Sufjan Stevens is taking a bold step with his new work — a highly personal album that breaks with his previous songwriting focusing on Americana to tell the tale of love, loss and grief.  His new record “Javelin,” released on Oct. 6, is a heartbreaking embodiment of the idea that to grieve is to have loved. The singer-songwriter’s departure from American iconography on “Javelin” feels intentional. 

On the day the record dropped, Stevens publicly came out when dedicating it to his life partner, Evans Richardson, who recently passed away. This came two weeks after the singer informed his fans of his own Guillain-Barré Syndrome diagnosis, an autoimmune disorder which attacks peripheral nerves. 

As one of the maestros of contemporary alternative music, New School alum Sufjan Stevens always provides a glimpse into the American psyche on his records. His varied and expansive catalog allows listeners to peek into the soul of the country. Through his illustrative songwriting, the born and bred midwesterner writes a sort of modern folk tale, cataloging his native heartland. 

The singer-songwriter’s music is already emotional, and with the added weight of his tragic loss and sickness, diving into this world of monumental love and death was sure to be a tearjerker. The first listen tugs on the heartstrings, but Stevens lays bare his seemingly infinite capability for love and understanding. 

“Goodbye, Evergreen/ You know I loved you/ But everything heaven sent must burn out in the end,” is the raw opening verse to the album’s first track. The invocation of biblical motifs are not new to the singer’s music, but upon his declaration of love and devotion to his male partner, his words might bring a new comfort to the gay religious fan. 

Stevens’ invocation of biblical ideas give an explanation of what religion offers a believer. The insurmountable tragedy of a partner’s death is soothed by his gratitude for their time spent together and his lover’s return to the celestial city. He is left alone, but his faith brings him comfort as he asks, “Deliver me from the poisoned pain.” 

With his trademark guitar plucking, track two feels reminiscent of Stevens’ past projects. It is a short tale of the escapism a romance gives us. That shared, solitary connection between two people in love hangs in the air as Stevens begs, “I know, I know the time has come to ask you for a kiss/ Don’t go, my lovely pantomime, receivе of me my only wish.”

To complete a strong three-track run, Stevens asks the question that plagues everyone’s mind in the song titled “Will Anybody Ever Love Me?” For all of the metaphors musicians use to share their fears of love, Stevens is brave in asking outright if anyone will ever love him. “In every season/ pledge allegiance to my burning heart,” he implores. It is a universal wish to be loved in all one’s glory and pain, to have a relationship that transcends culture, time, and space. 

The songwriter has been mapping the American dream and his awakening from it for over a decade. 

To accompany his 2003 project “Michigan,” Stevens announced his brazen plan to release an album dedicated to each of the 50 states. The song project came to a halt after one more album, “Illinois,” in 2005. These two records attempt to chart the history and culture of their namesakes. On “Michigan,” he dedicates the eighth track to his hometown of Detroit and its years-long decay. He pairs his criticisms with iconography, his lamentations with catchy melodies to reflect the love-hate relationship that many Americans feel with the places where they were raised. 

Then, in the fateful 2020, he released “The Ascension,” his eighth studio album, on which he cuts the strings of hope that wove throughout his prior discography. On the title track, he regrets his youthful naivete: “To think I was acting like a believer…I thought I could change the world around me,” he laments of his mother country. “Will Anybody Ever Love Me,” and the record as a whole, tell a story of a lonely heart, making Stevens a prophet for romantics everywhere. 

Throughout the 45 minutes of lush instrumentation, one can’t help but imagine the love Stevens and Richardson shared. His pain is palpable; there is anger and agony across the tracks. Common relationship troubles plague the songs. Stevens shares his exasperation over the unintentional harm he inflicts and the tedious task of resolving arguments.  In his shockingly personal reflections, the vocalist provides comfort to himself and to his listener. “Javelin” fantastically displays the emotional courage it takes to record a highly personal album. This is one that will truly help its audience as much as it must have helped Stevens in making it. He encourages the sorrowful to reflect upon their capability of love.