“Death With Dignity” by Sufjan Stevens

Credit: flickr.com

In the first few lines in the first song off his newest album, Sufjan Stevens invokes a sacred silence, desire, confusion and fear: “Spirit of my silence I can hear you / But I am afraid to be near you.”

In his warm, wispy voice, and backed by a simple, plucked guitar, Stevens sirens the listener into the state of confusion that comes with grief: “And I don’t know where to begin/And I don’t know where to begin,” a refrain he repeats at various points in “Death With Dignity.”

Sufjan Stevens
(Credit: stereogum.com)

In a few quick lines, Stevens sets the tone for a song that effervesces glimpsed memories of a now-dead mother — with whom he had a complicated relationship — and establishes the theme for the remainder of his album, “Carrie and Lowell,” which offers sonic meditations on death, grief, pain, faith and humility in the face of forces larger than us.

In “Death With Dignity,” memory fragments, apparitions of forests in the desert, ghosts in the forests and the inability to differentiate between the real and false become circuitous routes that Stevens takes us on as he winds into a holy place of longing and loss. “Chimney swift that finds me, be my keeper/Silhouette of the cedar/What is that song you sing for the dead?/What is that song you sing for the dead?”

In “Death With Dignity,” memory fragments, apparitions of forests in the desert, ghosts in the forests and the inability to differentiate between the real and false become circuitous routes that Stevens takes us on as he winds into a holy place of longing and loss.

Stevens searches for meaning, but remains humbled by an inability to make sense of his mother, in life or death, still longing for a part of her to be near him, though there is an underlying sense that the apparition of her memory is sweeter than the pain of the real thing. “I forgive you mother, I can hear you/And I long to be near you/But every road leads to an end/Yes every road leads to an end/Your apparition passes through me in the willows/Five red hens – you’ll never see us again/You’ll never see us again.”

There is a resolution in that ending statement — an adult coming to terms with his own mother’s failures. By feeling his own pain, he comes to understand what she lost out on; he grieves for and with her.

Stevens’ lilting performance of his lyrics and the simple guitar beckons the listener into a sparse and emotional space, and this final statement — that she will never see them again — echoes into Gregorian-like chants that reverberate in space.

The chanting haunts and comforts at the same time, the way we come to understand Stevens’ mother must have too. Stevens’ soft, beautiful voice and the emotional strength of his mythical lyrics create a hallowed place, where we the listeners are also welcome to fall to our knees.

You can read the full lyrics here.