MY NIGHT WITH DANIEL JOHNSTON
5 April 2012
Last night I took a taxi to The Empire, a dark, heavily panelled, former church in the University area of Belfast. It attracts an arty student set. And me.
I should at the outset make clear that I am not a fan of Daniel Johnston. I have never made it to the end of one of his albums, and I gave up halfway through watching ‘The Devil & Daniel Johnston’.
The venue is packed - largely the expected young, trendy set. Beautiful girls in silk scarves and silver Berber jewellery, squired by bearded young men with their trousers tucked into their boots. And me.
Without any preamble a grey haired, overweight man in grey tracksuit bottoms and a grey and blue striped sweat shirt shuffles on to the stage. He sets a book of lyrics on a music stand and his fingers begin to shape hesitant chords on a small guitar with no headstock. The crowd, after a single loud cheer, is silent and reverential.
Daniel – and as I learn we must call him just Daniel – sings in a high cracked voice against the raggedly strummed guitar. His head is bowed and he makes no eye contact with the audience, staring at his music stand. The lyric is very much of the ‘bad/ sad / mad’ variety, and embarrassingly self deprecating. Initially I want to laugh. By the end of the second song I had become convinced I was listening to a very early Neil Young demo playing loudly from another room. This is a very good thing.
Then I begin to feel increasingly uncomfortable, as if participating in some cruel prank perpetrated on an unsuspecting innocent. And me.
Three more songs follow, each to rapturous applause. Then Daniel looks up for the first time: “We’ll be back shortly with the band. Thank you for coming out to the show. Thank you, London. No, Ireland … you’re Ireland”. I’m fairly sure this wasn’t a joke. He shuffles off stage.
Ten minutes later Daniel returns backed by Cashier No.9. Self consciously preening, local indie boys, the percussionist wears a Sun Records t-shirt and a brown Derby hat. This is a very bad thing.
There follows a thirty minute set during which the band overwhelm Daniels’ fragile vocals, although he seems to be enjoying himself.
It doesn’t do to over think these things but I am left feeling conflicted about the entire event. From my initial discomfort in watching someone whose medication appears to be either slowly wearing off or slowly kicking in; to being entranced by the fragile solo performance; then irritated by the slightly heavy handed indie backing band whom I suspect are simply keen to have some of the cool rub off on them.
Ten minutes pass and the crowd has long since turned to the bar when Daniel emerges again and sings ‘Devil Town’ accompanied only by the beautiful young things in the crowd. It is a poignant sign off, after which he exits uncertainly into the wings for the last time.
Ultimately it is a confused, slightly out of place, grey haired old man who shuffles off into the night. I have no idea how Daniel felt.
