Coming face to face with the realities of our own lives has been a global theme this year. If ever there was an opportunity to cast a spotlight onto our existence and our relationships, it’s the arrival of a deadly pandemic which locks us indoors and cages us into the homes we’ve built.
For some, this reflection may not have been too pretty. Most notably, the release of Sufjan Steven’s track “America”, which dropped in the middle of lock-down, was a damning insight into the dangers of sitting back. Sometimes, what once may have seemed like a gleaming picture can at last be seen properly, with the cracks unveiled within the foundations, until the picture is considerably changed.
Granted, “America” spins its net a little wider than the four corners of Sufjan’s home. With an influx of synth beats and haunted vocoders, Sufjan drops the red, white and blue tinted spectacles of previous albums, looking instead into the depths of an entire country — its politics, its culture, and laments upon its fallen dream.
For a man who once described himself as “hysterically American”, this is quite the turn around. As ever with Sufjan’s lyrics, nothing is held back. “I have loved you, I received, I have traded my life for the picture of the scenery”. Here, the myths of his former idolizing self are brought to the forefront of his anger. He speaks to America as if it were a person, sentient, and breathing, like this is a breakup song rather than a requiem for a damaged society.
The rest of his new album The Ascension is similarly charged. Having done enough self-reflection during his lifetime (Sufjan’s previous album Carrie & Lowell was the perfect examination of his life and childhood), it seems only right that Sufjan applies the same treatment to something bigger. That’s not to say it’s entirely impersonal. With the dissection of America’s society comes the dissection of other, more individual grievances.
The seven-minute song “Sugar” examines Sufjan’s desire for kindness and acceptance, whilst the smooth and catchy dance track “Video Game” slams society’s attempt to fit him into a box. On this song, Sufjan sings with an unnerving calmness, hinting at the dangers of being human in an inhuman world. His voice is breathy and warm, but there’s a coldness to it, every word is accentuated and slotted neatly next to the other, almost like a melodic Siri.
Elsewhere on the album, Sufjan’s own straining of faith is coupled with his faith in America, likening his own search for identity as a Christian with his search for identity in an aged and damaged society. In “Tell Me You’ll Love Me”, Sufjan asks if he can “carry this love across the desert”, questioning whether the things he believes in can weather this storm and wait for him on the other end. The second track “Run Away With Me” is another example of this. Drawing inspiration from the his religion, Sufjan sings about a rapture which would beckon in a “new horizon”. He asks America to run away with him, showing it a new life, with “a paradise that brings the light from within”.
In a way, these tracks are the closest thing we can get to a resolution on this album. Whilst the crux of The Ascension can seem hopeless, there is a feeling that this country can get past its issues. It’s not good enough to say there is a light at the end of the tunnel, so instead Sufjan states there is a “light from within”, implying a purity underneath the battle-hardened surface of America’s soil.
The rapture, perhaps ongoing right now, could help rediscover this light, and defend the idealizations which have been so abundant throughout Sufjan’s discography. After all, something sparked that idealization in the first place. Sometimes it’s best to wait for the fire to burn out before something can rise from the ashes, and if The Ascension is anything to go by, for America, the only way to go is up.
