Ladies and Gentlemen, a hero walks among us. When you first read about Sufjan Stevens, there's a lot about his story, his attitude, his alluding presence that reeks of being too good, too romantic and too stunning to be true. Who is this figure clad in folk who has been sent from us, he claims, orphaned and via a milk crate to the Stevens household? Who is this nut, whose banjo folk and Eno-inspired electronic dabbling past collided in jovial acoustic folk and downright electrifying storytelling provided the baying masses with "Greeting From Michigan" - the first in a series of releases planned to commemorate in his own special way, each of the fifty states of the USA (including "A Christmas album for Vermont"), a preposterous feat of prolificy which, let's face it, makes Stephin Merritt writing 69 Love Songs look a bit slack. Each release is written to reflect the feelings of each state emotionally and geographically, and each song to tell a story on residents of, or Stevens' own experience in, each of the half-century of regions. If it's not patent clear we're dealing either with the new messiah of music, or we're dealing with the new David Icke. "Seven Swans", alas is a little something put together aside from the states project but for as much a mouth-watering prospect all that jazz sounds, this is basically an example of what Stevens can reel off inbetween action the grand scheme. "Seven Swans" is also, and perhaps more appealingly to those already frothing at the mouth at the prospect of the man (did I mention he also has boyish nice-guy-with-a-banjo good looks as well?), is a concept album. On possibly one of the more unpenetrable subjects to work with, or more importantly, to communicate to an audience. It's the big ŒR' - religion.

Conveniently for someone whose very upbringing has near-biblical elements, Steven's songwriting style (a collection of story-narratives littered with "you's" and "I's" and semi-apocalyptic nuances involving various mythical beasts) neatly allows his Christian faith to be superimposed onto the pretty musical backdrop with little difficulty. The beauty of "Seven Swans" is how devastatingly simple sounding the convention-bothering aesthetics actually appear. Not content with being to lyrical talent what being a collection of ribbon is to a maypole, Stevens also near-as-dammit plays every single note of the accompaniment aside from a few rustles of percussion and gorgeous backing vocals, and has even roped in Daniel Smith (of Danielson Famile fame) to produce, whom, after one listen does the job so efficiently it's difficult to imagine a more closely-knit partnership of performer and producer. It all sounds lovely so far, does it not?

However, for all it's pretty doe-eyed and take-home-to-mother charm, what remains is that "Seven Swans" is not something for everyone. The tone veers wildly from reflective ("That Dress Looks Nice on You") to the symbolic doom-ridden standout title track ("I saw a sign in the sky / seven swans, seven swans, seven swans. / I heard a voice in the grey / I will try, I will try. I will try" and then switching back to the jubilant closer, "The Transfiguration" . Arguably these last two songs are the most compelling and accomplished of the album, the former utilising the dynamics and and volume the "For he is the Lord" refrain suggests to good effect, and it's minor-shifts adding a presence of unearthliness ("he will catch you!") perfectly suited to the lyrics swarming around the melodies like a plague of gnats. Likewise on "The Transfiguration", which begins, as the majority of the songs here do, with just Sufjan and his banjo. Although alarm bells ring, (and so they should - when was the last time you actually wanted to hear a banjo?) the catgut strings being deliberately and carefully strummed give the whole album an endearing quality - a bit like a child who still wears his baseball cap forward when, you know, it's like, so much cooler to wear it backwards? "The Transfiguration" then builds and builds, adding bass, and then horns as lifting melodies soar. And regardless of how "preachy" (which this is not) or "forceful" (which is also not the case) you consider the idea of sharing your beliefs on Christianity, you'd have to be pretty mean-hearted not to at least gain some element of triumph from what is probably the most exultant moment in folk since "The Boxer".

Elsewhere on the album, it's mix and match. "Sister" tries to match the title tracks epic qualities but falls slightly short, although once the angelic vocals come in, you can forgive most of the Jethro Tull nonsense preceding them. The previously mentioned "That Dress Looks Nice on You" is understated yet harmonic, never has an acoustic guitar sounded so much like a harp. Steven's voice, which falls somewhere neatly between Belle and Sebastian's Stuart Murdoch, and the airs and graces of East River Pipe's FM Cornog, (Robert Palmer he Œaint) is cool, unaffected and, even the lacklustre and forgettable tracks (of which, rejoice! there are only two) make pleasant listening, The paintings might not be of what you like, but at least their pleasing on the eye. And what better ambassador for the faith than a flaccid TV-telathon-orientated bed-hopper anyway? How someone at this stage in his fledgling musical life can produce such an emphatic work of art as something probably created as he was pottering about on his geographical meta-musical, is almost beyond comprehension. But then, as we discussed in the beginning, as far as Sufjan Stevens is concerned, everything is just so mysteriously perfect there must have been divine intervention somewhere along the line.

-Hannah Wright