THE DEVIL AND DANIEL JOHNSTON

by Kevin Koehler

The link between insanity and genius (or the thin line between the two) is chronicled to the point of cliché. Van Gogh slicing off his ear and giving it to a prostitute has become a romantic image of the true artist indulging his craft. The Devil and Daniel Johnston would have you believe its titular documentary subject (Daniel Johnston that is; Satan's qualities go uncommented upon) is insane and a genius. I'm only sure that one of these is true.

For those of you who don't know, Johnston is a very lo-fi musician of some acclaim (in certain circles) who developed a minor but devoted following in the Austin music scene during the 1980s. According to his official biography:

"Daniel Johnston has spent the last 20 or so years exposing his heartrending tales of unrequited love, cosmic mishaps, and existential torment to an ever-growing international cult audience. Initiates, including a healthy number of discerning musicians and critics, have hailed him as an American original in the style of bluesman Robert Johnson and country legend Hank Williams... Daniel gained his widest public exposure to date when, at the 1992 MTV Music Awards, Nirvana leader Kurt Cobain (who constantly touted Daniel in interviews) wore a Johnston T-shirt."

Seemingly on the brink of mainstream success (as the film would have you believe - to be discussed later), Johnston succumbed to mental illness, long tormented since a scarring incident with LSD at a Butthole Surfers concert (seriously). He now lives with his parents, toiling in relative obscurity between occasional live shows to a smattering of fans convinced he is the second coming of Brian Wilson. But is he?

Filmmaker Jeff Jeuerzeig never asks the question, but the evidence is (at risk of sounding completely Philistine) somewhat unconvincing. The assembled talking heads (mostly friends and family of the subject), between tales of Johnston's bizarre self-destructive acts, never waver from their belief in his singular brilliance; it's a description that comes under fire every time Johnston performs one of his songs. Whether it's an ode to childish subjects like Casper the Friendly Ghost or Captain America (or even his moped), one finds it hard to see anything remotely listenable - instead, we hear the deranged ramblings and obsessions of an unstable manic depressive who never learned to play guitar correctly. Concert scenes have the feel of a room of rock snobs, congratulating themselves on what refined, obscure taste they have. Of course, Johnston's repeated spoken wish is to become famous (a direct affront to the romantic image of the crazy but brilliant artist who rejects all commercial sensibilities) and would likely be rejected by these same fans if he did, but this is neither here nor there. In the end, you wonder whether Johnston is only considered a genius because he's crazy - to some, the two are clearly interchangeable.

This is not to say that Daniel Johnston is not an important recording artist. He very well might be - this critic, though I like to consider myself knowledgeable in general music theory, is not equipped to judge. Regardless of my present feelings on his music, I'm not ready to dismiss him just yet. Where does Daniel Johnston fit in to the late 20th century musical tree? Where is his influence? I'm willing to listen. What was revolutionary?

The Devil and Daniel Johnston should know, but it is not telling.

Interesting footnote: "Speeding Motorcycle," a warbly Johnston tune about his moped, was recently featured in a Target commercial.

© Pretentious Musings. This review may not be reprinted, in whole or in part, without the express consent of its author.