(REVIEW) Maybe the loss of the past year has been so great it’s left you speechless. 

Fear not: Sufjan Stevens has music for that. 

Stevens’ latest project “Convocations” is a five-volume album that has released songs weekly since April 8. Each of the 49 new tracks is entirely instrumental, a sonically pleasing exploration of grief that expands on Stevens’ synthetic body of work. It also contains visuals from artist Melissa Fuentes.

The project reflects on a year of loss and strife — from the death and change brought by COVID-19 to a more than controversial presidential election and more. It also pays tribute to his biological father, Rasjid Stevens, who died shortly after the release of “The Ascension” last year. 

There are no lyrical calls to God, but the tone is an explicitly reverent and religious one. Stevens even notes on the album’s compilation playlist that it’s meant to feel like a “requiem mass,” which is a service performed in the Roman Catholic Church for the peaceful rest of the dead. 

Each of the volumes are accurately named and created along those lines. 

“Meditations,” released on April 8, is the most intimate of the volumes. It is indeed reminiscent of a funeral, its first tracks offering sweeping, hopeful chords and an angelic choral backing. Its slow, sustained notes and semblance to piano accompaniments create a tangible sadness.

As the volume progresses, it becomes more distant and discordant. The choir remains, evoking a natural religiosity, but the separation is one that remains for the rest of the music. 

“Lamentations,” released on April 15, takes direct inspiration from the book in the Old Testament with the same name. In the Bible, “Lamentations” is believed to have been written by the prophet Jeremiah. It mourns the death of Jerusalem after it was ransacked by the Babylonians. 

The volume begins with a warping of nostalgia: the first track is reminiscent of a child’s music box, but the notes slowly become discordant and dark. And the darkness continues into the second track, “Lamentation II,” which is guided by extended, slicing notes.

On his website, in the description of this track, Stevens even quotes Lamentations 3:6: “He has made me dwell in darkness like those long dead.”

This volume is the most meaningful, if only because it carries the clearest tone and inspiration. Its unforgiving, high-pitched notes create a more frightening landscape of sound. It emphasizes how alone we often feel in our mourning — and that, at times, this mourning feels like it may never end. As the first verse of Lamentations begins, “How deserted lies the city, once so full of people!”

“Revelations,” released on April 22, also carries the influence of the book of the Bible with the same name. It is the most cosmic of all of them, leaving the listener in a galactic soundscape for the duration of the volume. 

The twinkling, lighter notes of some tracks offer a hopeful refrain, reminiscent of the way John describes heaven as having “shone with the glory of God” in Revelation 21. If not heavenly, the rest of the tracks have a science fiction feel to them: there’s clear inspiration from Vangellis’ soundtrack to “Blade Runner” and the occasional vibration that sounds like it was lifted from a “Star Wars” battle. It’s fun and well-paced, but ultimately the feeling of isolation wins out. After all, the universe is a heavenly place — but it can also feel cold and alone. 

“Celebrations,” released on April 29, is not at all a conventional party. It’s perhaps the saddest release of the five because its title implies it’s meant to be the most cheerful. It’s mechanical and mournful, more distant than the previous three. The soundscapes are populated with interesting effects, like dial tones reminiscent of early phone technology and a vibrating drilling similar to the light buzz of an actual dentist’s drill. 

It plays to nostalgia in these and other ways, though, offering what’s called a “celebration of life” at funerals. The celebration is a sad one because it celebrates only the past, which often can’t be revived again. 

“Incantations,” released on May 6, is the most hopeful of them all. And that’s good news: after all, we’re supposed to emerge on the other side of mourning with hope for the future. With fuller, kinder refrains, it offers several tracks of pleasant reflection. The choir backs some tracks in what feels like traditional worship; the xylophone and piano make an appearance.

But how it ends reflects the overall tone of the project well. “Incantation IX” is hollow, an echoing landscape. A doorbell seems to ring, or perhaps it’s a music box beginning to play, and then a low vibration slowly fades into silence.

The album isn’t Stevens’ greatest critical success. It’s not likely to be his most listened to, either; many may choose to ignore it. 

Fans who associate Stevens with his “Mystery of Love” fame — the original song written for the popular movie “Call Me By Your Name” that earned Stevens an Oscar nomination — are more likely to consider him an acoustic artist. This perception is aided by the fact that “Carrie & Lowell,” Stevens’ most critically acclaimed album and perhaps most well-known, is a guitar-led acoustic work that overflows with quiet intimacy. But Stevens is an artist with an affinity for electronica, and his early works express both an interest and talent in the style. 

“Enjoy Your Rabbit,” released in 2004 as the second album on his record label, is an instrumental exploration of the Chinese Zodiac. More well-known is the 2010 album “Age of Adz,” whose title track is an eight-minute epic of spirituality, love and death set to a mesmerizing synth soundscape.

Last year, Stevens released “Aporia,” a collaborative album with his stepfather Lowell Brams that offers more instrumental works and features everything from conceptual spy movie tracks to celestial resonance. And “The Ascension,” his most recent album before this project, has a more synthetic, spacey feel as it mourns the state of the world.

Read more: ‘The Ascension’ Transcends Politics And Grief To Worship

“Convocations” is both a natural next step in his electronic catalog and the most mature project of this kind Stevens has ever done. Every note feels intentional, every mood the music sets a genuine one. 

It’s no coincidence that Stevens’ most beloved work, however, is the one that was the most intimate. His lyrical genius coupled with a warmth in his acoustics created a deeply moving album of “Carrie & Lowell.”

“Convocations” is the antithesis of that intimacy: it lacks comforting words, and its synthetic nature makes for inherently isolating music. But shouldn’t it be somewhat isolated? 

After all, in line with the album’s release and message, this year has been lonely. And the loss of those close to us is terribly lonely, too. The music serves as a companion for these times, opening an infinite hole in which to hide, mourn, reflect. It isn’t an instant comfort. 

But Stevens’ music rarely ever is. That’s one of the best things about it.

Jillian Cheney is a Poynter-Koch fellow for Religion Unplugged who loves consuming good culture and writing about it. She also reports on American Protestantism and evangelical Christianity. You can find her on Twitter @_jilliancheney.