If you're new to the Gary Wilson experience, here's a brief history: Back in 1977, the talented but eccentric Wilson went down into his parents' New Jersey basement and recorded what would become one of the most legendary self-released "real people" albums ever made: You Think You Really Know Me. The record sounded as though it was aiming for some kind of Steely Dan/Shuggie Otis electro-funk fusion, but the uncomfortable intimacy and passion of Wilson's performance instead rendered the album a bizarre personal portrait of one man's lust, loneliness and inner turmoil.
Despite the limited original pressing of You Think You Really Know Me, the album managed to take on a life of its own via word-of-mouth and non-commercial radio. Many listeners who were originally attracted by the substantial comedy value of songs like "6.4 = Make Out" and "Chromium Bitch", and were further drawn in by Wilson's crazed white-man soul and not inconsiderable musical talent. Over the next two decades, the album was issued several times by various labels, its small but fervent following-- which included fans like Beck (who name-checked Wilson on "Where It's At"), Matt Groening, and The Roots' ?uestlove-- growing with each release. But nobody was really sure what had ever become of Gary Wilson himself.
Curiosity about Wilson hit a sort of critical mass following the latest reissue of You Think You Really Know Me on Motel records in 2002. Though Motel released a collection of stray Wilson recordings as Forgotten Lovers in 2003, nobody realistically expected to hear anything more from him until Stones Throw Records' Peanut Butter Wolf finally tracked the man down in California. At the time, Wilson was reportedly working at an adult video store and regularly gigging with a jazz lounge act, and was unsurprisingly delighted to learn about the acclaim his old work was receiving. It didn't take much cajoling to convince Wilson to finally deliver a true follow-up.
So here we are with Mary Had Brown Hair, which sounds more like 27 days have passed since You Think You Really Know Me than 27 years. There are more drum machines this time around, as well as chirping Doogie Howser, M.D. synths and treated vocals reminiscent of early Ween. These "modern" touches, however, cause the album to lose a bit of the swank, mustachioed 70s vibe of its predecessor. There's also an increased emphasis on conventional pop songwriting; although that's speaking relatively-- these songs resemble actual pop radio hits the way basset hounds resemble lake trout. Otherwise, Mary Had Brown Hair surely delivers everything that Wilson enthusiasts could have hoped for, perhaps even too much so.
Erotic obsession and small-town alienation remain the central themes of Wilson's work, and as on his debut he here performs songs like "Gary Saw Linda Last Night", "Our Last Date", and "Debbie, Debbie" with an unnerving introspective intensity. (I'm gonna go out on a limb and suggest that somewhere along the way Gary's caused some women to change their phone numbers.) Fixated, adolescent love songs like "Linda Wants to Be Alone" ("She was writing a note to my parents saying that I was bothering her") that were borderline creepy in 1977 are downright alarming now that the guy is legitimately in his 50s. Scariest of all is "Gary's in the Park", which features a menacing Wilson intoning the lines, "Gary's in the dark/ And you know I'll be waiting for you..."
The possibility exists, of course, that this whole troubled "Gary Wilson" persona is just a fictional construction of an artist that's simply giving his audience what they want to hear, a theory given credibility by the fact that, throughout the album, the singer refers to Gary Wilson in the third person as though it's just a role he's playing. This illustrates what has always been the big conundrum regarding outsider music: If the artist is as lacking in self-awareness as he seems to be, it risks putting the audience in a condescending, "let's all laugh at the freak" position. Or is Gary Wilson's whole weirdo-loner shtick an elaborate affectation meant to dress up what is otherwise nice but pretty mundane synth-pop? Can he really have changed this little over the last 27 years?
Whatever the truth is regarding Wilson's methods and intentions, there's no doubt that Mary Had Brown Hair is one of the oddest and most baffling musical artifacts you're likely to get your mitts on in 2004-- one that raises more questions than it answers. How much you'll actually want to listen to it over the next 27 years is a question you'll have to answer for yourself.
