Usually, when a musician dies, you start by posting a heartfelt message on social media. Then, if you really cared about their art, you bring out their CDs and play them on a loop. In the case of Daniel Johnston, who died of a heart attack on September 11th, 2019, his most die-hard fans probably brought out their cassettes. Those damned cassettes, he’d give out in the streets of Austin, TX in the mid-eighties. He’d draw the covers himself – each tape was unique. From the songs recorded in his brother’s or his parents’ basement, with a small keyboard, a tape recorded and sometimes a piano or an out-of-tune guitar. Each cassette was unique. Daniel Johnston is widely recognized as the genius behind “lo-fi” (stands for “low fidelity), the musical equivalent to art brut: substance over style. Pure expression, and sincere emotions are more important that musical technique and production; cutting out the middleman also means letting art short-circuit itself from time to time.
Daniel Johnston was born in a “normal”, albeit very religious American family, in 1961, as the youngest of five children. He first fell in love with drawing; as a graphomaniac, he was inspired by comic books, Marvel superheroes and King Kong. But in high school his obvious eccentricity and chronic depression foreshadowed a troubled future. Daniel Johnston’s mind, worlds collided. Voices, anxiety, the fear of the devil and of sexuality (represented in his drawings as a headless, limbless torso), frogs with bulging eyes, Laurie, which he adored to the point of obsession, and Captain America or Casper the friendly ghost as symbols of salvation – these were only a few of the themes which he would explore. His inner world was like a cartoonish Jérôme Bosch nightmare. At the age of 18, he kept on drawing and started writing songs, like so many life rafts to save him from his personal torment.
Create a free account to keep reading