For Hipsters in Williamsburg

by Kevin Buckelew

Tuesday February 7, 2006

Strolling through Brooklyn (as I’m wont to do), I’ve almost never been able to help myself from wondering about Sufjan Stevens and the proximity of his residence. He casts such an imposing shadow that it’s difficult to conceive of him actually living anywhere.

Indeed, one barely begins to entertain the idea before being painfully reminded of all the prior instances in which certain popular musicians turned out to be robots (Joan Baez, Roger Waters, and more recently Jack White). Yes, I’ve seen him perform live, but he always did have a sort of robotic way of celebrating American culture and God (at least on his most recent album). For these reasons, my thoughts of Sufjan’s home and the possibility of his actual presence were not usually very optimistic.

And then, one fateful Saturday afternoon, I saw him. The man, the legend, Vincent Del Signore’s long-lost brother – whatever I choose to call him, there he was, in the Brooklyn music store, and center of all hipness, Sound Fix. In fact, I’ll rephrase that, since I think my attempt to label the situation has failed to encapsulate the wonder of that moment: let’s say that it was very bright and warm, and I haven’t been the same since.

He wore a camouflage hat, and it blended so well with the surroundings (a small but well-chosen selection of music) that for a moment I worried that part of his head had fallen off. Additionally, his sweatshirt and jacket combined into such a monumental lack of pretension that I almost stumbled backward in awe.

Of course, I only describe his clothing as an (almost insignificant) introduction to the more important aspects of the occasion: what I really noticed were his eyes. How they shined like two suns, cutting through all hypocrisy and self-importance! How they glowed like diamonds, like fire, like life and death!

No, actually, forget that. What I really noticed was his voice. How it carved away at my soul and brought me to my knees! His vowels sent me soaring high above the earth–and don’t even get me started on his consonants. Did I mention the slight lisp, not apparent on his records, and the power of which had been merely anticipated by his only semi-conversational live show? Who could have guessed that this unassuming singer’s speaking voice would bring time itself to a standstill?

He probably noticed that I was watching him a bit too closely, but I don’t care. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the establishment felt the same way I did. After all, this was no simple celebrity sighting—it was the truly profound experience of grace.

When I left the store dazedly, I tilted my head back and looked heavenward. Now, I don’t want to say that I saw a sign in the sky or anything, but let’s just say that if I did, it started with an "S" and ended with an "even Swans."