Sufjan Stevens has led many musical lifetimes in his 48 years on this earth. He released his debut album when he was just under 25 years old, in 2000. His third album, 2003’s Michigan, was the first of his that I heard, and it established Stevens as a talented singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist (he played no less than 18 different instruments on the album). It was his sixth album, Illinois, that saw his fame rise to the highest of highs. The album was recognized as “best of the decade” by a number of publications (and I generally concur). Those six albums constitute his first “lifetime,” creating lush, Spector-like arrangements on top of his hushed falsetto singing songs about inanimate objects, geographic locations, and even serial killers — rarely turning the lens inward on himself.

The next ten years produced only one album, The Age of Adz, which came in at #3 in 2010. This album is his second “lifetime,” creating what I believe is his best record, but one that is confrontational, noise-laden, and rich to extravagance. It also marked a distinct shift in subject matter in his lyrics, where he chose to focus inward, blatantly focusing on his emotions and health concerns (he’d been suffering through a mysterious debilitating viral infection that affected his nervous system and caused chronic pain).

Carrie & Lowell, his seventh album, came out in 2015 (#4). It started yet another chapter in his musical progression, staying focused inward on deeply personal subjects such as the death of his mother Carrie and his relationship with her husband, Stevens’ stepfather Lowell Brams. Stevens attributes a lot of his love of music and musicianship to Brams, who came into his life when he was young. Carrie & Lowell, laden with quiet, whispered vocals throughout, is a complete departure from Adz. Rather than pushing you away from the speaker with loud noise-driven over-layered music, Lowell forces you to lean in closely.

The next five albums, a series of extended collaborations, contemplative orchestration, and less evocative lyrics, form the fourth chapter: Planetarium (with Nico Muhly, the National’s Bryce Dessner and James McAlister) (#30 in 2017), Aporia (with Lowell Brams) in 2020, The Ascension (#9) in 2020, Convocations in 2021, and A Beginner’s Mind (with Angelo de Augustine) (#29) in 2021.

And now, two years after that, we find Sufjans writing a new masterpiece, learning from the many chapters of his musical history, and forming way may become known as his best yet, with Javelin. Lyrically and musically, the album picks the best parts of The Age of Adz and Carrie & Lowell and creates something wholly new. Stevens dedicated the album to “the light of my life, my beloved partner and best friend Evans Richardson, who passed away in April.”

A month prior to album release, Stevens announced on Instagram that he had been hospitalized for a debilitating illness called Guillain–Barré syndrome, a fast-moving autoimmune disorder in which the body’s immune system mistakenly attacks the peripheral nerves. Stevens “woke up one morning and couldn’t walk. My hands, arms and legs were numb and tingling and I had no strength, no feeling, no mobility.” Stevens was sent home to continue his recovery on the day Javelin was released.

While not directly about these events, Javelin feels like Stevens’ most intimate album. Aside from backing vocals provided by others on most tracks, and longtime friend and collaborator Bryce Dessner’s guitar on track 9, lovingly called “Shit Talk,” Stevens performed every instrument, and recorded and mixed every song in his home studio. At times quiet like Lowell, and others bombastic like Adz, I’m not being hyperbolic when I say this may be the best manifestation of Stevens’ talent. It’s a testament to the number of great albums from 2023 that pushes this phenomenal work down to #8.

No matter what level of fan or non-fan of Sufjan Stevens’ work you’ve been in the past, Javelin is for you. It’s the best place to start a new obsession, or to put the cherry on the top of one you’ve already been building (like me).