Farther and Closer At Once.

The night was overcast and bitter, though it was only late October as I drove down to Holland to see Sufjan Stevens. I met David Martin there, in that fall of 2003, when the chamber pop star was still small enough to play Lemonjello's, a nook of a cafe downtown. I ordered a loose leaf Yerba Mate, and this cup of tea ended up taking up a bit too much of my attention. The small floor was packed with sitting fans and I kept my focus of not spilling my beverage, only letting it scald the edges of my thumb and forefinger. Still, I was able to catch enough of the solo acoustic performance to know that this guy could write a song. He had the same guitar as my father, a shiny deep Guild with a pale, pale finish. And then came the banjo, and with it the sense that this was a new kind of pop, that half the crowd of hardcore folk fans would be pricing banjos on eBay as soon as they got home, that the future of our genre would be cluttered with imitators who aped this artist or innovators who went beyond him. David and I bought CDs afterward. Sufjan was the opening act but we didn't stay for the star. We were both far from our respective homes and had to get home and stayed together only long enough to smoke a cigarette and eye Mr. Stevens awkwardly from across the tiny parking lot. I often make conversation with bands and artists, but this time I drew a blank and left him alone. Thrilling, the drive home was thrilling, beyond expectations, because I spent it listening to "Michigan." Here was something new and beautiful and I thought, David is having this same experience right now, driving home and listening, and I felt close to him even as we drove farther apart. - Dylan