Sep. 02, 2009 - Issue #724: The Drowsy Chaperone
Daniel Johnston
No sympathy for the Devil: Appreciating Daniel Johnston on his own terms
Daniel Johnston speaks in an odd creak, two decades of singing and cigarettes adding a slight husk to what otherwise sounds like a child who's yelled himself hoarse. It's probably the most telling—and certainly for fans of his music, most recognizable—feature of a man who, even if he hadn't got famous and rich—well, rich enough to have "a house and a cat, so I'm doing pretty good"—would hardly have lived a life so ordinary. Though there was a time when he was most famous for basement-recorded, often-harrowing pop ditties, collaborations with indie stalwarts like Yo La Tengo and having Kurt Cobain wear his band shirt, Johnston's current place in the pop cultural conscience owes a lot to the 2005 documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston, which chronicled the singer-songwriter's career and, especially, battles with mental illness.
"Every major problem that I had was in the movie," Johnston jokes. "But I just think it's kind of funny, because it just goes on and on."
Nevertheless, it has put Johnston in an odd place: specifically, one where that illness often seems to overshadow his work. Though you might not be able to call his records—even the more recent, slickly produced albums that remove much of the lo-fi fuzz of his earliest organ-and-a-tape-recorder offerings—of being easily accessible, there is a pretty undeniable pop genius to his work. Openly picking emotional scabs, his simple arrangements match his open heart, and his songs alternately burst with joy and get crushed under bleak depression. They're catchy, emotional wringers that are occasionally frightening in their directness.
That intricate popiness is something that's struck Eamon McGrath especially strongly this past month. A local stalwart of more bands than even he can probably keep track off, McGrath got the special honour of not only opening for Johnston, but putting together his backing band for the evening. He was given a list of songs, which he and his latest band, the Peacemakers, have been practicing for the last while. It has, McGrath says, given him a new appreciation of Johnston as an artist.
"He's kind of one of those people who's more heard-of than heard, and I think that happens because people kind of write him off because he's a nut or something," McGrath explains in his usual, bluntly thoughtful way. "His music and his lyrics and intertwined in this really tight way—it's reminiscent of Dylan, actually. When you get to the root of his songs, they're really just classic, heart-wrenching pop songs."
"People always focus on this mental illness thing and it really kind of pisses me off," he continues. "It's not like, you know, despite that, he's a great artist—he's a great artist, bottom line."
McGrath has a point, but it does seem to at least partly overlook the fact that his struggles, though hardly the only thing worth paying attention to, have informed Johnston's work in an important way. Keeping with his music's nakedness, he's always been open about his struggles, and no small part of that honesty is due to the raw emotionality and almost childlike vigor with which he's thrown himself into the world. Perhaps the best approach to Johnston may be simply to appreciate that he's an artist willing to deal with his own demons, a rare and unique individual with the talent to allow us to connect with his life.
For his part, though, Johnston seems fairly unconcerned about how we're going to deal with him beyond appreciating his songwriting.
"Most of my songs are autobiographical," Johnston offers with a raspy chuckle. "I was dumb enough not to worry about it, I guess." V
Tue, Sep 8 (7 pm)
Daniel Johnston
With Eamon McGrath and Peacemakers
Myer Horowitz, $26.50
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