It’s not all about the music.
Except, it is. But really, it isn’t. Not when Daniel Johnston is at the mic. The man with the notorious mental history, who in his forties lives next door to his parents, who’s had a film dedicated to his problems, who was fetishised by Kurt Cobain in public, and who creates music that strips his troubled heart and soul so bare you can see his blood cells.
Schizophrenic, depressive and diabetic, he no longer looks young on the neon-blue encrusted (and fantastically inappropriate) Indig02 stage. His hair has greyed and he has the belly of a man who long stopped looking after himself. But his frame is still small. He’s in a baggy grey t-shirt and black slacks. He’s lumbering and unassuming.
The set starts with him as a solo artist. His voice is deeper now, but it still cracks when he strains himself, like it always used to. Scout Niblett, Niblett’s drummer, Mark Linkous of Sparklehorse, James McNew of Yo La Tengo, and Jad Fair of Half Japanese help Johnston out on guitars, drums, bass, chord organ and tom-tom tonight.
Up on stage, I guess he’s still the same kid inside. The same kid that wrote tonight’s early crowd pleasers: the adventurous, excited ‘Speeding Motorcycle’ and the dedication to a childhood hero, ‘Casper The Friendly Ghost’. And because he’s still the same kid inside, the songs mean the same as they did when they were demos in the 70s and 80s.
He’s coming from the same place: still damaged, still confused by the world. Without the music, you suspect Johnston wouldn’t have much. But he does have music. And more poignantly, music has him. He’s the ultimate story for musical romanticists.
His genius lies in the songs: the harmonies from nowhere, the outbursts of naivety, the inability to recover from unrequited love, images of death, immense sadness and visions of doom. His past makes him more interesting, sure. But he’s a walking triumph over adversity, a man to admire.
The Indig02 finds Niblett singing often behind Johnston, her sharp, eerie scrawl clashing weirdly with his squeak. The band is disjointed and works by accident. A supergroup sounding like they’ve barely practised, this is Johnston’s way. This is pure. His music is easy and natural. At a guess, he’s the kind of writer who’s prolific when in the mood, but feels no obligation. Talent is the word.
When Johnston sings, he shakes, but he’s with pals and enjoying the occasion. ‘Walking The Cow’ is greeted with the whoops of a greatest hit. And his set ends with an acapella version of the minute-long ‘Devil Town’.
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