back home with Sufjan - by Adam Fleming Petty
Sufjan Stevens is having a rough year. His latest album, Javelin, came out last week, but he’s been unable to do much promoting. Last month, he was diagnosed with Guillain-Barré Syndrome, a rare autoimmune disorder. He’s currently undergoing physical therapy to relearn how to walk. Then, on the day of Javelin’s release, he posted a note on Tumblr stating that the album was dedicated to the memory of Evans Richardson, Stevens’ “beloved partner and best friend,” in his words.
This set off a klaxon among my corner of Online Lefty Christians. Sufjan Stevens—the youth group prophet, the twee pioneer, composer of odes to boys at summer camp—had come out. He declared he’s gay in the most moving, heartbreaking manner possible, which is exactly like him. Tears and hosannahs rained down in equal measure.
All I wish to say regarding his personal situation is to express my condolences for his loss, to wish him well on his recovery, and to commend his bravery for coming out on his own terms and in his own time. Beyond that, his life is his business.
What I do want to talk about is the importance his music has played in my own life, reaching me as it did at a pivotal time. I’d imagine that’s true of just about every Sufjan fan out there. His music is so personal, so intimate, that it elicits an equally personal and intimate response in kind. My own personal wrinkle is that I felt, perhaps naively, a local connection with his work. A sense of—you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you—feeling seen. Of having my existence made legible in the larger world of art and culture I yearned to join.
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