Sufjan Stevens and the Illinoisemakers (as the current album is entitled "Come on and Feel the Illinoise!") came bursting onto the stage in matching uniforms: pants of gawdy orange for the males, skirts for the ladies, and matching t-shirts with a large, stitched "I" -- complete with pom-poms and handclaps. They then burst into the new, official theme song for the project, which managed to include all of the 50 states names and a call to action for the project (which ended with a humorous, and extremely child-like -- think sesame street) call to each instrument:  "Come on banjo", "Come on wurlitzer piano", etc.

Throughout the set, there were various cheers (all more musically complex than anything you have ever seen at a high school football game) combining body and lyrical formations to lead into songs about specific cities:  Peoria, Jacksonville, etc. Sufjan played musical chairs with an acoustic guitar, an electric guitar, the aforementioned wurlitzer piano, and the banjo for the entirety of the night. With his career beginning with an all instrumental album about the various signs of the Chinese zodiac (“Enjoy your Rabbit”) there was no wonder at the amazing dexterity he showcased on the piano, playing extremely complex time signatures above the rest of the band. Frequently the whole band would either end or begin a song with a gradually rising chorus of vocals, emphasizing the emotional complexity and depth of not only the song, but the pursuit.

"John Wayne Gacy, Jr.", about a serial killer who killed upwards of 30 young boys, had a delicately finger picked progression played on the acoustic guitar which eventually lead to an intensity as vocal after vocal gets added (both male and female) and then exulted into the blares of the trumpet. Something I noted while watching Sufjan play his more tender folk numbers was the great similarity to a young Paul Simon: from the way he hunched over his guitar, to the whispery words he muttered, to the hushed somberness and immediacy that were behind those words.

Fittingly the encore ended for the band with an unusually effective cover of "The Star Spangled Banner". Each phrase somehow devoid of the practiced sincerity of a major league baseball game, but with a pleading:  a hope, no matter how minor.

As I arrived home and spoke to my roommates, we had a discussion regarding the extent a time period affects the art (musical, visual, etc) of a period, versus the timelessness of art as a whole; that art itself is universal, or at least has the opportunity to be. I tend to think that the ability to reflect one's time becomes inherent and that every creation which came into being at a time is reflective of the larger context of the time period, no matter the intent or not. In the latest music issue of "The Believer" (which has an excellent companion CD of terrific artists covering other terrific  artists and a fascinating Beck interview). One column quite fascinatingly connects Billy Joel's "We didn't start the Fire", the Scorpion's "Winds of Change", and Jesus Jones' "Right here, Right now" as part of a larger role in which they, in their own ways, deal with the end of the Cold War and the tearing down of the Berlin wall. The article illustrates how the songs reflect the emotional catharsis of the time, and gives a visceral, if not complete, understanding of the period.

I think the most difficult concept for anyone is to fully understand the real and immediate effect of their current life. Most people either think they are too important, or not important enough. But every once in awhile, at a concert, or even in the middle of a national park, one can find glimpses of the significance of it all; the imaginary strings that tie us all together and consequently give us all hope. So, for you, Sufjan Stevens, schooled at Waldorf, contributor to N.P.R., I thank you for trying to convey some type of compassion and intelligence. And, for you, inspiration and hope that the world is indeed moving forward and coming closer to a place of understanding, I bow down, happily.