More than 15 years ago, a young indie folk artist embarked on a musical journey across the United States, state by state, promising a song for each. This ambitious endeavor sparked excitement, built a dedicated fan base, and generated significant buzz. But was it ever truly meant to happen?
Part I: Michigan – The Genesis of a Geographic Music Dream
Do you remember when indie rock took a turn towards becoming a whimsical geography lesson set to music? Sufjan Stevens emerged as our banjo-playing guide, seemingly ready to musically map out the entire United States with a series of baroque and beautiful concept albums dedicated to individual states. It began with Michigan, followed by Illinois. Then, another Illinois related release, in a way. And then… silence. The promised deluge of state-themed albums never materialized. Sufjan Stevens didn’t even venture beyond the Great Lakes region, leaving many fans who eagerly anticipated a 50 State Song collection feeling somewhat betrayed.
Michigan and Illinois became unexpected crossover hits, bridging the gap between cynical music critics and casual listeners. These concept albums were sophisticated enough to earn top spots on Pitchfork‘s year-end lists, yet accessible and charming enough to please even the most musically conservative listeners. However, as the 2000s drew to a close, the ambitious “50 states project” mysteriously stalled. The promised albums for all 50 states never arrived, leaving fans wondering if they had been led astray.
The memory of this ambitious project resurfaced during a recent trip through Michigan. Driving past towns like Ypsilanti and Romulus, names made familiar by Sufjan Stevens’ evocative lyrics, I found myself revisiting his tribute to his home state. This nostalgic revisit sparked a thought about the years spent anticipating the mythical 48 subsequent state albums. A lighthearted tweet about this unfulfilled promise resonated deeply with many. Fans responded with similar sentiments of longing and amusement, recalling the anticipation and even concert experiences fueled by the expectation of a complete 50 state song series. It became clear that there was a shared experience among Sufjan Stevens fans, a collective memory of college years soundtracked by his music, tinged with the quiet question of when he might musically explore states like Alabama or Montana.
Further digging into the history of this project revealed a surprising truth: the 50 states album concept was never a genuine plan. It was, in fact, a joke, a clever piece of music industry myth-making. Fans, it turned out, had been charmingly duped in an audacious act of “grand theft banjo.” (Sufjan Stevens himself was unavailable for comment for this article. While one might imagine him deeply engrossed in research for a Delaware album, alas, that remains wishful thinking.)
However, it’s hard to harbor resentment for long. This seemingly absurd PR strategy played a crucial role in bringing two of the 2000s’ most remarkable indie-pop albums to a wider audience. This success story owes much to Daniel Gill and Marie VanAssendelft, the publicists who spearheaded the Michigan campaign. The untold story begins in 2002 when Gill briefly took on the role of Stevens’ manager. At the time, Stevens was a relatively unknown 27-year-old songwriter hailing from Michigan, a talented multi-instrumentalist with a delicate vocal style and a strong Christian faith. He had released two albums and was associated with the indie-pop group Danielson Family, but mainstream success seemed distant.
It was during a dinner at a Chinese restaurant in New York in late 2002 that the seed of the “50 states project” was sown. Gill and Stevens discussed the songwriter’s burgeoning career. Stevens mentioned two albums he was working on: a piano-based concept album about Michigan and a banjo-centric album that would become Seven Swans. “I suggested, ‘You’re doing a concept album about Michigan, why don’t we just announce that you’re going to make an album about all 50 states?'” Gill recounts. “It seemed like a ridiculous idea, almost unbelievable. Even at an album a year, it would take 50 years, and he was already in his late 20s. We thought, ‘No one will actually believe this. They won’t take it seriously.'”
Stevens, however, embraced the idea, even if the intention to create 50 albums was never there. He later admitted, “I have no qualms about admitting it was a promotional gimmick.”
Gill explains, “From my perspective, it was about getting him noticed. At that point, he didn’t have a fan base. No one was paying attention.”
When Michigan (sometimes titled Greetings From Michigan: The Great Lakes State) was released in 2003, its brilliance was undeniable. It was a sprawling, melancholic song cycle, rich with geographic details and unique musical arrangements. Yet, Stevens remained largely unknown. “We were facing the typical challenge for music publicists: knowing you have an incredible album but struggling to get people to listen,” says VanAssendelft, then a publicist at Fanatic Promotion. “That’s where we really pushed the 50 states concept. It was definitely the hook, in addition to highlighting the album’s quality.”
Regarding the completion of the 50-album project, VanAssendelft states, “I think we all knew it was never going to happen.” However, Stevens seemed enthusiastic about the prospect of wider recognition for his music.
The PR strategy centered around emphasizing Stevens’ supposed ambition to cover all 50 states in his biography and press materials. When journalists inquired about the seriousness of the project, Gill remained deliberately vague. “It was absolutely a PR stunt,” Gill confirms. “He knew it, and I knew it.” But the media was intrigued. “Their first question was always, ‘Okay, which state is next?'” VanAssendelft remembers. The fact that Stevens was indeed working on an Illinois album added a layer of credibility to the narrative. (Gill recalls a slightly different timeline, suggesting the Illinois album wasn’t planned until later).
The turning point arrived in late July. Pitchfork, a rising voice in indie music criticism, initially gave Michigan a lukewarm review. However, Ryan Schreiber, Pitchfork‘s editor, hadn’t actually listened to the album before the initial review. After repeated prompting, Schreiber listened and was immediately impressed. “He freaked out and said, ‘I can’t believe we gave this album a 7.5,'” Gill recounts.
What followed is debated. Gill claims Schreiber removed the original review and published a much more positive one, awarding “Best New Music” and an 8.5 score. Schreiber maintains that he simply republished the same review with an adjusted score. Regardless, the revised, highly positive review significantly boosted the album’s visibility.
Word spread rapidly. “After the re-review, I started getting calls from people who had previously ignored the album,” VanAssendelft recalls. Subsequent reviews consistently mentioned the 50-state project, further amplifying the buzz. An Irish Times review even declared it “the beginning of a career-long project.”
Months before artists like Joanna Newsom and the term “freak-folk” became indie music staples, Stevens became a sensation. Here was a Christian singer with an unusual name who made playing the banjo cool again for indie rockers. His tours grew larger, and his audiences became increasingly devoted. “The devotion was remarkable,” recalls John Thomas Robinette III, drummer on the Michigan tour. “It wasn’t casual appreciation; it was a dedicated fanbase determined to connect with him personally.” Robinette had never witnessed such fervent fan engagement.
Part II: Illinois – Expanding the Musical Map and the Myth
Despite the success of Michigan, Stevens didn’t immediately capitalize on the 50 states concept. Instead, he followed it with Seven Swans, a more intimate folk album with biblical themes, devoid of state-specific songs. It was well-received but diverged from the expectations set by Michigan.
“I strongly urged him to rename Seven Swans and make it another state album,” Gill admits. “It seemed illogical to release another album so soon and not continue the state theme. But he insisted, ‘It’s not about a state.’ He resisted the idea of forcing it to fit the project.”
Gill believes Stevens enjoyed playing with audience expectations. “I think he found it funny to release Michigan and then quickly follow it with a non-state album. He likes to keep the audience guessing.”
Stevens’s creative output was prolific. By the time Seven Swans was released in March 2004, he was already immersed in songs about Illinois, the next state in his geographic music series. Why Illinois? “I feel like specifically Illinois and Chicago are sort of the center of gravity for the American Midwest,” Stevens explained. He was drawn to the Midwest as his formative region but intended to explore further. “I think my next state will definitely be in a different region, a different time zone,” he hinted. When questioned about completing all 50 states, he remained ambiguous: “That’s the intention, we’ll see how far I get.”
In April, Stevens previewed an early version of “Chicago,” Illinois‘s centerpiece, at a New York show. A 2006 documentary captured this moment: Stevens backstage, tentatively playing the tune, then debuting the future classic to an enthusiastic crowd. “The saying goes that I am recording a record for each of the 50 states,” he told the audience, carefully choosing his words. “Seven Swans is a brief detour. Now, having had time to reflect, I’m moving forward. We’ll close with a song from a record I’m currently working on called Illinois.” The crowd roared with approval, feeling privy to a special secret. This scene transitions into a montage of press clippings celebrating Stevens’s rising fame, including a headline proclaiming: “The 50 States of Rock.”
That year, Stevens dedicated himself to researching Illinois, visiting towns, studying Abraham Lincoln’s biographies, examining early immigration records, and even delving into local newspapers and police reports. While Michigan was rooted in personal experiences, Illinois took a broader, historical approach. “He went all in, deeply researching the entire history of the state,” says Craig Montoro, who played trumpet on the album and tour. “Looking back, it was another sign that this was either a lifelong commitment—he’d be very old by the 50th state—or it wouldn’t happen.” The feasibility of the 50-state project became a running joke among band members, questioning how he would ever finish and what his physical condition would be by then.
If Michigan was ambitious, Illinois was even more so: a 74-minute symphonic masterpiece filled with diverse instrumentation, complex arrangements, lengthy song titles, and heightened emotional depth. The album delved into local history, with songs about UFO sightings and John Wayne Gacy Jr. alongside anthemic sing-alongs about Andrew Jackson. Lincoln, naturally, was featured. The coincidental rise of a certain Illinois senator in national politics around the album’s release felt almost too perfect to be unplanned.
Released during the week of July 4th, Illinois was immediately hailed as a masterpiece. Pitchfork this time gave it a resounding 9.2, calling it “a staggering collection of impeccably arranged American tribute songs.” Gill recalls, “Illinois received the best press of any album I’ve ever been involved with. It was phenomenal. Many declared it the best album of the year.” Indeed, Pitchfork, Stereogum, and NPR all named it their album of the year.
Midwestern fans felt a particular connection. “Sufjan felt like an especially significant artist for the entire Midwest to claim,” says Aaron Calvin, a fan from Iowa. “Especially because he seemed interested in highlighting Midwestern stories within their specific settings. Growing up in Iowa, imagining him writing about a small town here felt very plausible.”
Stevens’s widespread success stemmed from his ability to craft emotionally resonant songs that were both musically and lyrically intricate. But the “50 state song” gimmick undeniably played a part. In the competitive indie rock scene, breaking through often requires a unique angle. The imaginative scope of the 50 states project provided that, capturing the attention and imagination of a wider audience.
Despite his growing popularity, Stevens remained press-shy. “Late-night shows were constantly calling, wanting Sufjan on their programs,” Gill says. “But he declined, feeling that TV appearances were somehow crass.” He did participate in non-televised interviews, where the 50 states project was a recurring topic, now taken seriously by journalists. In an interview, Stevens mused about American identity and songwriting, stating, “The states themselves are just kind of the fabric. They’re the canvas, providing helpful arbitrary guidelines.” However, in another interview, he candidly admitted, “I’ll admit that it’s all advertising, and all gimmick. Initially, it was just to get attention.”
If this was intended as a subtle hint that the 50-state project was not a genuine commitment, it was largely missed. During the subsequent tour, Stevens and his band humorously wore University of Illinois cheerleading outfits. They even began shows with “The 50 States Song,” a cheerful theme song listing every state. “Fans would bring him state-related gifts and ideas for future state albums,” Gill recalls. “At California shows, people would enthusiastically suggest, ‘You have to do California next!'”
He just went all in, studying the entire history of the state. In retrospect, that was another giveaway that this was either going to be a lifelong pursuit or maybe it wasn’t gonna happen.
Craig Montoro, musician
The speculation extended to Stevens’s band. “It became a playful competition among us to influence which state would be next,” Montoro says. “Being from Texas, I was pushing for that. Others suggested Washington state. We tried to subtly influence his decision, assuming he hadn’t made up his mind.” Band members collected state quarters for Stevens and even gifted him a 50-state map where quarters could be inserted. “Every time someone found a state quarter, we’d ask, ‘Oh, does he have this one yet?’ We were all invested in the myth.”
Tom Eaton, who contributed to Michigan and Illinois, was more doubtful. “I sensed a certain ambivalence from him about the 50 states concept,” he recalls. “It was hard to imagine him committing to that specific project for decades.”
Part III: The Unsung States – The Project Fades
Which state would be next? A bluegrass-infused Kentucky album? A gritty, Lou Reed-inspired New York record?
Following Illinois, fans and journalists eagerly speculated, and Stevens seemed to play along.
“He embraced the 50 states narrative remarkably well,” Gill notes. “He even planned a website, The50States.com, with an interactive map of America.” The website never launched. Gill even proposed outsourcing smaller states to other artists on the Asthmatic Kitty label, but the idea didn’t gain traction.
NPR playfully coaxed Stevens into creating a song about Arkansas, “The Lord God Bird,” inspired by the rediscovery of an ivory-billed woodpecker there. In 2005, The Guardian suggested Oregon as a “likely contender” for his next state album, noting Stevens’ childhood summers there.
However, an Oregon album never materialized—unless Carrie & Lowell, Stevens’s grief-stricken 2015 album, rich with Oregon references, is considered his Oregon album, as Gill suggests. Nor did a Rhode Island 7-inch, another idea Stevens briefly mentioned. Instead, he released… another Illinois album. The Avalanche, released in 2006, was a collection of outtakes and extras from the Illinois sessions, featuring more songs about Illinois figures and alternate versions of “Chicago.”
The press release for The Avalanche humorously stated, “Sufjan has still not made an official decision on the next state he’ll tackle in his epic 50 States project, but we will definitely keep you posted.” Privately, however, Stevens seemed to be losing interest. The 50 states project quietly faded away, though the exact moment of its abandonment remains unclear. His next major project, The BQE (2009), explored place, but not within the state-album framework.
Meanwhile, fans continued to see signs everywhere. An Iowa fan recalls hearing in 2007 that a relative had served Stevens at a local sandwich shop, fueling speculation about an Iowa album in progress.
By 2009, patience was wearing thin. A Paste editor pleaded for another state album, suggesting Oregon or New Jersey. Later that year, Stevens finally admitted the 50 states project had been a “promotional gimmick,” though this admission was somewhat buried in an interview about The BQE. Many fans missed it. His subsequent album, The Age of Adz, marked a significant stylistic shift, signaling a clear departure from the state-album concept. By this point, Stevens had also changed publicity teams.
Yet, the myth of the 50 state song project persists, holding a nostalgic appeal for indie rock fans, perhaps representing an era or an unfulfilled promise. Even as Stevens achieved Oscar nominations and released Pride Month songs, some fans still champion his unfinished geographic project. As comedian Avery Edison humorously tweeted in 2015, “Don’t keep asking where Frank Ocean’s album is if you’re not doing the same for the 48 U.S.-themed ones we’re owed by Sufjan Stevens.”
The project’s enduring appeal was highlighted after the 2016 election when an Illinois writer urged Stevens to complete the project as a matter of national importance, arguing that understanding American heritage through 50 state songs could improve national unity.
Is there any chance Stevens might revive the project? “I highly doubt he would consider another state release,” says Gill. “But with Sufjan, never say never. He has released two Christmas box sets, which is quite unexpected.”
Zach Schonfeld is a freelance journalist and writer based in New York.
