It’s strange to think that in a period where “bigger is better” — portion sizes, superhero films, budgets — we’ve forgotten intimacy.

You can never completely forget something, of course. Intimacy and the quiet is always there, waiting for its use.

Sufjan Stevens, our best working folk musician under 60 (Bob Dylan’s still alive, okay?), is a master of intricate works, accessible and not, extroverted and introverted.

“Carrie & Lowell,” a highly personal work about his mother, is the latter of both — this is not an easy-to-listen to album for anyone who pays heavy attention to lyrics, and it’s a record of deep reflection for Stevens.

The title of the record references his biological mother, Carrie, and his stepfather, Lowell.

Carrie left when Stevens was one-year-old, and he was only able to see her during summers in Oregon for a short period during his childhood.

There are many references to places throughout the Oregon Coast on this record, all of which mean something personal for Stevens.

Songs like “Eugene” start off as a fond memory of the city of Eugene, Oregon, then move to the highly troubling state of depression Stevens found himself in after Carrie’s death in 2012.

“Fourth of July” operates almost as a mock dialogue between Stevens and his mother on her deathbed, and the rest of the record travels through Stevens’ depression, his struggles with drug and alcohol abuse and his ability to overcome both.

Now, some negative comments: the lyrics are of strong storytelling, but the instrumentation — typically Stevens’ most spectacular aspect–suffers from being stripped down just to a guitar and occasional cameos from other instruments. This doesn’t create an atmosphere quite like “Illinois,” “Michigan,” “The Age of Adz” or even “Seven Swans.”

However, Stevens has still crafted a fine piece, one of which seems like it was necessary to be able to achieve something like an “Illinois” again.