The phrase “outsider music” is an umbrella term used to describe a diverse group of musicians who exist separate from the commercial music industry. By eschewing musical conventions—either because they lack formal training or simply because they disagree with industry standards—the works of well-known outsider musicians, such as dissonance-loving folk artist Jandek and 1960s avant-garde rocker Captain Beefheart, continue to fascinate adventurous music lovers. Music historian Irwin Chusid probes the depths of this form in his book Songs in the Key of Z, where he defines outsider musicians as “crackpot and visionary, where all trails lead essentially one place: over the edge.”
But even by outsider music standards, 48-year-old, Texas-based folk singer Daniel Johnston is a strange figure. He was already a notable presence in Austin in the late 1980s, peddling cassettes of his own folk pop recordings to the independent music scene, when he was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder—a condition that would lead to his institutionalization briefly in the early 1990s. His creativity was not stunted by these difficult episodes, and as a result, the Daniel Johnston catalogue is as vast as it is dense. Characterized by deceptively simplistic lyrics that explore themes of madness, love, evil, and hope, Johnston remains influential to a generation of folk singers, a fact best demonstrated by the 2004 release, The Late Great Daniel Johnston: Discovered Covered which features Beck, Tom Waits, and Death Cab for Cutie paying tribute to the singer-songwriter.
Considering his history of mental health issues, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I met the singer along with his older brother and manager, Dick Johnston, for an interview at Eggplant Studios on King Street. It was a couple of hours prior to his evening performance at the Mod Club and Johnston was recording readings of two Yoko Ono poems for an upcoming collaboration with Jerry Levitan (producer and star of the award-winning animated short I Met the Walrus). After sitting in on the recording session, I spoke with Johnston about his most recent album, Is and Always Was, over plates of fish and chips from the studio’s impossibly trendy restaurant. I began by asking if any artists had influenced the folk singer while he wrote the songs that appear on Is and Always Was.
“I don’t know what influenced me really,” Johnston replies. “But the record turned out very Beatles; it even sounds like the Beatles are playing on it. I love all their albums, so I’ll never stop listening to them.”
I prod Johnston further, hoping he will elaborate on his sources of inspiration, be they musicians, painters, or otherwise. But aside from learning that his two favourite Beatles albums are Magical Mystery Tour and the White Album, my efforts are fruitless; the Beatles are sacred.
His music is held in high regard by many artists who have earned considerable critical acclaim as well as commercial success, but this barely seems to register with the folk singer. He thinks it’s cool that Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain was photographed several times wearing a Daniel Johnston T-shirt, explaining that he learned about it through a neighbour who gave him one such photo of the 90s’ cultural icon. When I mention Wilco and TV on the Radio, two groups who cite him as an influence, Johnston admits that he has never heard of them. He is mostly indifferent towards contemporary music.
Apart from abruptly stopping the interview to leave the room in search of his cigarettes, Johnston remains good-natured and friendly throughout our conversation, yet he often appears to be disinterested in direct questions. As our conversation progresses, the disconnect that exists between the artist and the rest of the world becomes apparent. When I ask about his collaboration with Jerry Levitan, Johnston is pleasantly oblivious with regards to the background of the project.
“My brother made all the arrangements with that,” he explains.
He goes on to reveal that his favourite part of touring is buying comic books and records in the cities that he and his brother visit, describing shopping as “my pay for going on the road.” Upon my arrival at the studio, Dick informed me that they were behind schedule because Daniel insisted on visiting several comic book stores for a second time that afternoon in Montreal, where he performed the night before.
Despite his unconventional attitude toward touring and indifference to contemporary music, one cannot deny Johnston’s passion for creativity. He hopes to someday have a studio in his home in Waller, a town on the outskirts of Houston, where he lives with his parents.
“I could record songs whenever I felt like it,” he says hopefully.
It’s not simply his extensive list of eccentricities and extraordinary life story encapsulated in the 2006 documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston that has earned him the outsider musician label. He achieves his outsider status through his indifference to the pretension and abject commercialism that commonly affects successful artists. Johnston focuses solely on the creation of his art, allowing him to achieve a degree of sincerity in his lyrics that not even the most talented commercial artist could fake. Johnston has endured a great deal of emotional turmoil throughout his life, all of which he communicates through his art, and though he may only be on tour so he can buy comics, his legions of loyal admirers love him for it.
Hear Sean’s interview with Daniel below
