed by the candor expressed by his voice) would have had something sacrilegious. Instead, in this album, there is widespread use of delay, reverbs, and (even) vocoder. Many times, it seems that Sufjan, at certain points, wants to dare too much. This is particularly evident in moments where he is forced to rely on his traditional way of using his voice to get out of jams created by his expressive urgency. Much remains unclear in this work. One could refer to the 25 minutes of the concluding "Impossible Soul" which, besides presenting moments of very high level, often risks seeming like a mess of ideas, generally giving the feeling of continuous and pleonastic variations on the theme.

It's difficult to give a clear judgment on an album that aligns truly inspired moments with glaring missteps. It's true that even in the past there had been forays into the field of electronics (see Enjoy Your Rabbit). Perhaps what's missing is that sense of sobriety and measure that in the past had dominated many ambitious compositions (in live performances, this continuous desire for excess and exaggeration is personified by the evocative costumes worn by the musicians and Sufjan himself). In conclusion, we are facing an artist who has certainly changed since the times of Illinois, but whose willingness to constantly put himself back in the game and the honesty and tenacity he puts into what he produces must be appreciated. The Age of Adz divided critics, gathering conflicting opinions from various fronts. Personally, I recognize its very high level, but I can only consider it a starting point for something to come.