Sufjan Stevens, the multi-instrumentalist lo-fi psychedelic indie rocker, is more than just a talented musician, he is also a compelling storyteller.  This is an aspect of his music which has reappeared in small doses in each of his projects since his 2000 debut album, A Sun Came.  His latest album, Carrie and Lowell,  is unique and intriguing for exactly this reason.  It contains some of Steven’s rawest and most honest material of his career, and may be some of the most intimate of his exceptional thirteen-album discography.

   Carrie and Lowell was released March 27 through Stevens’ own independent label, Asthmatic Kitty.  The eleven-track album is the intricate story of Steven’s unusual upbringing and enigmatic relationship with his mother,  Carrie and Lowell are the names of his mother and stepfather.  His mother, Carrie, was a bipolar schizophrenic who struggled with substance abuse problems until she died in 2010 from stomach cancer.  Carrie spent little time with her son, and actually abandoned him repeatedly throughout his adolescence.   Lowell Brams, Stevens’ stepfather, was married to Carrie for five years. Lowell was much more relevant in Stevens’ life, and actually co-founded Asthmatic Kitty records with Stevens in 1999.

In his latest album, Stevens seems to be straying away from his more experimental electronic music of the past half decade.  Carrie and Lowell has a more relaxed, stripped down sound that is most similar to his early 2004 release, Seven Swans.  Here, Stevens achieves an interesting and compelling blend of lo-fi folk and trippy electronic effects and undertones.  The actual instrumental structure of Carrie and Lowell may be slightly more basic than some of his latest releases, but Stevens accompanies each track with his distinctive, delicate vocals to produce a totally interesting, and surreal sound.  Included in many of the songs is the unusual use of the acoustic banjo and piano.  These instruments help to paint a picture that is raw and real.

   Carrie and Lowell is, however, more heavily concentrated on the relevance of its lyrics, and the story that is vividly pieced together individually, track by track. Each song has its own particular sound and at the same time harbors a specific importance to a grander picture.

Additionally, throughout the course of the album, Stevens subtly implements a recurring theme of significant conflict in between tracks.  He conveys his maternal confusion by expressing seemingly opposing views of his mother in different songs throughout the LP.  Stevens sings about his extreme frustration in songs tracks such as The Only Thing, where he morbidly ponders, “I wonder did you love me at all?” and conjointly vocalizes a very relatable, inescapable affection he feels towards his mother in tracks such as All of Me Wants All of You. However, this creative effect is seen clearly in the two most notable tracks of the album, “Death with Dignity,” and “Fourth of July.”

Seemingly, the album progresses in chronological order.  Beginning with more innocent songs of the earlier years and memories of Stevens’ relationship with his mother, and ending with her eventual withdrawal from his life and ultimately her death.

Although ironically titled “Death with Dignity,” the opening track of the LP is perhaps the most optimistic song of the entire album.  Here, Stevens transitions between a quick paced acoustic guitar picking progression and a slower, more definite four-chord piano progression.  He lingers on each note and draws out a satisfying definiteness in the melody.  Lyrically, Stevens’ connection and vulnerability towards his mother is shown as he repeats in high-pitched falsetto, “I forgive you, mother, I can hear you, and I long to be near you.”

“Fourth of July,” a track located in the latter half of the album, is equally interesting in a very different way.  This track begins in a simple, muted piano progression similar almost to the likes of early depressive Radiohead or any song off of the masterful 2002 Coldplay release A Rush of Blood to the Head.  It then progresses as ambient undertones carry the somber collection of chords into authentic lyricism.   Here, Stevens’ begins to describe heavy topics such as betrayal and abandonment with whispering vocalization. Listeners empathize as he quietly inquires,“Did you get enough love, my little dove, why do you cry?”  The lyrics in this track are sophisticated and insightful, and the melody is agonizingly accessible.

Both lyrically and instrumentally advanced, Carrie and Lowell is one of Sufjan Stevens’ best projects yet.  The album is quiet and subtle, but completely compelling through and through.  The depressive, delayed acoustic sound that is captured is comparable to that of expert sad-song artists such as Radiohead and Elliott Smith.  The lyricism is exceptional, and although each tune is unique and listenable, they also seem to fit into a puzzle that is especially appreciable to listeners who have spent time observing each piece’s significance.

To any music enthusiasts looking for something complex to gnaw on for a while, or to anyone searching for a sorrowful song to add to their latest Sunday morning playlist, give Carrie and Lowell a moment  of your time; you really won’t be sorry