‘And now I was in Illinois, and it was flat, and full of corn, and boring.’ So wrote Bill Bryson in ‘The Lost Continent’, in which the author recorded his thoughts driving 14,000 miles around the U.S. That’s pretty much all Bill has to say about Illinois, though he does say it twice. On the face of it, the new Sufjan Stevens album is a hard sell. A singer songwriter you say? So it’s about Illinois? Okay, so it’s got references to historical figures and events? I see. A concept album. With biblical allusions? Mm-hmm. Oh he’s Episcopalian? Right, right. Here, let me see that song title. ‘A Conjunction of Drones Simulating the Way in Which Sufjan Stevens Has an Existential Crisis in the Great Godfrey Maze’. And it’s nineteen seconds long? Uh-huh…

This really sounds like the kind of idea that should never have gotten off the ground, burdened by a mass of scholarly ambition. By the time you’re halfway through the journey though, the whole enterprise seems natural and fancy-free. Check out the start of ‘Come On! Feel the Illinoise!’ - the fairground cheer of glockenspiel, piano and brass, and the pithy excuse of the underachiever, ‘Oh great intentions, I’ve got the best of interventions’. Amen, brother. At first the song appears to punctuate with what is essentially that trumpet bit from The Cure’s ‘Close To Me’, but then segues into a fuzzy keyboard solo before drifting feather-like to rest with a second song pulled to and fro by guitar plucks, piano, trumpet, tambourine, and understated strings. These instruments combine with some laid-back banjo on a pleasurable aimless stroll along the pavement in ‘Jacksonville’. A staggering, wayward guitar gives a nice skew to Stevens’ tidy arrangement. (The same idea works well near the close of ‘Man of Metropolis…’, the guitar on overdrive lending the tailored choir a slight edge, mussing its hair, deftly undoing a top button.)

From ‘Jacksonville’, we swing by ‘Decatur’, a deceptively simple (see below), pretty song with a banjo and accordion giving a fresh outdoorsy feel. Then it’s onto ‘Chicago’ and the mad city rush of big drums, a frantic guitar riff and swirling violins. These cut back to a jabby keyboard and Stevens’ whispering voice, tense, like Nick Drake wondering what will happen when the world gets so crowded you can’t look out the window. ‘I made a lot of mistakes’, he admits, before a sweet melee of harmonies gathers the momentum into a trumpet solo encircled by swishing cymbals, perhaps placing Stevens back on Clark St. at some time in his youth, at the Metro or in the Alley or hanging out with the crazy kids at Belmont. The second half of ‘Illinois’ is a little uneven, considering the vitality of the first. ‘Prarie Fire…’ wanders about and ‘They Are Night Zombies’ lacks zest despite its funky intro and skipping-rope rhyme. The mood picks up after the dark ‘The Seer’s Tower’, though. ‘The Tallest Man’ has a cheerleader chorus worth shouting about, and the album closes with a wondrous, otherworldly instrumental in ‘Out of Egypt…’, which pulses and radiates like a sonic Aurora Borealis.

What injects ‘Illinois’ with so much immediacy is Stevens’ gift for bittersweet melody, one that could mark him out as a McCartney or a Murdoch. Witness this on ‘Casimir Pulaski Day’, a warm and quiet song, sparse and subtle, with the delicacy of a Vermeer: ‘through the window shade, when the light pressed up against your shoulder blade’, all making for a touching fireside or bedsit moment. It’s the kind of tune that fits on a Wes Anderson movie, at one of the low points amidst all the malarkey. Actually, I’m surprised that one of the movie soundtracks hasn’t featured Stevens already, all those hummable strummable tunes, Christmas bells and handclaps. Anderson’s movies have moved from Texas (twice) to New York and then out to the Atlantic. Stevens intends to make an album for each American state, Illinois following on from Michigan. It may only be a matter of time before the two collide. Even the album cover has the handmade look of the fixed camera shots used to
introduce the cast of ‘The Royal Tenenbaums’, the frame overstuffed with character, a peculiar drawing of the Sears and John Hancock towers, spaceships and Superman, Al Capone and the billy goat whose curse still keeps the Cubs from the World Series. The pullout has an exhaustive list of the instruments Stevens himself plays on this disc, practically everything from accordion to Wurlitzer, many items rented or borrowed. On the reverse is more artwork of several other stars of ‘Illinois’, including Stevens himself, in his brother’s red cap, playing Daniel’s or Matt’s banjo, clearly way out of tune.

You cannot be but astonished at the workrate of the man. All arrangements are said to be ‘painstakingly composed’ by Stevens. You’d better believe it. He then recorded and produced the lot. You can detect the influence of Carl Sandburg’s poems, the paeans to Mid Western industry and earthiness, neatly mirroring Stevens’ own intense productivity. He must relish working within the limitations of devoting a whole album to a single state. (This is, after all, the guy who based an electronic instrumental album on the twelve signs of the Chinese Zodiac.) Apparently four songs were written about Abraham Lincoln, but weren’t included as they didn’t fit in. The songs that do make it are loaded with detail, nudges and winks to Illinois history and geography. In its three minutes and four short verses, ‘Decatur’ squeezes references to at least half a dozen stories about the town that you can find if you look hard enough. And if you aren’t bothered, well, it’s still great tune you can whistle to. ‘Illinois’ begins and ends with the creak of a piano at the dead of night. It carries the trauma of the Black Hawk war, a clown serial killer and seven wasp stings, but its seventy-four minutes zip by with breezy ease. And, as with most vacations, there is architecture and wine and restaurants to have your fill, not to mention the world’s first Ferris Wheel. Pack your bag! TK

Rating: 8/10

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In the end the Smashing Pumpkins never quite eclipsed their contemporaries from Seattle who decided it was better to burn out than fade away. While Nirvana self-destructed, the Smashing Pumpkins decided to ride rough shot over tragedy and farce. Their body of work is a polygraph of highs and lows but when the dust settles there's no escaping the fact that in Siamese Dream they have a bona fide classic. 'Siamese Dream' released in early 1993 is a thing of beauty. Behind the immense wallowing guitar breaks and vocal outpourings lies a deepintelligence immaculately tuned into the mechanics of how good music should sound. It doesn't matter if your beer is classical, opera, western, dance or indie those who appreciate good music will know how important 'Siamese Dream' is. Butch Vig (a garbage man but nevermind) must be credited with helping Corgan on production; the sound quality is crisp as if the band were playing in your head.

Although 'Cherub Rock' was the lead promo from this album it hardly had the focused beauty of other tracks like 'Today' or 'Disarm'. Listening to it took effort; there are many parts at work with little or no obvious sweet core. That said, the breathtaking power that bubbles like adrenaline through your body is hard to quell once the contours of the tune become familiar. The guitar strokes are like gilded pillars pumped full of that special ingredient that makes concrete shimmer like an autumnal lake. Billy Corgan directs his own private orchestra through electrified angst put to words. The dramatic unevenness is further pushed during a rousing 'Quiet'. At several points the vocalist melts into the guitar ambles with such successthat he almost becomes an extra chord. Speaking of alien strings, 'Hummer' employs a badly tuned New Delhi radio station to announce the freshest of fender solo's. The song has a lazy disposition rather like a talented footballer who decides that today is his day to take it easy. Funnily enough the melody is laid on thick, enough to have a nest of bees reach for your earphones. When Darcy takes the reins the swagger becomes intoxicating, a 2-part masterpiece preparing to take your world by storm. 'Today' is the sound of a genre that shook the music industry to its foundations. While a mid twenties menopause was the basis for the momentum of this album 'Today' was its antithesis. Such is its majesty; the well-greased momentum where everything just fits and those heaving guitars surely feel like they've reached a career best. The rainbow spectrum of a Willy Wonka style video helped enshrine the beauty of it all.

'Siamese Dream' sits easily under the grunge flag so it is refreshing tohave tracks like 'Space Boy' to let you take a breather. There are even some orchestral parts in the mix that boost the timid strumming and Corgan's straight from the heart delivery. 'Disarm' is equally off the beaten track, an emotional foray with huge bell tolls and a string section pouring genuine grief over the heartfelt lyrics. If you ever doubt the power of music then let 'Disarm's 3 minutes bring you back to reality. Elsewhere the dam just about holds the river of rushing guitars. 'Soma' is about as quiet as things get, but as you might expect the celestial loneliness it evokes is finally shattered as the cavalcade of noise restores the decibel level. With such ubiquitous guitar carnage you'd have thought that overload was inevitable. It is remarkable then that tunes like 'Geek U.S.A.' with sonic distractions to rival any international airstrip can sound so harmonious. The noise, you see, is truly innovative and remarkably considered. There are more hooks pervading in these grooves than you'd find at the coat lovers association seminar in Antarctica.

Billy Corgan's voice is a misnomer. It often sounds like he records his lyrics while peering into a wide glass. It has a brittle edge but you know those tonsils are at the ready to deliver a stirring performance. Witness 'Rocket' where his whisper becomes a scream in that unique style of his while the guitars and Jimmy Chamberlain's drumming beautifully paint the landscape. He can also control his natural persuasion to lift the lid on his frustration. With a song as ridiculously titled as 'Mayonaise' you wouldn't expect to pick up a near fatal case of the goosebumps but as Corgan seers effortlessly (something magical begins to happen. Towards the end the restraint gets the better of the band and suddenly millions of tonnes of molten lava in the form of bleeding chords, thundering percussion and some scathing bellowing takes what is left of your rapidly decaying nerves. If that wasn't enough the final twist has 'Sweet Sweet' and 'Luna' repairing all the damage. Fragile lullaby's that expose so much about the scope of this album. From despair to where? Well the Smashing Pumpkins do care that the journey is an adventure but what matters most is that everyone is tucked up in bed dreaming at the end. The fact that the band have bitten their nails to the bone hardly matters. Criticism of perfection is petty so I won't go there. 'Siamese Dream' is a seamless vision borne out of some of the most agonised recording sessions ever. While his band mates were happy to call time Billy Corgan toiled until audio bliss poured from the master tape. And his pain surely was our gain as one of the nineties seminal albums matures with age like a fine malt. If you haven't stepped over the edge yet strap yourself in and enjoy the ride. KD

Rating: 9/10

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