Jandek (USA)

11/12/05
Kunstencentrum België, Hasselt (B)

The Ghost's Blues

In one of the relatively few articles that have appeared about him, Jandek is regarded as "the longest-running, weirdest, loneliest enigma in popular music." Basically, nobody knew anything about Jandek, except that he

• released more than forty album on the Corwood Industries label (presumably Jandek's own one man business) between 1978 and 2005
• never performed in public
• never willingly gave an interview
• recorded some of the bleakest albums under the sun

Ideal fodder for obsessive nutcases to ponder over (Seth Tisue, who runs a website on Jandek, has gathered an amazing amount of information about a man whose music still raises so many questions), and over the years, the myth has only attracted more and more adventurous music listeners and fans of outsider music in particular (Irwin Chusid included a section on the artist in his book Songs in the Key of Z: The Curious World of Outsider Music). Like other outsiders - ranging from icons of the psychedelic era like Skip Spence and Syd Barrett, to the nearly alien confusion of The Shaggs, Daniel Johnston, Wesley Willis and Hasil Adkins - Jandek records and releases music that almost bears no resemblance to traditional pop music anymore. Whereas Johnston is obviously indebted to the classic rock & roll-tradition, with often lovely, intriguing and original music as a result, Jandek's 43 (!) albums reside in their own continuum. Stylistically, he mainly hovers between folk and country blues, but it's so far removed from any tradition that its advantage is an almost timeless quality: it could've been recorded last week, it could've appeared on Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music. The one problem with Jandek however, is that the categorization is entirely built on his preferred instrument (acoustic guitar) and plaintive voice. If you're looking for nicely structured songs with verses and choruses, pretty vocals and traditional playing, you're in for a disappointment.

Basically, the majority of Jandek's output sounds like a huge atonal mess. It's monotonous, excruciatingly slow, dissonant and extremely inaccessible. It's an avant-garde in itself with occasional ventures into clamorous electrical music (early 80s), demented noise (1992's Lost Cause) and solo piano music (1999's The Beginning). If you're looking for artists to compare him with, not only the obvious outsiders could be mentioned, but also folk-oriented artists like Simon Joyner (the relentless darkness of his early work) or Bonnie "Prince" Billy (whose semi-rambling style and conversational vocals are somewhat reminiscent of Jandek's). Despite all these cons, there are also redeeming factors for the man's art, as the weirdness of the music itself is already a bonus. The stream-of-consciousness approach that seems to run through so much of his music, as well as the singular style, hints at a form of expression that's entirely unique. As such, many people claim they see a purity in his work that's unparalleled and untainted by other traditions, trends and outside influences. By disbanding conventional rhythm and a melodic sense altogether, Jandek is said to have reached an emotional and artistic purity and integrity that sounds so personal that it feels like wandering inside somebody else's mind. It's a trip through a barren inner life, a wasteland that's engulfed by desolation, solitude and a vast array of unpleasant emotions ranging from disappointment, despair, loss, depression and melancholy to loneliness. Jandek doesn't smile.

The intriguing story got an unexpected, almost shocking twist when the news got out that Jandek had performed in Glasgow (Scotland) on October 17th of 2004. The performance, which was given at a festival for experimental music was, according to Jandek's unofficial biographer, "not publicized in advance or even identified as it happened," while the organizer of the event admitted a "representative" of Corwood had performed, without even mentioning Jandek's name (apparently a decisive condition). Of course, things got crazy in Jandekland, as the cult (grown quite sizeable in the meantime) wondered whether more shows would be scheduled. They had to be patient, but in 2005, Jandek finally decided that almost three decades of silence was enough. He appeared twice in Britain in the spring of 2005 (Gateshead and London), had five American shows scheduled in the fall of 2005 (once of which - in New Orleans - was cancelled because of hurricane Katrina), and five more in Europe: three in Britain, one in Finland and one… in Hasselt, Belgium. The show was put together by the folks at indie/experimental music label (K-RAA-K)³ and it didn't come as a surprise that the cult hero would perform in a full house. The set-up was already an omen - an under-lit stage with only a piano on it - but when Jandek finally stepped (or "slowly strode") on stage, you could immediately sense that expectations were high and this wasn't your average artist. He was dressed entirely in black, with a black hat and took off his jacket without even blinking at the silent audience once. He walked to the piano, sat down, put a little digital clock on top of it, opened a notebook in front of him and started playing.

While it was immediately obvious the man is an experienced player, you also wondered whether the instrument was properly tuned, as the minimalist monotony that came from it hovered between Satie's quiet miniatures and a tuneless, floating series of notes without any discernible melodies. It went on for a few minutes and all the while, Jandek's pale complexion, subtly bowing movements and almost catatonic calmness created an increasingly creepy atmosphere. The effect of this eerie performance started to become hypnotic, but then the man started singing. However, no one would call it "singing," as his lyrics were basically spoken, but some syllables stretched according to a logic I didn't understand. Previously, Jandek usually played with local musicians, with whom he only rehearsed just once (the afternoon before the evening's show), so I presume the eight songs he played in Hasselt were entirely new. Usually, his lyrics are written before a show and especially for that particular show, and this also must've been the case this time. The problem with it, however, was that he used an approach that got almost sickening over the course of an hour. While the music is already strictly personal, steered by the moment's impulses and free from rules, the lyrics came off as a caricature of depression. In more than half of the songs, Jandek referred to the "blues" that bugged him, that pained him, that confronted him with his death wish. The fact that his misery was delivered directly, without any (or hardly) interference of metaphor or style figures almost made it shocking. Most writers will avoid a journalist's factual register and try to lively up their prose/poetry with tools that allow them to express emotions indirectly. Not so with Jandek, who was left behind, in his misery, waiting to die. He expressed his wish to lie down on railroad tracks, to escape from his miserable life, the pain inflected upon him by other people. He expressed these feelings and wishes in such a detached, matter-of-fact way that you (I'm speaking for myself here) didn't know how to act: laugh out loud at such a cartoonish portrayal of misery, fall into a depression yourself at the sight of so much self-hatred and unhappiness or file it away at the back of your head.

Granted, I've never seen and heard anything like it, but over the course of a few songs, the non-stop barrage of depressing lyrics (you hurt me/you left me/I have no life/I got no reason to live, etc) and - especially - the way in which they were delivered, turned it into something that was almost unbearable to watch. It constantly walked the thin line between a rambling monologue at the shrink's office and a teenager's desperate cries for help and attention. When a song had ended, the audience clapped and some cheered, but there was no reason to cheer. And Jandek, he flexed his fingers, turned the page of his notebook, didn't even nod, smile or glance at the audience. Eight songs plodded on like that, slowly, miserably. The sixth song promised something different for a while, as it started of with randomly hammered keys in the lower and higher register, but eventually also settled for the same alienating stumble. When you're discussing an artist like Jandek, who's never been part of any tradition, you cannot expect him to conform to your (or anyone else's) expectations. This also creates a luxury position, of course, as the man would've gotten away with anything. Reports of previous shows, where he usually played with other folks (Jandek handling guitar, harmonica and even drums) were said to have moments that were almost accessible and conventional, but the performance in Hasselt completely defied categorisation. That doesn't imply it was a good show, though - although I presume many people in the audience weren't waiting for something "good." An artist with a lesser reputation, one who would "neutralize" his bad news with a grateful smile, nod or muttered "thank you," would never have made such an impact. It was definitely an experience to witness this artist, but the appearance and demeanour were so out-of-proportion, so exaggerated and so devoid of actual substance (the occasionally ridiculous lyrics in particular) that any sense of humanity remained absent. After his eight songs, Jandek closed his book, took his clock and calmly left the stage to disappear backstage. He'd sung about loss, about being left behind, about being treated badly, yet the main question that you were confronted with was whether this person could actually be capable of maintaining satisfying relations with other human beings. Before you can lose a friend or lover, you have to win one. It's a pity we didn't get to see that side of the man. As a result, the only thing you can say about the show is that it was disturbing.

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