Most people think artists, by their very nature, are a little deranged. I would argue that mathematicians and scientists are even more so. In fact, what makes some artistic types seem a little off-balance is their scientist-like tendencies: their inability to accept the everyday assumptions that make up what us "normal folk" call the mundane, and their unwavering adherence to logic-- albeit an inner logic that makes perfect sense in their own minds, yet is mysterious to us. I believe that the struggle to convey this inner logic to the outside world is what gives birth to a lot of artistic expression.
Much has been made of Daniel Johnston's bouts with mental illness. But the point is that they are "bouts," as in the boxing term; they are battles. And out of these battles are born songs that reveal much about human nature in general, and not just the mind of an manic depressive. The fact is, Johnston's mental illness does not make up his central characteristic as a songwriter, though it does color it significantly. But if that's all his songs are-- just expressions of mania and lunacy-- there would be little recognition and identification with them, and they wouldn't be as moving as they so often are. Their main concerns are universal human concerns, though they're expressed with such idiosyncrasy that they're often taken as mad ramblings.
The main themes on Rejected Unknown are the themes Johnston has explored throughout much of his career: hopeless longing, unrequited love, and as might be gathered from the album's title, fear of rejection. This fear probably took on very real terms for Johnston as he was finally dropped from Atlantic Records after being held for years in contractual limbo. As it is, it's been seven years since his last proper album (1994's Fun), and judging from the resulting music, the time has been well spent. Fun saw little musical involvement from Johnston, lending the impression that he was led by the hand by a pack of svengalis. But Rejection Unknown is unmistakably Johnston's album; he sings and plays piano and guitar, and even adds some percussion to the oddly quirky pop songs.
With the aid of new medicines and treatments, Johnston is now more together than he's ever sounded before, and his music is all the better for it. It lays to waste the idea that his insanity is at the root of his songwriting. But don't get me wrong. Rejected Unknown is still full of his, uh, highly personal mythology-- touchstones such as the Beatles, Captain America, and Casper the Friendly Ghost are still prominently featured motifs-- but the main thought you come away with is not, "Damn, this is some crazy shit," but, "Damn, these are good songs." There are some duds, songs that just hang on too long (like the characters in his songs) or are just too sappy, but overall it's one of the strongest efforts of his career.
"Impossible Love" begins the album on a note familiar to anyone who's ever heard a Johnston album. He sings, "You hurt me so bad/ You were the best friend I ever had," in his boyish voice-- a voice that puts a lot of people off, but is as distinctive as his surrealistic artwork which graces the cover. "Funeral Girl" continues the theme of lost love (actually, this theme pretty much sums up most of Johnston's work, but then again, it also pretty much sums up what pop music as a whole is about), and "Dream Scream" is an almost scary portrait of hopelessly longing for someone you can't have. But what puts Johnston in rare company (not just the Syd Barrett/Roky Erickson camp where he's too often hastily placed) are lines like this one from "Love Forever": "I'm thinking about our yesterday/ We were the best for each other.../ I haven't given up/ It's been 15 years."
Fifteen years?! Damn. I mean, I've had crushes. Some of them have lasted a really long time. But 15 years! It reminds me of that line from the Smiths' "Half a Person" where the narrator relates he's "spent six full years of [his] life on [someone's] trail." Most songwriters wouldn't be so bold. They'd back off a little, hedge their bets. They wouldn't want to strain the listener's credulity. They'd say something like, "I saw you a few months later." A long time, but not too long. But we're talking about some serious feelings here-- the kind of feelings that demand a song be written. And that's the kind of necessity that informs many of Johnston's songs. They have a feeling of a life-or-death-ness that makes the work of lesser songwriters seem trivial.
