Daniel Johnston at Mercy Lounge

Most people with crippling mental disorders don't get out much. We like to think this is for their own protection. We tell ourselves that keeping these people closed off from the outside world, under the care of trained professionals is for their own good. We believe that were they left to their own devices, free to wander among the rest of society, it would only do them harm. Were they to go without the supervision of mentally stable college-educated individuals they would somehow hurt themselves. All of that may, in fact, be true (and it may, in fact, not), but who are we kidding? We keep these people out of the general populous because they don't fit in. They make us uncomfortable. They disrupt the status quo. They have the potential to challenge our fragile concepts of normalcy and threaten to disrupt our daily routines. At least, that's what we're afraid of. We're afraid of what we might see if we get too close to them, or they to us.

Yet, we are fascinated by what they are capable of. Beethoven was bipolar. Syd Barrett was schizophrenic. Van Gogh was schizophrenic and bipolar. Bono thinks he's the new Jesus, and Chris Martin thinks he's the new Bono. Hell, Dan Rather hosted the CBS Evening News for 24 years!

A third of the time we just like watching the unstable behaving in an unnatural representation of their natural environment, like animals at the zoo. This is why people obsess over those who are generally just ordinary and talentless like Britney Spears or Sting. Another third of the time they're serial killers, but the other third of the time we are astounded by those who have a unique ability to create art that is more pure and real than anything the rest of us are capable of. These are the people who, like Van Gogh, are the most tortured by the things in their own mind. This is the case with Daniel Johnston.

For those of you unfamiliar, Johnston suffers from manic depression, more commonly known (outside of the Jimi Hendrix catalog) as bipolar disorder. While they are separate mental disorders, recent studies have shown there to be links between schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.

Daniel Johnston is a tortured individual. His music (and artwork) clearly come from a place deeper and darker than any of us could ever hope to reach within ourselves. It is unfiltered and real, straight from his heart to your ears (and eyes). It's not always easy to listen to, and not just because of the incredibly poor quality of many of Johnston's recordings, but because he writes from a place that most of us keep locked away. Johnston's darkest secrets and deepest loves are his source material. That's not to say that Daniel's songs are all dark and disturbing. Often the case is quite to the contrary. It's just that part of his genius comes from the fact that he is not afraid to write (or draw or paint) about what scares him.



As a performer Johnston is more engaging than you'd expect. With his two liter of Mountain Dew sitting next to him on a music stand, Johnston first took the stage by himself. Alone, Johnston's stage presence was captivating and moving, even as he struggled to remember the chords to his own song. After a brief acoustic set, including a cover of the Beatles' "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away" (introduced by Johnston as "a John Lennon song"), and a brief accompaniment by a second guitarist, whom Johnston referred to as his friend from college, he announced that he was taking a short break.

Less than 15 minutes later, he returned, this time backed by openers, Hymns. Hymns, who on their own felt more like an enjoyable but unnecessary bridge between Supergrass and the Thrills, now proved to be an excellent supporting group, especially during "I Saw Her Standing There," Johnston's second Beatles cover of the evening. Other highlights included "Rock This Town," "Walking the Cow," and "Speeding Motorcycle." This time Johnston, who pretty much stood in the same place for the entirety of the show, for lack of a better word, rocked. He rocked hard. It's important that I make it abundantly clear that Daniel Johnston litterally just stood there through out his performance, and yet he was somehow electrifying. I honestly can't explain it any better than that. For the better part of 30 minutes, Daniel Johnston was punk rock. This surprisingly had nothing to do with Hymns, who as I mentioned before, were a fantastic backing band. This was 1oo% Daniel Johnston.

As Johnston left the stage after his previously announced encore a guy next to me began singing Johnston's "Devil Town" at the top of his lungs. In no time the entire audience, including myself, had joined in. Johnston never returned to the stage, but it didn't matter. The message was clear. Everyone in that audience loved Daniel Johnston, in much the same way that Daniel Johnston loves the Beatles. More over, there was an energy that lingered and refused to die. Johnston's hold on the audience would not let go easily.

With that I went home, my status quo having been thoroughly disrupted.

Jay Reatard at Mercy Lounge

"Hey man, kill the fuckin' Indian buffet music!" And without waiting for his order to be carried out, Jay Reatard tore into the first of an estimated 13 song set that lasted maybe 20 minutes. While that might seem oddly short, it was actually rather appropriate, especially when you know that Reatard NEVER STOPPED PLAYING. With spit flying and head banging, Reatard played so ferociously that 20 minutes may as well have been two hours.

A high school drop-out, 27-year-old Reatard (born Jay Lindsay), got his start on Goner Records in Memphis, Tenn, and has been making his own brand of dirty garage rock, in one form or another, for the better part of 10 years. It's starting to pay off too, as Reatard made the cover of this month's Memphis Flyer, and Spin Magazine recently called Reatard the "Next Garage-Punk Prodigy."

Reatard's cocky attitude and face-crushing live performances have, in a way, already become legendary. Take the following video of his performance at Silver Dollar in Toronto on April 17 for example.



As gnarly (yes, gnarly) as that looks, it turns out Reatard had his reasons for being so pissed. Here's what he had to say about the whole ordeal.

Having seen and read all of this before the show, I was pretty pumped. As a matter of fact, I was kind of hoping to see someone get kicked in the face. Alas I had to settle for seeing the bass player catch a rogue loogie in the crotch from Reatard himself. That's not to say the show was in any way disappointing. Far to the contrary, Reatard's ball-busting no frills rock n' roll delivered the goods like a steaming hot pizza, in 30 minutes or less. I honestly couldn't tell you a damn song the guy played because for one, I wasn't too terribly familiar with Reatard's most recent album, Blood Visions, and also because I was so close to the stage that I couldn't hear the the PA over the brain-rattling thunder emanating from the amplifiers. This in no way prevented me (or anyone else, for that matter) from joining in the fist-pumping action. After 20 minutes, I was sufficiently rocked.