(REVIEW) Sufjan Stevens, the paragon of 2000s and 2010s indie music, is perhaps best known for his 2005 album, “Illinois.” The second of his albums based on the U.S. state — believed to be part of a 50 stages project Stevens has now claimed was a joke — “Illinois” was well-reviewed by critics and is widely regarded as one of the most important indie albums of the decade. 

A new dance theater piece brings the album to life. “Illinoise” — the album’s alternate spelling — premiered in Chicago last year and premiered on Broadway on April 24 after a limited Off-Broadway run. 

The dance revue includes all the major tracks from the album, though they’re used slightly out of order. None of the characters have speaking roles, but the music is performed by a trio of vocalists and a full orchestra. 

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“Illinoise” is a clever adaptation of Stevens’ work, tying together works that begin with little more in common than a shared theme and similar sound into a seamless narrative. 

Henry, the protagonist, sits around the campfire with friends, all of whom are sharing their stories and their thoughts on the state of the world. Each friend tells their story to the tune of one song from the album, taking advantage of the more disjointed tracks. The show takes on a smoother narrative arc as Henry is convinced to tell his own heart-wrenching story, one of love, loss and regret. 

Of it all, the music is the highlight — as it should be. The orchestra enhances the music to unique fullness, and the vocalists are absolute powerhouses. It’s a phenomenal and beautiful album that’s more than deserving of a unique adaptation to the stage. 

The story meditates on the things Stevens’ music meditates on — which is to say everything, or nearly so. It contemplates love, childhood, legacy, God, politics, racism, identity and more. It’s a lot for one album and for one show, but “Illinoise” incorporates all these things with the same grace Stevens does. 

A particular standout, both in story and dance, is with the song “Jacksonville.” It’s a tap number, for starters, unique from the dance in the rest of the show and mind-blowing in the exhibition of skill. 

The number is performed by a character who is, according to the program, “a griot and expert debater who shares a story about the attempts to understand a lineage, and find the lessons left by those who came before (or ancestry is more than DNA, it’s how we see, how we move, how we talk to God).” Above their head is a billboard which hearkens to former president Andrew Jackson, the likely source of the town’s name. It’s crossed out and replaced with the name Reverend A.W. Jackson, paying homage to a Black preacher and town politician. 

There are a few moments — beyond replacing the name of a slave-owning president with a Black leader — of condemning the past and reclaiming a better story. In “Zombies,” wherein “a historian and horror enthusiast shares a story about the hold The Founding Fathers have on the American Imagination,” the titular zombies represent infamous figures of America’s past — including names like Jerry Falwell, Ronald Reagan and Woodrow Wilson. 

This moment in “Zombies” is a little too on the nose, even though it reflects ideas about America’s history that are present in other parts of Stevens’ work. Calling them out, so to speak, doesn’t necessarily raise awareness or make news; and, if I can be pedantic, not all of them even have a direct connection to the state of Illinois. 

It’s one of the issues that comes with this specific type of adaptation — album to narrative to dance-centric piece. It’s all too easy for the story to come across either as too vague or painfully specific.  

In other ways — particularly as Henry’s story begins in the second act — the narrative is tender and well-executed. Henry tells the story of his first love, Carl, which goes unrequited, and Carl’s own first love and struggle.   

The show borrows from some details in the songs: Carl is referenced by name in “Come on! Feel the Illinoise!” 

In some songs, the narrative has a perfect setup. “Casimir Pulaski Day” is a narrative song itself, the story of a young girl dying of bone cancer and a narrator — Carl, in the show’s case — who has a fleeting romance with her before she dies. 

This song, apart from being unbelievably sad, is one of the most notable examples in Stevens’ early career of his questions of faith, as the girl’s death sparks something of a crisis of faith:

All the glory that the Lord has made

And the complications when I see his face

In the morning, in the window

All the glory when he took our place

But he took my shoulders and he shook my face

And he takes, and he takes, and he takes
These questions and pleas to God are a recurrent theme in Stevens’ work

Still, his world — and the world of “Illinoise” — is not one without hope. Henry has a partner who he loves and who loves him back, and he has a community of friends willing to rally behind him in support. It’s the perfect encapsulation of what Stevens’ music teaches people to believe: life can be difficult and sad, but love always remains. 

Jillian Cheney is Religion Unplugged’s Senior Culture Correspondent. She writes about film, TV, music, art, books and more. Find her on Twitter @_jilliancheney.