album review

Sufjan Stevens submits to his estranged mother’s death through unadorned folk, offering no ornamental refuge. ‘Fourth of July’ emerges as an ineluctable meditation on mortality.
Grief eschews apparatus. The most austere accounting, stripped of all artifice, arrives with the force that cleaves.
this is one entry from a wandering list of films, books, shows and albums, kept by someone trying to live a slightly more deliberate life.
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