Sufjan

It all became clear when the "Butterfly Brigade" and Sufjan Stevens & Co. stepped out on stage. As much as I like soft, acoustic music, it never really reaches the top ten of the week. Until Sufjan.

It's because Sufjan isn't all papier-mache and glass-- he's a study in the power of fragility. The roar of the opening song swept over the tension as we all strained to hear his voice. Minutes seemed like small and sweet eternities before finally he leaned into the mike--

and rapture.

His voice isn't strong or bellowing or dreamily elegant (like that of the singer of the opening act, My Brightest Diamond). It's fragile. It doesn't droop and quiver like an emo kid's. It doesn't ask for attention. It doesn't ask for help. It's vulnerable and open out of choice, and we come forward to meet his vulnerability with open hearts.

It's strange that my favorite Sufjan Stevens song is "Seven Swans"-- a song about the end times of the Bible. Whenever I listen to that song, I have to chant, "For he is the Lord."

[And I'm an atheist.]

What's different about Sufjan Stevens?

He's not selling anything. He's not proving anything. He's telling us stories in journal entries and they aren't edited to please us. He doesn't make bold stances or statements. He's not going to run around on stage in leather pants.

He's not a rock star.

He's just your next door neighbor, sweet and friendly-- maybe a little like John Wayne Gacy, Jr., but never mind. I don't care what's under Sufjan's floorboards, he can take me home any time he wants.

School newspapers.

http://www.dailycal.org/sharticle.php?id=21512

Silhouettes floated above a rushing stream of genomic coding; each beat feeling so natural that the oaks surrounding the half-bowl venue watched in envy, unable to stop their reluctant swaying to the entrancing flow. Veins pulsated to the same universal heart, brains vibrated to the same sonic echoes, and eyes swallowed the same digital sunrise in a delicate balance of technology and humanity that seeped and moved, taking nebulous shapes and souls.

*forehead slap*

It may just be an opening paragraph to an article due more or less the day after the concert, but this ending sentence is truly unforgivable:

The slow-sparking erotic fervor from 3D's sotto voce and the hypnotic undulating of "Butterfly Caught" lit the fire that burned slow and crackled beautifully through the grainy backbeat and heavenly incantations of "Teardrop" and finally exploded with "Angel," engulfing the drug-numbed audience into a conflagration of crashing cymbals and guitar feedback. Infusing every word with immense heat, "You are my angel" melted as it fell off the tongue, acidulated with passion and completing the transubstantiation of the once ethereal melody.

What can be said to that?

First of all, I'm pretty sure that "acidulating" is not a word. Secondly, I'd hardly call the audience drug-numbed. Most concert-goers take drugs to enhance the experience-- not numb it. As for myself, I prefer take a performance as it is. [And this performance, I might add, was phenomenal.] Thirdly... what the hell is this, a psychedelic striptease?

It may just be a school newspaper, but as a newspaper that serves a student body of about 23,000 undergrads and 10,000 grad students at one of the best universities in the world, The Daily Cal has some standards to hold up to. And not to mention, a very, very, very wide pool of potential writers to choose from. What I don't understand is how they published an article that a postmodernist lit mag would be ashamed to print.

Besides that minor quibble, DJ Shadow was certainly not a weak opener. I loved his work on UNKLE and I was a light listener of Endtroducing; my two companions knew nothing of his work. By the end of his set, my friends were newly avid fans of DJ Shadow (one bought multiple albums the next morning) and I am currently eyeing my wallet, trying to decide between a birthday present for my dad and Private Press. DJ Shadow's set was an explosion of light, humor, and serious skills. I've loved Massive Attack since before I had boobs, and as the roadies cleared the stage for one of my all time favorite bands, I was having serious doubts whether they could really follow up on the opening act.

English pop singer Cris James accompanied him for "Erase You," a song that Shadow called "personal" but what was in truth poppy and rather weak.

I think most of the audience that night will remember "that English dude" as an intense and thrilling future Thom Yorke. I'm guessing "Nathan Deremer" didn't think much of "Rabbit in Your Headlights" on Psyence Fiction... but before I accidentally threaten to stab the guy and eviscerate him in the middle of Sproul Plaza while making "wiki wiki" noises, let me say... EACH TO HIS OWN.

[I typed that with a straight face.]

Nothing was as weak, however, as ex-Lyrics Born member Lateef The Truth Speaker, whose crowd-pumping actually managed to work against him. Note to Lateef: An MC should never make the crowd do more work than him because he is the one getting paid. Therefore, telling the crowd to put their hands up three times every two minutes is a no-no. Second note to Lateef: Don't project a previously recorded, Hasselhoff-quality music video of yourself while performing the song-it's just awkward. Final note to Lateef: Vocal exercises work, and should be used by every entertainer, especially past-their-prime rappers prone to voice cracks. Truth be told.

I kind of thought the video thing was done in good humor. And I liked how interactive the show was. But I'm not complaining about this paragraph in the article, since the key adjective ("weak") is a real word that I'd use without laughing until the tears ran. Props to you, Nathan.

Honestly, Massive Attack at the Greek was one of the most intense, gorgeous shows I've been to. And if Liz Fraser sounds better in the studio than live, oh well. If Daddy G absents himself because of the birth of his daughter, oh well. If the sound quality at the Greek isn't the best, oh well. If DJ Shadow upstaged their pretty lights with his pretty lights, oh well [and good for him]. So yes, I suppose I do ultimately agree with Nathan Deremer that the show was fucking amazing. But can't we just say "fucking amazing" instead of this "acidulating with passion" crap? Or even offer real criticism instead of just dripping emo poetry all over the page?

I used to read prominent food blogs for my daily fix of stupid adjectives. Now I can count on the Daily Cal's arts section.