Live: Sufjan Stevens Throws A Two-Hour Electro-Prog Dance Party At Beacon Theatre
Sufjan Stevens![]()
Lets work on ditching some of these people real soon. Pics by Rob, more below.
Beacon Theatre
Monday, November 15
He wouldn't be nearly as irritating if he wasn't so good, this guy. As such, he is a whole lot of both. Look at him up there, crooning his hideously overstuffed and oft impossibly gorgeous orchestral-pop epics while looking like he got kicked out of MGMT for being too flamboyant, clad in some sort of Tron/Hypercolor/paintball-assailant getup ("I love your pants!" someone yells, as Sufjan is explaining how his grandfather was a Lithuanian onion farmer who shot lightning bolts out of his hands and feet) that, when accented by a headband and long ribbons trailing from his arms, makes him look like a . . . like a . . . neon Indian! Two full-kit drummers, horns, myriad noodling keyboards and guitars, the omnipresent meandering flute (ditching the flute would wipe out, like, 70 percent of the problem here), and the ever-present trio of twirling backup-singer Sufjettes. A complicated network of video screens that steal a lot of geometric-pattern squiggliness from MNDR and, during "Vesuvius," seem to immerse the whole band in digital flames. It's all too much, too much, too much, except the occasional moments when it's just enough, just perfect, just sublime.
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