Nov 26th, 2020
Vol. 7
BELFIELD BANTER THE
Th e S t . Anne ’s - B el fi el d S choo l S tud en t New s l etter
In This Issue:
SOME SUFJAN ON THE SIDE STUDENT POETRY: Hans Bai THE U.S. TAX SYSTEM: TOWARDS WHOM IS IT ACTUALLY UNFAIR? SPORTS UPDATE: STAB TENNIS EDITOR’S NOTE: JACK DOZIER
SOME SUFJAN ON THE SIDE by Ellie Powell
– Thanksgiving break has always served as a period of reflection for me. In addition to taking a short break from my academic classes, this period of time allows me to take a moment to ask myself what it is that I am truly thankful for. Naturally, I always start with my family, access to shelter, food, and my love for everyone within our school community. I truly do not know where I would be without the resources I am so lucky to receive from my parents and this school. In making my list, however, I realized that I would be remiss to neglect mentioning the gratitude I feel towards Sufjan Stevens this holiday season. If you do not listen to Stevens’ music regularly, you may be put off by the jarring nature of Illinois, or the breathy similitude of Carrie and Lowell, but I insist that you keep listening. The first time I introduced my brother to the work of Sufjan Stevens, he told me that “Chicago” was the only Sufjan song worth listening to. With its catchy mel-
ody and lyrical drama, I understood this assumption entirely. Indeed, after half-listening to Illinois two years ago, I felt as though I only connected with “Chicago,” and further decided that perhaps Stevens simply was not for me, a fact that now seems totally ridiculous. Nonetheless, last year, I decided to listen to my first Sufjan album in full, and I am pleased to say that it may have changed my life. At its most simple, the 2015 album Carrie and Lowell concerns its artist’s grief for his mother. Stevens opens with a song named for the Oregon Death with Dignity Act of 1994 that explores the unique heartbreak that comes with losing an estranged parent. As the Oregon piece of his fifty states project, this album utilizes one of Stevens’ greatest strengths: his specificity. Lines that seem relevant only to Stevens’ experiences suddenly ring true to all listeners due to the songwriter’s firm grasp on the human experience. Immediately, Stevens sets his tone as one of sincere self-reflection after having been struck by a traumatic loss. Despite my greatest flex as a seventeen year old girl being a fantastic relationship with each of my parents, I found myself stuck pondering lines like “The past is still the past / The bridge to nowhere / I should have wrote a letter / Explaining what I feel, that empty feeling.” For context, in 2019, I spent two months alone in Boston to study Ancient Greek. I was farther away from my family than I had ever been before, and while I never felt isolated, upon listening to Carrie and Lowell, I began to worry that I wasn’t doing enough to connect with my parents. The word “regret” seems to color my interpretation of much of Stevens’ discography. Though this hardly feels like a sufficient word with which to capture the undercurrents of Stevens’ songs, the artist’s exploration of his mother’s death certainly carries a wistfulness for what might’ve been. Indeed, in “Romulus,” my favorite track from an earlier album of Stevens’, he contemplates a similar theme of filial remorse in his refrain of “I was ashamed of her.” I will admit that after hearing this line, I often need to take a deep breath and remove my headphones. In truth, I think that everyone has been embarrassed by