. Sufjan Stevens Seven Swans Sounds Familyre n eerie sense of peacefulness often accompanies a storm. There's a moment before the torrents when the wind halts and the rustling of leafy branches hushes, a period of silence during which the funnel cloud grows in the distance. Stillness precedes the most violent tempests. When the opening banjo notes of Sufjan Stevens' Seven Swans begin to play, one can feel the dark clouds gathering overhead.       The ambitious, multi-instrumental Stevens crept stealthily onto the scene last year in time to inhabit several prestigious "best of 2003" lists with his third LP, Greetings from Michigan: The Great Lakes State. Prior to that release, he had quietly labored over a number of astounding, yet criminally underappreciated, projects. His debut, A Sun Came, was similar in approach to Greetings from Michigan, while his sophomore effort, Enjoy Your Rabbit, made a complete departure into wordless, noisy and surprisingly accessible electronic music. Stevens also co-founded the Asthmatic Kitty label, which boasts such critically-acclaimed signees as Half-Handed Cloud, Viva Voce and Liz Janes. To top it all off, he's an honorary member of the ultimate bizarre kiddie-pop/indie rock band Danielson Famile. It's a wonder he managed to evade the industry radar screen for so long. Then again, he seems to have a knack for being deceptively understated.       He also has a firm grasp on the element of surprise. From the aforementioned sudden left turn into electronic glitchiness to his unexpected arrival as one of indie rock's top players, Stevens has behaved in the way of the most destructive storms: unpredictably. His latest effort, Seven Swans, is no exception. When the release was announced, many were expecting something akin to the full, orchestral, folky indie-pop of Greetings from Michigan. Still more believed Stevens would make good on his promise to release an album for each of the remaining 49 states (which he still might). Instead, he dispensed a collection of stripped-down, barren folk songs, composed largely of banjo and acoustic guitar, with deeply heartfelt and faith-based lyrics. Far from being a disappointment, Seven Swans is a gale powerful enough to blow over members of both speculating parties.       Stevens fashions his albums with the same eye toward unexpectedness that serves him well in his career choices, masking his monstrous works with modesty and, in the case of Seven Swans, quietude. The album's first song, "All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands," opens with a lone, distant banjo emitting a beautiful and foreboding melody, which is soon joined by Stevens' soft, plaintive and slightly trembling tenor. A desolate piano line and the angelic background vocals of Danielson's Elin and Megan Smith provide the only other layer of sound until subdued drums enter near the song's end. It's a firm declaration of faith, as Stevens sings, "I am joining all my thoughts to You." Though the song never reaches the climax toward which it seems to be building, there's formidable power in its quiet resolve.       Much of the album resides in this moment between dark sky and downpour, floating ominously and ethereally overhead like a thick covering of heavy, gray clouds. Seven Swans is essentially different from all of Stevens' previous work, not only because of its comparatively minimal instrumentation, but also because it's saturated with suspense. Stevens spends nearly 11 songs quietly plucking his banjo and acoustic guitar with conviction and determination. There are occasional flashes in the clouds and infrequent thunder, such as at the midpoint of "Sister," where vocals, drums, organ and discordant electric guitar swell to a great volume only to fall off into more melancholy acoustic musing. For a good part of the album, however, the passion that's ready to spill out is brilliantly repressed. Stevens understands dynamics and suspense, and the softest pieces are brimming with life because of his meticulous crafting.       Stevens has a unique melodic sensibility, and, while the song arrangements on Seven Swans are slightly more conventional than the polyphonic opuses of Greetings from Michigan, he manages to sound completely self-made. He has mentioned in interviews that he has had no proper musical training aside from oboe lessons, but he plays dozens of instruments with apparent ease and precision. Self-taught musicians are often the most creative, and that fact is evident in Stevens' banjo playing, which lies somewhere between folk and indie-minded experimentation.       It's impossible to fully convey how lovely these songs are. Each track is light, airy and filled with Stevens' delicate instrumentation and whispered melodies. The album is endlessly evocative of a rainy day. Stevens sounds isolated and pensive, as if he's sitting on his front porch, watching the potentially perilous weather and writing its theme music.       Despite the overall wistfulness, Stevens also sneaks in some lyrical optimism, mostly by way of his strong faith. Songs like "To Be Alone With You" and "We Won't Need Legs to Stand" are set in minor keys but are still overwhelmingly hopeful. Stevens tends to be rather cryptic, but certain phrases give away his outlook. "When we are dead, we all have wings. We won't need legs to stand," he sings.       Near the end of the album, the atmosphere becomes noticeably more active. "He Woke Me Up Again" is the liveliest song on Seven Swans, pulsing with energetic banjo, organ and drums. It's the final and loudest shot of thunder before the darkest clouds roll in. The title track, which immediately follows it, is a dramatic, heart-stopping affair and is darker and more ominous than anything else on the album. Stevens makes parallels to the book of Revelation in his repeated use of the number seven as well as in the song's theatrical arrangement. He sings of seeing visions and ends the song on a striking note: "If you run, He will chase you, because He is the Lord." This is the height of the album's suspense.       Suddenly, the wind picks up, and thunder booms. Stevens opens "The Transfiguration" with a direct telling of the biblical account of Jesus' final hours over percussive banjo. The energy builds, and various wind instruments are added to the mix. Harmonizing voices and instruments join in at an alarming rate, culminating in a glorious refrain. Rain pounds on the windows, and lightning illuminates the black sky. Seven Swans is powerful. Sufjan Stevens' tempestuous musical habits have incited another cloudburst. -Chris Skillern