So, a couple of months ago I gave in. I heard one of his (forgive the
adjective) majestic songs on the radio and came clean with myself.

 ”Who am I fooling? This is good!”

  I made my way to the record store and bought his seminal “Illinoise”
not 15 minutes later.

  It’s an amazing record. Amazing! And as far as the other thing?…                                                                                   

  The world needs more Christians like this dude.

  So, I texted my two close friends who have quietly been preaching
Steven’s gospel to me this whole time and let them know of my Saul of
Tarsus conversion. They reminded me that he was coming to play
Asheville that following week. I went all in. I bought a ticket.

  The show starts with a rumble of trombone and celestial voices.  I
recognize the song to be “Seven Swans”.  A beautiful shimmering of light
reveals a screen that lifts to reveal 11 musicians and voices rising
in a refrain of, “I am Lord!” This guy does not play around. Less than
a minute in and this is already the most unabashedly orchestral rock
show I’ve ever experienced.

  Sufjan talks in between songs in the ironic tone of an alternative
comic mixed with the honest fervor of a boy preacher. Maybe Paul
Dano’s character in There Will Be Blood tempered with the self
effacing intelligence of Demetri Martin? How else can you get away
with introducing your second song as your “prophetic love song about
the apocalypse?” As the band strikes up again, the impeccably layered
sound is doubled over on itself and joined by the intentional musical
discord of synths and drum loops. I think to myself, is this guy too
smart for his own good?

  But the sound is huge and undeniable. I hear incantations of
“eternal living” juxtaposed with sounds and images of obliteration. I
really don’t want to live forever in heaven. Thanks Sufjan, but that
sounds exhausting.

  As if on cue, a woman from the audience screams “I love you!” as he
begins to tell us about his next song. He is gracious but tells us
that there is also such thing as “Too Much Love”, the name of the
song. The video screen rages with color behind choreographed back-up
singers.  Sufjan asks us to give him ” the sensitive laugh” or “the
sensitive touch.” The music sounds like a fever dream, then like
Mahler, then the sexiest funk ever played or heard, then a nightmare.

  I look around the packed auditorium and realize with a touch of envy
that this is an artist who has made his extremely personal mark on a
large enough audience that he can do whatever he wants to now.

  The song is over. He’s being funny again. And inspirational. Our
generation’s Anthony Robbins?

  Back into songs. Electronics. Wild trombones. I haven’t mentioned,
there are two drummers but the majority of the “drumbeat” is
programed. Like an angelic version of NIN.

  He preambles and then plays a wonderful song about how we pull each
other apart called “I Walked ‘Cus You Walked.” This truly sounds like
“future” music. Sometimes I love it. Sometimes I’m not ready. I can’t
help but feel like he’s taken some serious inspiration from Justin
Timberlake. But instead of bringing “sexy back” he’s bringing spirit
back.

  He introduces the next number as a “west coast folky song”. The
arrangement is lush and I am comforted. “Words are futile devices.” I
am crying. The song spirals into a weird electronic horn solo that my
buddy Chuck will later describe as “the Star Wars horn.”

  Sufjan must realize this anthropomorphic puppetry vibe because he
admits before the next song that, “a lot of this show is inspired by
the Muppets.”

  Now a song about volcanoes called “Vesuvius.” I am having flashbacks of
Latin class. It is funky. It is over the top. It is also as earnestly
comical as Spinal Tap.

  Now another sensitive slow song. Pretty piano. I have a creepy
feeling that this song is about child molestation. And I feel like
people love and trust this guy so much that no subject he decides to
touch is off limits. Not sure. This song is at least about some sort
of forbidden love.

  So now he tells us about Royal Roberts. Royal was a prolific black Southern
folk artist. A prophet/schizophrenic whose art has so obsessed Sufjan that
it formed the basis for much of the new music on “The Age of Adz” album.
Tellingly, Stevens explains to us that so much of the grandeur and
paranoia of the folk artist’s work was spawned from                                                                                                         “confusing heartache with the end of the world.” He sees that conflict
in himself and he can admit it.

  Much of Royal’s art devolved into “vengeful” rants about his wife
Adelle’s lack of sexual purity. He accused her of being a harlot and
his increasing rage and distrust would eventually push her and their
children out of his house and his life. A slide show of fantastical
paintings shuffles as we hear this obscure artist’s life story. Sufjan
has a huge heart and an ability to empathize with life’s truly
marginal characters. I feel a complicated and antagonistic
relationship towards sex in his music as well; every time the feeling
veers towards sexuality and funkiness it’s quickly sublimated into
introspection or uneasiness.

  Now for the magnum opus. Impossible Soul.” The 20 minute-plus finale.
He warns us preemtively and thanks us for sticking with him. I appreciate his
candor because I honestly do feel tested. There are flashes of
brilliance. For a few moments he wields an electric guitar and I
realize he can do anything. What an amazing guitarist! Shredding like
Prince and making some truly unique noise…The song drags on.  By this point
I feel like people are either super fans, not listening, or not really liking
what’s going on here. I would not lose respect for anyone who walked
out right now. Then a shift and it’s a dance party. I’m re-engaged.
This might be good music for the treadmill. It would be a long
workout.

  Maybe if I could deal with the boredom of waking up a Christian
everyday I would be more into this song. It drags on like Passion of
the Christ. I want a drink. It sounds like being bored on acid. Is
that possible? On and on. I know, I’m a heretic. But I am praying now
Sufjan. Praying that you stop this and play something beautiful now.
Something that’s not so self-indulgent. I’m praying to the Lord.

  And then it’s over. And the auditorium fills with the songs that I
want to hear. “Chicago.” I’m crying. So beautiful and painful and
gorgeous. It’s not about you or Royal. It’s about us. Everyone around
me is singing. I try to sing along too but when I do I make weird
sobbing sounds. “Concerning the UFO.” “Casimir Pulaski Day.” Everyone is
listening, singing and/or crying. Everyone is here. I don’t blame you
for needing to go through all that you did in front of us Sufjan. I’m
glad you made me hear your weird obsessive new music. But here is
where I wanted to be all along. “The Dress Looks Nice On You.” I thank
you. I’m sorry I judged you. I’m sorry I can’t always be there with
you. “John Wayne Gacy Jr.” The song of a serial killer that dressed like
a clown. How can you make this sound beautiful?
How much can you share with us? Make us feel? Believe?

And in my best behavior
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floorboards
For the secrets I have hid

When I lived in Cincinnati for a summer with my first serious college girlfriend I rooted for Bill Clinton to make peace happen in the Middle East each day as I drove back and forth from my job as a dairy farmer. That was me and you Robert Siegal!

I drove to my ESL job in Brooklyn with Melissa Block, incredulous at the news from Iraq.

Now, living in Asheville NC, delivering pizzas while trying to build a career as musician I listen to more NPR than ever. So many things have changed in my life and in the world. Some of them I could have predicted: I’m back here living happily in the town where I went to college, I found it impossible not to pursue a career playing and writing music, I’m going bald.

Other things I could never have imagined: Barack Obama is our first black President, Guy Raz is the host of All Things Considered Weekend, there’s a thing called Twitter.

Guy Raz has been the full time host of All Things Considered Weekend for a little more than a year. I have been on Twitter for about the same amount of time.

For those uninitiated, Twitter is a social networking service whereby you can write 140 characters of text and send it out into the world for anyone to see.

I first tweeted about my feelings towards Guy Raz at 5:02 PM on February 14th of this year. That’s right, Valentine’s Day. Here’s what I said.

“The voice of Guy Roz has ruined All Things Considered Weekend for me.”

I was concise, straight to the point. I had yet to google Mr. Raz and didn’t yet know how to spell his name. Also, it’s notable that it only took me 2 minutes of the broadcast to feel compelled to make my distaste known to the cyber-world. Granted, it had been brewing for months.

My next salvo was launched the following day. Sunday. The Lord’s day. It’s a three part tweet but well worth the characters I’d say.

People that I’d rather listen to hosting All Things Considered Weekend instead of Guy Raz? Little Richard, Fran Drescher, Cindy Lauper… 4:14 PM Feb 15th

Dick Cheney, Pepe Le Pew, Shakira, Fidel Castro, Mark Whalberg, Tom Tancredo, Lil Wayne, Justin Bieber, Matt Mitan, Steven Hawking…. 4:18 PM Feb 15th

…Trig, Duff McKagan, John Tesh, Colby Caillat, Marcus Garvey, Patrick Swayze, Chirstopher Reeves, Sam Kinnison, Bono, Larry Mullen Jr….. 1:30 AM Feb 16th

My favorite part about this tirade is the fact that NONE of this was written while Guy was on the air. The first two tweets were posted with close to an hour to go before the broadcast. The last one in the middle of the night, hours after the smarm colored dust had settled.

I week later I posted again.

Give it up Guy Raz. You’re out of your league. 5:18 PM Feb 20th

And 15 minutes later for good measure.

Wow Guy, you’re so pithy. 5:33 PM Feb 20th

It took me about a month to go again. I would describe my emotional state in the intervening time period as “abject demoralization”.

Damn you Guy Raz! 4:49 PM Mar 27th

I think I actually tried to not listen to Weekend All Things Considered during the month of April. But in May I came back with a vengeance.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, damn you Guy Raz. You ruin the news sir. Resign! 4:16 PM May 1st

Then, a few weeks later, I made an attempt at being proactive.

Starting a support group to help people cope with the voice of Guy Raz. 4:55 PM May 30th

July saw the firing of two shots. One generous.

WCQS Summer fund drive. What’s the donation level to get Guy Raz fired? 3:30 PM Jul 16th

One hostile.

Guy Raz is doing an on air beer tasting!! I hope it’s poisoned. 4:37 PM Jul 17th

Finally, this past weekend, Mr. Raz interviewed one of my heroes.

Guy Raz is interviewing Bjork on NPR right now. One of my favorite voices juxtaposed with the smarmiest voice of all time. 4:54 PM Aug 7th

Can you feel the tone of resignation? It’s almost like I’m reciting the Serenity Prayer they say in A.A., “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Mr. Raz must have felt me giving in, putting up the white flag, surrendering, dying inside. Today I received an e-mail from my publicist from my nemesis, Guy Raz.

Greetings,
A friend pointed out some of your ongoing critiques of my voice. (The wonders of the internet.) I checked out your website. Your music is great. Sorry I sound smarmy. You’re the first to use that adjective. But there have been worse. Believe me. And thanks for still listening to the show despite the vocal distraction.

Regards,
GR
guy raz | host, all things considered, weekend | npr

So, fuck! What am I supposed to do now? What a perfect move. Not a touch of douchebagery or smarminess. Is this guy a class act who just happens to have a crappy voice?

I am stunned, humbled, confused.

I guess all I can do is this,

Guy Raz, can I come on your wonderful program to discuss the release of my new record? It comes out November 2nd, The Day of the Dead.