Last night was my first Daniel Johnston concert. The impending lunar eclipse and the steady stream of cigarette smoke wafting from in front of the concert venue told me that this was going to be an interesting show. Having listened to his music for some time and coming off of watching "The Devil and Daniel Johnston," I thought that I had a grasp of what to expect in this crowd: there would be a few hipsters there for the kitsch value of seeing a performer known for his mental breakdowns, a few 30 or 40 somethings who were rocking Sonic Youth T-shirts during Johnston's MTV days, and even fewer people like myself who "found" him later in life, thought the documentary about him was fascinating, and wanted to see what he would be like live. For the most part, I was pretty right on. Except, to be honest, I wasn't expecting to see THAT many hipsters.
But being there with so many younger faces at the show (people who couldn't have possibly grown up with his music), I started to wonder why exactly people were there. Clearly, Daniel Johnston was not going to be your ordinary rock performer. In a life riddled with psychological issues, emergency hospitalizations, and frightening delusions, Johnston does not fit the usual rock and roll modus operandi of month-long benders and rehab. Personality flair aside, his music isn't accessible to everyone. People either love the simple, repetitive melodies and off-kilter vocals of Johnston's music or they absolutely cannot stand him. So why was everyone here? Was it to see how this sometimes-unstable performer would behave, or was it to hear his music?
When Johnston first came on the oversized stage at The Roxy, a venue that spends the rest of the week as a flashy dance club, he looked . . . perfect. In a baggy polo with multicolored stripes, dark blue sweatpants replete with holes, and his signature white tennis shoes, Johnston headed directly for the mic and started strumming his first solo of the night, "Mean Girls Give Pleasure." Johnston's music has never been known for its outstanding sound or production quality, and this performance was no exception. Strumming violently on his headless guitar that seemed either slightly out of tune or perhaps just struggling under the pressure of its handler's aggressive strokes, the quality of sound was exactly what any true fan was hoping to hear. It was bare and it was raw; precisely what made him and his music a phenomenon.
I was under the assumption that Johnston's condition had left him aloof and uncomfortable on stage, to the point that he could walk off at any time. At The Roxy, Johnston was the polar opposite of this, being incredibly personable and performing like someone who, albeit awkwardly, enjoys playing onstage. He joked around with the crowd a bit, telling a story about a recent dream of his where he was being sentenced to death for trying to commit suicide, to which he pleaded, "No . . . no . . . ." He took requests, or at least gave the illusion of taking requests, and when asked, the crowd responded overwhelmingly with so many titles at once that I think Mr. Johnston just picked what he’d wanted to play all along. Fortunately for us, he chose "Walking the Cow," another solo. After the moving rendition of this bittersweet song, with lyrics such as: "I really don't know how I came here . . . I really don't know why I'm stayin' here," Mr. Johnston laughed and asked us if we knew the meaning behind it. He leaned into the mic and answered, "Responsibility," and then laughed again. Then quipped, "I'm just kidding."
There is something so amazing about a man and just his guitar on stage. It's akin to a comedian and his microphone or a boxer and his gloves: something stripped down to its bare essentials, like Daniel Johnston's music. In the first half of Johnston's show, he sang alone and with only his guitar to bring him through the songs. It was the way that every fan was accustomed to hearing him perform and was really perfect in its touching simplicity. A short break gave way to the latter part of the show, played with his (opening act and) back-up band, The Office. Significantly less memorable than the first portion, The Office came across as incredibly unenthusiastic, with an early 90's clean, boring sound. There was a wonderful compromise, however, during the middle of the show when Johnston put down his guitar after a few solo songs and Brett Hartenbach took up the task. This produced one of the best performances of the night: "Grievances." Johnston's harmonies almost felt stronger when he was unburdened of the task of playing guitar while singing.
So, why were people there? The answer seemed obvious after the singer/songwriter left the stage at the end of his set. The mass of people inside passionately and boisterously called for an encore, which produced maybe the best performance of the night, again with help from Mr. Hartenbach. As Daniel Johnston sang "True Love Will Find You in the End," I couldn't help but think how amazing it was that so many people were singing along. All night, the crowd had been excited by a wide variety of his music from many of his different albums. This was a crowd not just here for chance to say they saw the personality that is Daniel Johnston; they were fans hungry for the music. If Johnston were just a fad due to his personality or reputation, his celebrity would have died long ago, eons before MTV stopped playing videos and music became less about rock-and-roll and more about emotions and electronica.
