Sufjan Stevens, “Javelin”

Evolutionary biologists contend that in nature, living things tend to evolve from simple to complex. This natural growth in complexity is seen in single-cell organisms evolving into multi-cellular creatures and eventually into plants and animals over millennia of millennia. But you can also find this increasing intricacy all over Javelin, the new album from Sufjan Stevens.

Almost every song on the new album by the Michigan multi-instrumentalist and songwriter, who’s currently recovering from serious complications of Guillain-Barré syndrome, starts with a simple musical idea often played on a single instrument. But the songs expand through an additive process, with additional layers of vocals, strings, percussion and assorted ear candy applied like coats of paint.

“Goodbye Evergreen” builds from a delicate piano throb and Stevens’ plaintive vocals to a swirling wall of sound, then a clanging percussive interlude, before moving in a more atmospheric direction with a kaleidoscope of sounds swirling through the stereo field. Somehow, the music manages to combine the home studio ingenuity of Sweden’s Loney Dear with the elaborate productions of Jim O’Rourke, with maybe a twist of Cat Stevens’ heartfelt straight-shooting.

On some songs, the process is more subtle. The album’s title track adds only gauzy strings and the occasional background vocal to the delicate acoustic guitar and vocals. The musical starkness allows listeners to focus on the lyrics, which seem to be about almost hitting your lover with a javelin: “Searching through snow/ For the javelin I had not/ Meant to throw right at you/ For if it had hit its mark/ There’d be blood in the place/ Where you stood,” Stevens sings.

Other songs take listeners on surprising journeys. “A Running Start” feels like a kind of emo song played on a nylon-stringed acoustic guitar, but eventually piano, synth and choral voices add to the sonic stew. Think Steve Reich’s “Music for 18 Musicians” mixed with a Burt Bacharach record.

“Will Anybody Ever Love Me?” may inadvertently solve the mystery of the singer’s loneliness by featuring a banjo. “Will anybody ever love me?/ For good reasons, without grievance, not for sport/ Will anybody ever love me?/ In every season, pledge allegiance to my heart,” Stevens sings. The end of the song repeats in choruses, “Will anybody ever love me?”

The experience of listening to “So You Are Tired” is a bit like climbing into bed on a cold night. The subdued melancholy of the acoustic guitar and vocals feels like lying down on a comfortable mattress. Each additional layer of vocals and piano, strings and synthesizers, feels like another cozy blanket, until at some point you feel like you’re gonna suffocate. As if Stevens has anticipated the musical claustrophobia, there’s a moment when the song kicks off the musical blankets and returns to simple acoustic guitar. The tenderness of the musical interlude is short lived, as all the layers come rushing back but begin to dissipate again by song’s end.

As an English teacher, I can tell you that the most overused conjunction in the English language is “and.” Writers often use the word to cram seemingly endless details into a sentence, which sometimes overwhelms the reader. There may be a similar dynamic at work on Stevens’ new album, an approach that will delight his fans with each additional emotional layer of frosting on the musical cake. But it’s also an approach that’s going to give some listeners a stomach ache.