Sufjan Stevens’ show at the State Theatre on Monday night looked good. There were moments of bombastic brilliance, from the band, there were the gorgeous evolving geometries of his psychedelic visuals – in fact, the whole thing was a visual treat – the outfits, the cute attempt at hula-hooping. Too bad it was, to twist Emmy Hennings‘ words, “contrived, twee schoolyard indie”. Though you wouldn’t have picked it from the audience, which bordered on the sycophantic, calling for how many encores – I lost count.
They all loved little Suffy, even him (though agreeably not him).
There were songs about towns and highways, about serial killers, he had an explosive band and quiet folk songs, seemingly stream of consciousness anecdotes about sugar highs – Suffy had plenty to grab your interest. Just not much charisma or spark, or as my partner of 10 years said afterwards, “I just wasn’t intrigued by him”. I agree, musically and personally I just didn’t care. I am, however, seriously in the minority.
Comments
What is it about a certain kind of pretentious tweeness that is like catnip to the Pitchfork crowd?
He has always been “Sutchvan” for me since I saw the Human Giant “Other Music” sketch.
it wasn’t as bad as all that. and i really misquoted that EH stuff out of some annoyed contrarianist urge – after seeing my first flat show of the festival. what really got me though is not that i hated it, but that it just didn’t stir any emotions in me, aside from “why are all these great people calling for another encore??”
What exactly is a pitchfork crowd? I have no idea. I think we were calling for another encore because the music had moved us like no other. Sufjan is a marvel.
You’re not the only one unimpressed – a couple of friends of mine went to the concert on spec and walked out.
Talking of painfully hip concerts at the 2008 Sydney Festival, the audience for Joanna Newsom at the Opera House also verged on the sycophantic – virtually giving her a standing ovation just for walking on stage (applauding their own hipness , in other words). But hey, she turned out to be great – her voice much less anoying than on disc, the harp playing out of this world. So I didn’t mind in the end.
Thanks for the listing of Eyes Wired Open on your blogroll BTW!
Who applauds their own hipness? What a ridiculous statement.
Nothing ridiculous about it at all – it’s a similar phenomenon to that of the smark alek who bursts into applause every time they recognise the opening chords to what is invariably one of the artist’s lesser known songs. Hey – that wouldnt be you, would it Wayne?