“I got so little pleasure out of writing and recording the album that I feel like I’m due some enjoyment,” Sufjan Stevens said before embarking on the full-band tour behind his heartbreaking 2015 record Carrie & Lowell. The 11 songs on Carrie & Lowell featured multiple backup singers and instrumentalists, but they retained an almost voyeuristic sense of intimacy, exploring the ways death affects our lives. Stevens mostly shied away from seeking resolution, instead focusing on the shame, regret, and loneliness that can accompany grief. The emotional core of the record came at the end of a song called “Fourth of July.” As the music faded around him, Stevens sounded alone and inconsolable, repeating a simple truth: “We’re all gonna die.”
That moment transforms on Carrie & Lowell Live, an audiovisual document from the South Carolina stop of the album’s tour. Here, Stevens lets the outro of “Fourth of July” build instead of dissipate. If not quite a happy ending, it’s at least a cathartic one—his mantra now backed by pummeling drums and a chorus of voices. This transformation underscores the difference between Stevens’ records and his shows. While even his most elaborate albums feel hushed and solitary, his concerts are communal experiences. On stage, he’ll dress up his band as cheerleaders and strap a giant pair of wings on his back; he’ll take dancing cues from Justin Bieber and cover a hit song by Drake. Carrie & Lowell Live—while highlighting the starkest, saddest songs Stevens has ever written—reflects that side of his personality like no other release. This juxtaposition makes it a compelling listen and a fitting companion to a deep, multifaceted record.
On Carrie & Lowell, tracks segued into each other with haunted anti-solos: ghosting away to reveal one isolated melody or instrument. On the live album, Stevens takes the opposite approach, expanding and amplifying every moment. The wispy pedal steel coda to “Death With Dignity” is sung in unison by his whole band with the force of a prayer, while the second half of “Should Have Known Better”—a chintzy keyboard melody on the record—gets turned into an escalating anthem with a round of vocalists. “All of Me Wants All of You” and “Carrie & Lowell” are both embellished with long, spacey synth solos, while “Blue Bucket of Gold” gets its own 18-minute reprise. The effect is somewhat jarring: taking a record that thrived on simplicity and adorning it with glowsticks. But it’s a testament to Stevens’ songwriting that each track retains its subtlety and beauty in this context.