Sufjan Stevens shares a raw, emotional take on grief, love, and his latest album in a moving interview tied to the “Carrie & Lowell” 10th anniversary.
Sufjan Stevens has always been the kind of artist who makes you feel like he’s whispering secrets in your ear, his delicate melodies and devastating lyrics sneaking past your defenses until you’re a puddle on the floor.
Back in 2015, he dropped Carrie & Lowell, an album that’s less a collection of songs and more a raw, open wound—a tender reckoning with his mother’s death, his stepfather’s presence, and all the messy emotions in between.
Now, a decade later, Stevens is revisiting that masterpiece with a tenth-anniversary re-release, and in a rare, soul-baring interview with Vulture, he’s letting us in on the grief, love, and sheer grit that have defined his life since. Buckle up, because this one’s a tearjerker.
Let’s rewind to 2015. Carrie & Lowell hit the scene like a quiet storm, all hushed vocals and finger-picked guitar, telling the story of Stevens’ complicated bond with his mother, Carrie, who passed in 2012 after battling mental illness and substance abuse, and his stepfather, Lowell, who became an anchor in the chaos.
Songs like “Fourth of July” (“We’re all gonna die,” he sings, over and over, like a mantra you can’t unhear) or “Should Have Known Better” cut deep, laying bare the pain of loss and the flicker of hope that somehow survives it. For me, that album was a lifeline—I was 25, flailing through a breakup and a dead-end job, and Stevens’ voice was the late-night friend who didn’t try to fix me, just sat with me in the dark.
Now, ten years on, Stevens is giving us a deluxe edition of Carrie & Lowell, packed with a 40-page booklet of family photos, unreleased demos, and an essay he wrote about his mom. It’s not just a reissue; it’s a time capsule, a chance to peek behind the curtain of one of the most gut-wrenching records of our time.
Those photos, those demos—they’re like Polaroids from a ghost story, and I’m already bracing myself for the essay, knowing Stevens’ knack for turning memory into poetry.
But the real story here isn’t the re-release—it’s what Stevens has been through since those Carrie & Lowell days. In the Vulture interview, he cracks open his chest and lets us see the scars. He lost his partner, Evans Richardson IV, in April 2023, a blow he’s only hinted at before, most notably in the dedication note for his 2023 album Javelin.
Stevens is a guy who guards his private life like it’s Fort Knox, so this feels seismic, a crack in the wall he’s built around himself. Then, as if fate hadn’t kicked him enough, he was diagnosed with Guillain-Barré syndrome—a brutal autoimmune condition that zapped his strength, left him unable to walk, and sent him into months of physical therapy. He chronicled the ordeal on his blog, posting updates that were equal parts harrowing and hopeful.
Reading this, you can’t help but marvel at the guy. He’s been through the wringer—grieving a love, relearning to move—and yet he’s still here, still trying to find the light. He doesn’t spell out how these punches landed on his music, but you don’t need a decoder ring to see it. Stevens has always turned his hurt into soundscapes that feel like prayers, and if Javelin or this re-release are any indication, he’s not done yet.
The tenth-anniversary edition of Carrie & Lowell isn’t some cash-grab remix fest. It’s a gift for the diehards, a deeper dive into the album’s DNA. Those family photos? They’re a window into the real Carrie and Lowell, the flesh-and-blood people behind the myth.
The unreleased demos? A chance to hear Stevens’ process, the rough edges before the polish. And that essay about his mother? It’s bound to be a gut-punch, a meditation on love and loss from a man who’s lived it twice over now. For fans, it’s gold; for newcomers, it’s a perfect entry point to an album that’s as vital today as it was in 2015.
What gets me about Sufjan Stevens—and this interview drives it home—is how he keeps going. Life has thrown him curveballs that’d knock most of us flat, but he picks up his banjo, his pen, his faith, and he makes something out of it.
Carrie & Lowell was a testament to that a decade ago, and this re-release, paired with his recent revelations, proves it’s not a fluke. He’s not just surviving; he’s creating, turning the wreckage into songs that stick with you, that make you feel less alone.
So here we are, ten years after Carrie & Lowell first broke our hearts, and Stevens is still breaking them—in the best way. This re-release isn’t just a look back; it’s a reminder of why his music matters: because it’s real, because it’s raw, because it’s proof that even when the world falls apart, there’s still something worth singing about. Grab the tissues, folks—this one’s gonna hit you where it hurts, and you’ll thank him for it.
source Vulture
