Carrie & Lowell, named after Sufjan’s mother and stepfather can be described as a painful confrontation, or a cathartic confession of a troubled childhood, or maybe a nostalgic love letter to a deceased mother from her child with whom she had a complicated relationship. Carrie suffered from depression, schizophrenia, and alcoholism. Feeling unequipped to raise her children she abandoned them. Thereafter they had a fractured relationship until she died of stomach cancer in 2012. While Carrie was away Sufjan and his brother spent their childhood with his father and stepmother taunted by poverty and “absence of intimacy”. Sufjan explains his stepfather Lowell, who is now the manager of his record label, as his “closest fatherly companion”.
Regardless of your history, when your mother dies, it tends to be a devastating loss. Her passing sent Sufjan on a trajectory towards processing grief: searching for the significance at the end of life while also honoring the universal experience that is death. By virtue of his powerful songwriting, Carrie & Lowell is the artists’ most emotionally impactful body of work.
The record definitely stands out for its brutally honest lyricism and beautifully haunted but hopeful music and instrumentation. Sufjan, being the genius he is, has successfully managed to play with our heartstrings, while expressing his anger, confusion, and grief, not forgetting to warn us in his first and only interview on this album; “Don’t listen to this record if you can’t digest the reality of it”
This record jumps back and forth between the childlike longing Sufjan has to be closer to his mother and the maturity of a 39-year-old who’s processing the grief of his mother’s passing. The opening number saying “I forgive you, mother, I can hear you, and I long to be near you, but every road leads to an end”(track no:1-Death with dignity) and proceeding to mention how her mental illnesses affected them, “When I was three, three maybe four, She left us at that video store’’(track no:2-Should’ve known better) almost in a childish manner. In “Eugene” he gushes about the fond memories that he’s had with his mother and stepfather (Carrie and Lowell) and adds some light to the record by mentioning “my brother has a daughter, the beauty that she brings, illumination, illumination” which hints a nostalgic parallel between Carrie’s relationship with Sufjan and Sufjan’s relationship with his niece.
What led me to a profound revelation while listening to this record is the order of the tracklist. The song “Fourth of July” that I’ve chosen to review, which I think is the ultimate level of acceptance of death, is located in the very center of the record. And just when we think that he has made peace with the death of his mother, he surprises us with a song of his self-destructive tendencies (track no:7-The only thing). Also with no apparent order, he added a few songs about his failed relationships and reckless one-night stands, which can be suggested as unhealthy coping mechanisms or reflections of the difficult relationship he had with his mother. He ends the record with “Blue bucket of Gold ”; a calm and peaceful admission and acceptance of his past through a symbolic representation of the perfect “American” family as a treasure in an unknown location that he never got to witness. He won’t ever get the gold others to have but he’s ok with that.
After a few unsuccessful attempts of trying to make sense of this sporadic order of the tracklist, the moment of clarity dawned on me, and I gave up. Because what is the point in trying to understand something that is not there? Grief is not linear after all.
Fourth of July which is the album’s most healing moment depicts a private poetic conversation between Sufjan and his dying mother.
The evil it spread like a fever ahead
It was night when you died, my firefly
What could I have said to raise you from the dead?
Oh could I be the sky on the Fourth of July?
Littered with metaphors the first line has Sufjan comparing his mother to a firefly; an entity with a brilliant light that eventually fades. He questions what more he could have done to intervene with his mother’s demise or wishing he could be in the sky on the fourth of July; a beautiful celebration of the ‘death of war veterans’ or just ‘death’ itself. Switching to his mother’s perspective where each time she refers to her son as a new bird. Currently, she wants her little hawk Sufjan to see that death is simply inescapable.
Well you do enough talk
My little hawk, why do you cry?
Tell me what did you learn from the Tillamook burn?
Or the Fourth of July?
We’re all gonna die
Between the 1930s and 1950s, the Tillamook Forest in Oregon was consumed by a series of wildfires. Sufjan uses the Tillamook burn as a symbol for his mother’s rapidly spreading cancer. Connecting the Tillamook burn and the fourth of July is this thrilling presence of fire. While one is celebratory and the other terrifying, both events are bound to concepts of uncertainty and mortality, bringing up both joy and a sense of sadness.
Sitting at the bed with the halo at your head
Was it all a disguise, like Junior High
Where everything was fiction, future, and prediction
Now, where am I?
My fading supply
On her deathbed, Carrie looks saintly, a contrast to what Sufjan’s younger self remembers. In the present moment however he can’t help but remove those tarnished shades and see her as angelic.
Did you get enough love, my little dove
Why do you cry?
And I’m sorry I left, but it was for the best
Though it never felt right
My little Versailles
Once again Carrie attempts to comfort her son with words Sufjan probably wished he had heard earlier. She calls him a “dove” a symbol of peace and love. She apologizes for leaving him at such a young age, but she sees this as her own type of surrender; her own Treaty of Versailles that brought a peaceful end to the great war.
The hospital asked should the body be cast
Before I say goodbye, my star in the sky
Such a funny thought to wrap you up in cloth
Do you find it all right, my dragonfly?
As Sufjan refers to his mother as yet another dying source of light, the time has come to wrap up his mother’s body and cast it to a grave. Sufjan sees a bit of humor and having to wrap up his mother in cloth as it’s usually something parents do with their young. He calls her a dragonfly; unpredictable in its movement perhaps similar to Carrie’s parenting briefly hovering before dashing away without warning.
Shall we look at the moon, my little loon
Why do you cry?
Make the most of your life, while it is rife
While it is light
Finally, Carrie calls her son by a ‘loon’ a bird symbolizing tranquility and the reawakening of old hopes, wishes, and dreams. She asks Sufjan to indulge her in observing the moon together; the only constant light in the darkness and a reminder that all hope is never lost; some type of light always prevails even when the Sunsets.
Well you do enough talk
My little hawk, why do you cry?
Tell me what did you learn from the Tillamook burn?
Or the Fourth of July?
We’re all gonna die
Her final words advising to live generously while his own fire still burns. By the song’s conclusion, the little hawk has developed his higher vision learning from the Tillamook burn and the fourth of July, that just like every fire, not a warning but a gentle reminder to use your time wisely. The track ends with Sufjan continually repeating the phrase,
We’re all gonna die
Acknowledging death can be liberating. It takes death to finally have you let go and fully realize our lack of control over the universe the entire song sees Sufjan searching for a way to hold on to his mother’s light but realizing that life does end; that we are all going to die. As strained as his relationship with his mother was the album has Sufjan displaying the love that was still there for both his mother and stepfather. A love that never dies.
Death despair and uncertainty are distinct themes throughout the album. But what becomes clearer with every listen is a sense of closure. I’m not sure if we ever truly move on from things but we eventually learn how to cope while searching for places to deposit hope. The process of creating Carrie and Lowell taught Sufjan that death is not the opposite of life but a part of it. In his own words, “While writing this album, I was in pursuit of meaning, of justice, of reconciliation. Take every opportunity to reconcile with those you love or those who’ve hurt you. It was in our best interest for our mother to abandon us. God bless her for doing that and knowing what she wasn’t capable of” This record acts as a testament to an experience that’s universal” Fourth-of-July in the tracks on Carrie and Lowell are somber reflections on death but they’ve become meditative statements on life. The haunting closing remark becomes a battle cry ending with a new sense of awareness. Like the first sip of dark coffee on a groggy morning; no sugar to sweeten, no milk to lighten; Just the taste of coffee for its bitterness; and the beauty of life for its uncertainty.
In a time where deaths have become mere statistics, and grief has become a global phenomenon, we’re more than ever in need of healing. This piece of music that made me feel the pain of a white man living across the shores, is evidence that authentic works of art are vital in building a world with an understanding of each other’s battles.
Living in a society where mental health is considered taboo even while being on the top of the list of global suicide rate rankings, we might as well now start listening to other people’s stories; not to validate or invalidate our own trauma, but to understand without judgment. Replace ‘comment section wars’ with meaningful conversations; toxic positivity with empathy; and hate with love. I’m sure the world would be a better place if we try to put ourselves in other peoples’ shoes every once in a while.
By Rtr. Chami Pehasara
References: https://genius.com/Sufjan-stevens-carrie-and-lowell-booklet-annotated
Image Credits: https://bit.ly/3vvULva
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