Whoever thought of getting Daniel Johnston and Jad Fair together was a cold-hearted motherfucker. Johnston, a schizophrenic manic-depressive who believes he will be resurrected 100 years after his death to tour with the Beatles and the Butthole Surfers, and Fair, an eccentric, compulsive songwriter with bad taste in eyewear and a penchant for ranting senselessly, could not possibly be good for each other, or music in general. Maybe Jad just wanted to see if he could outcrazy Johnston. But such a thing is not possible, even for a guy that's made an album of monster songs for children and sports a frizzy homeless-guy hairdo.
Some might think this is a perfectly acceptable match of talents. After all, both musicians often sing about the simple pleasures in life, like falling in love, having fun, and witnessing the apocalypse; they often sing in extreme tenors that sound closer to 11-year-olds' than 40-year-olds'; and they're both sometimes brutally irritating. But after 31 tracks and 70 minutes, you'll realize that this is not natural. Still, It's Spooky stands as the definitive recording of both artists' solo output. Its eternal length is just a testament to the boundless insanity raging within Daniel Johnston's confused mind. This is, after all, primarily Johnston's album, since he wrote the majority of its songs.
You always hear stories about Johnston being "insane." For years, I disregarded them as legend or exaggeration. But any interview with the man will easily convince you otherwise as he discusses his many selves and his delusional battles with Lucifer with deadpan conviction. He never seems even remotely lucid, and has spent several years of his life institutionalized. What a lot of people don't realize is that most of the songs that sound to the casual listener like nauseatingly twee homages to cartoons are actually deeply personal insights into his hallucinatory existence.
"Frankenstein Vs. the World" is a tale of the end times, in which the resurrected Johnston will destroy the planet. "Hands of Love" reveals his fear that he's too deranged to ever find love. "Casper the Friendly Ghost," which is the name he's given to the Daniel Johnston that will exist after his body dies, pertains to how people who mistreat him in life will respect him when he's gone. The title track consists of every day musings like, "Sometimes when I'm watching television/ I think that most of the people in the movie are probably dead." It's obviously impossible for us to relate to his demented ruminations, but you've got to have sympathy for someone so absolutely mental.
Even Johnston's covers generally have deep meaning for him. 60's troubadour Phil Ochs' "Chords of Fame" warns about the dangers of success destroying talent, something Johnston fears could happen to him. "Kicking the Dog," originally by 80's indie rockers Glass Eye, relates to his affection for "Laurie," a girl he was once (and probably still is) obsessed with. Others are taken out of their natural context or twisted into dark views of humanity. Johnston alters the lyrics to Bacharach's "What the World Needs Now" to reflect the casual degeneration of society ("We've got enough pornography/ There is x-rated theaters everywhere/ Lord knows we've got enough crackhouses/ There are crackhouses on every block"). The Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows" is inverted from an ecstatic acid endorsement to panicked paranoia, ending with Johnston screaming: "No, no! Ladies and gentlemen! Do not surrender to the void! Darkness surrounds you! Don't relax! You'll never get out of that pit!"
Other tracks are considerably more balanced, often recalling actual events. "I Met Roky Erickson" is a play-by-play account about how his friendship with the similarly crackbrained recluse came to fruition (and about how Erickson's mother made them chicken). "McDonald's on the Brain" is a terrible a cappella recollection of his mid-80's fast food career. The plodding "I Did Acid with Caroline," which offers one rage-inducing chord strummed for almost the song's entire duration, is a harmless but creepy remembrance of a romantic drug experience. ("We were one!/ We were one!")
Johnston's irrelevant ramblings are often redeemed by his knack for writing great melodies, and the voyeuristic thrill of listening to a crazy man's musical therapy. And often, Jad Fair refines Johnston's melodies in their collaborations. "Tongues Wag in This Town," "Villian," and the saddening "Nothing Left" are great examples of the two working toward a common goal. But on later tracks, particularly the unlistenable megaphone madness of "Fan and Games," Fair tries too hard at avant-garde and winds up with something you wouldn't even wish upon Anthony Michael Hall.
It's Spooky was recorded in one week (including mixing) and it shows. Any of these tracks could have been infinitely better had they been fleshed out and perfected. Johnston's drumming is really quite awful, and in some instances, seems to be doing its own thing entirely. Fair had actually intended for the two to work more extensively on the project and smooth things out, but the notoriously non-team-playing Johnston insisted that the project be finished by the time he left town.
Beneath the din of disorganization, there are really some excellent songs. It's easy to let Johnston's delirious vocals and hapless meter get in the way-- in fact, they're totally unavoidable. But at their core, these tracks offer insight into a day in the life of a morbidly brainsick individual, and do so with infectious pop tunes you won't be able to shake for days. I can't say I'll listen to it much, but if ever there were evidence that mental illness is contagious, it's just been reissued.
