By Chris Brook

Brooklyn-based and Michigan-bred singer-songwriter Sufjan Stevens, alongside like-minded contemporaries such as the pseudo-psychedelic Devendra Banhart and Sub Pop recording artist Sam Beam (Iron and Wine), have almost single-handedly spearheaded the so-called folk resurgence in recent years.

Stevens, who has been toted as the “next Nick Drake” by critics nationwide, played two sold out sets, one at 3 p.m. and one at 9 p.m., Sunday at the Middle East Upstairs in Cambridge.

Underneath the soft orange glow of the stage lights and two strings of paltry flickering Christmas lights, Stevens, ac-companied by five members of his backup band, the “Michigan Militia,” took the stage earlier than planned at 4:15 p.m.

Having driven directly to Michigan following their show the previous night in New York City, and then to Boston earlier that morning, Stevens and his musical compatriots, ill-prepared and in dire need of sleep, ran through a set of exclusively acoustic numbers in lieu of bass and piano.

The show was a passionate tribute to Stevens’ home state. Each member of the band wore a black shirt emblazoned with the words “Greetings from Michigan! The Great Lakes State,” while Stevens hid beneath a navy blue University of Michigan baseball cap.

Stevens’ 2003 effort, “Greetings from Michigan: The Great Lakes State” was a stirring 12-song collection meant to serve as an aural encapsulation of the state of Michigan. After deeming his hometown of Detroit a “monstrous concrete prison,” Stevens, 29, set out on his own, traveled the state and penned songs for “Greetings from Michigan,” the first disc in an ambitious 50-disc part series he’s nicknamed “The Fifty States Project,” a project in which he’ll compose one record per state.

They even dedicated the first song, an idyllic cover of R.E.M.’s legendary “Fire,” to “the ones we love back in Michigan.” Stevens went on to dedicate “Sister” to “Megan back in Detroit” and created a sing along with the crowd.

The remainder of the 11-song set drew heavily from “Welcome to Michigan” and this year’s more spiritual “Seven Swans.” Stevens’ backup band lifted their hands to form the shape of Michigan during the delicate banjo-led “Upper Peninsula,” and then beat tambourines and snapped their fingers in syncopation to “A Good Man is Hard to Find.” Stevens and company wound down their set with the nearly seven-minute epic “Seven Swans” before closing with a new song entitled “Chicago.” Set to appear on his forthcoming record, a collection of songs about Illinois due out in 2005, Stevens described “Chicago” as a narrative about leaving Michigan, selling all of your clothes, and sleeping in parking lots. The song, much like Stevens’ Michigan material, had great swells of tambourines and majestic trumpets.

While it remains to be seen if Stevens will recapture the creativity and fine songwriting skills of “Michigan” on his impending 49 records, if “Chicago” vouches for anything, he shouldn’t have a hard time trying.

Opening for Steven’s was New York City’s Shara Worden, who began the afternoon show shortly after 3 p.m. with a set of plaintive pop-folk gems under the moniker Awry. Armed merely with an acoustic guitar, Worden warbled through the haunting “Brave Elephant,” but not before prefacing that the word “elephant” in the song’s title didn’t refer to any political affiliation. Prior to launching into a cover of Prince’s “How Come You Don’t Call Me Anymore,” Worden went on to survey the crowd for Prince enthusiasts, but only eight or nine stray hands shot up. Worden remained optimistic however, and declared that she’d been playing the song “ages before that Alicia Keys.” She put her own stark folk-esque feel on the classic tune.

Awry’s set concluded with a pair of songs off of 2001’s “Quiet B-Sides,” “Earplugs” and her self-professed ode to the end of the world, “Youkali.” Worden described the song as a voyage to an island known as Youkali — a vast utopia of endless stars and happiness. Worden sampled an eerie laugh track, danced her fingertips across an old wooden Wurlitzer and sang the entire song in French tongue through a vocoder. While Worden urged the audience to chant the last line: “c’