Reviews by kuvien

The first time I heard the tune that’s used for “Son ar chistr” was on Anaïs Mitchell’s rendition of Child Ballad #6. Although the tunes are the same, the feeling of the songs is completely different. Stivell’s otherworldly voice and ethereal harp transport the listener to another time and place, but in a way, so does the Mitchell rendition, especially since it deals with magic. What’s remarkable about this music is how Stivell plucks the harp more often than simply strumming it. Each note is discrete and powerful.

Don't mince words, Alan. What do you really wanna say?

More of a bagpipe focus than harp for the master harpist, this album holds a lot of short, traditional tracks wherein there’s not much more than Stivell’s voice and the magic of a single instrument accompanying. This album reminds me of the old alliance, the ancient friendship between Scotland and France. They’re playing their harps and pipes together, an island of peace amidst a world of conflict.

Probably the best interpretation of the Child ballad "The Trees They Grow High" that I've ever heard, and I've heard some amazing renditions. What else can I say? The harp playing is masterful, especially on tracks A5 and A6. Just astonishing that anyone could evoke such magic out of an instrument. The joy of the crowd is palpable, and near the end I got the feeling that if Stivell didn't play one more song, they were going to riot... but in a good way. Like all join hands and lock arms and doing a massive traditional Celtic dance.

Stivell is one of the best examples I've come across of a modern-day bard, a man who understands his Breton roots, knows how to connect to and involve his audience, is overjoyed with playing his native music, and unafraid to call for unity among all sundered Celtic peoples. Far too short a live album for all the magic of bagpipe, organ, tin whistle, and clarsach that this contains, but perhaps the brevity is part of its charm. Way rockier than his 70s studio albums.

Sophisti-pop indeed, but not annoying in its sophistication and intelligence. Sting has always written nuanced, educated lyrics, and he continues to do so here. This album is perfectly named, actually, since he's telling stories like a minstrel character in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. The anachronistic Sting would've fit right in with those pilgrims, telling them stories about seven brothers killing one another over a single woman, about the farmer who in his desperation practices and ultimately fails at witchcraft to make the rains come, about a man who betrays his best friend by stealing his woman, only to find a warm welcome in Hell, and about a doomed sea voyage foretold by a boy.

This is always in rotation at Christmas time but only at Christmas time. It doesn’t make sense to play this normally. It’s got a lot of nice interpretations of traditional Christmas tunes. It’s a soft, warm album that’s safe for a winter’s night. Good with hot buttered rum.

Meticulously-crafted crap that gets you singing along and feeling good about yourself.

interior monologue
Man, I listened to that Sting album with that one song about rain falling and washing away my tears... this is gonna be a good day!

Also, rap sucks in every language.

This album is avant-prog for yodelers, music for hipster shepherds, saying, "I don't listen to what those sheep-shaggers over there listen to." If anyone gives you shit for liking this silly album, just cut them down with a "hee nyee nyee nyee nyee!" Either they'll understand, or they won't. Joking aside, though: there's a moment halfway through the album when you sit up and think "oh wait, these guys are serious." And they've got the vocal skills and music sensitivity to drone to pull it off. The bones of the mountain run through this album, and don't be afraid when the mist shrouds your vision. You can still hear the alphorns.

Though this is the band’s debut album, I came to them through their excellent sophomore release, and though this one might not be as good as the marvelous Schnee, it’s certainly no slouch. According to Stimmhorn’s Bandcamp blurb, this album is “unconventional, fresh and cheeky.” It certainly is. Not afraid to play around, to explore the drone elements of voice and horn. “Inspired by the autumn light of Grison mountains," this album was actually recorded inside a chapel.

This wonderful yodeling duo continues to shine on this album, creating drama in vocal contrasts, indulging in all the emotional outlets available to those who have the courage to stand up and say hyee nee nee to life when it throws you a g’ang g’oo.

My instincts told me at the start that this album kinda sucks, despite the skill involved, and my instincts were confirmed and justified on the final track. Godawful.

It's fun to hear Sufjan doing a collaboration, but even so this has his signature all over it. This isn't just an album. It's an experience. Headphones, eyes closed. The sprawling and poignant "Earth" really got me, and the frightening "Black Hole" was mercifully short. Some people criticize the album for being too long...maybe, but I'm not in a rush.

Not a proper studio album, this additional release is for diehard fans of Sufjan who want to get a peek into not only what happens behind the scenes in production but also what ends up on the cutting-room floor. Three versions of the same song might enrage one listener but delight another, depending on how much you want to hear Sufjan play around applying different musical themes to the same content (and thus altering the content). So step inside the mirror and see what's playing on the other side!

Comparisons to The Age of Adz are inevitable, though this album does not rise to the level of consistent god-glitch that Adz does. The paradoxical mystery of love delivering a person by forcing him into a certain path, salvation through coercion. The mystery of love escaping into itself, like the lovers in Solomon's song, going down into the villages and the orchards, escaping the terrors of the present world, horrors not limited to social media. A lot of this album sounds like private love letters. Sufjan has this unshakeable sadness that clings to him, and no matter what shreds of hope he might cling to, this black despair is ever clawing at him, threatening to tear from him those last shreds. Don't worry, though: he's got Ativan, his leading woman, to protect him! Take your anti-anxiety meds (or "sugar"), if you need them, Soof, and know that the stars will still be there tomorrow night and for all the nights of your life. Wisdom comes in understanding that to recognize beauty is to teeter on the edge of sorrow.

This album hits the mark of what I feel inside. It is the magical musical expression of everything that’s going on in my heart, of the never-ending celebration parade marching through my brain, even (especially) on my darkest days.

Most Christmas music sucks, as anyone who works in retail will say. Most people have no imagination and couldn't give two shits when it comes to Christmas. It's just a time to exploit greed and gorge yourself and cheat on your spouse at the company Christmas party. But Sufjan approaches the holiday with reverence, with joy, with flippancy, with adoration, and with creative originality. All that has to be said about this is..."I'm the Christmas unicorn. You're the Christmas unicorn, too. It's all right! I love you!"

To engage properly with this frighteningly personal, confessional poetry in music form, you must banish distraction, turn on the faerie lights, sit back, and fall into a kind of meditation as Sufjan unfolds a beautiful album of religious imagery.

To be alone with you is a profoundly simple truth that cannot be overstated in its importance, for such a state of things has both the advantages of being alone and being in company.

"Hallelujah" is such an everliving, ever-renewed word that it never gets old and is of such power that even non-believers have used it to express everything from joy to sexual unity. Look up at the sky and spin around until you're dizzy, and then, like children, fall down laughing.

This album is like a bouquet of exotic, delicate flowers, half of which you don't know their names. But you know they're beautiful, and you enjoy their aromas. Most of the music in my collection I approach with a somewhat detached interest, but Sufjan is one of those artists who strikes right to the bone, especially an album like this, one in which he meditates on the failures of his mother and the guilt he cannot help but feel. Like, if he'd been a better boy, she might have loved him. Which of course is bullshit. And then there's the fact that this album is ostensibly about Michigan. Well, at least it drops a lot of place names. Names I know very well, since I grew up in Michigan. So, again, Sufjan is making his music quite personal for me. This is all apart from religious considerations that surround me like a bright cloud at all times. By the way, Michigan is known, of course, for its Great Lakes, but lemme tell ya: there are lakes everywhere in Michigan.

I never thought "Songs in the Key of Life" could ever happen again, but it has. As with Stevie Wonder's treatment of his sublime album, Sufjan Stevens decided to ruin a perfect album by including an abysmal track. Stevie has "Black Man", and Sufjan has "Hotline Bling". "Black Man" is the last song on side three, so it's easy for me to just pick up the needle and flip the record, acting like the track doesn't exist. Sufjan has made it easy for me again, since "Hotline Bling" is at the end of the album. Another track I can just pretend doesn't exist. Anyway, I recommend watching the live show film of this. It’s as beautiful, intimate, and heartbreaking as the music itself. We’re all going to die, so celebrate like you’re going to.