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Showing posts with label Mentally Ill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mentally Ill. Show all posts

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Outsider Music

Ahhh....Another peaceful Sunday morning. Time to put on some nice, relaxing easy going music. Right?

Well I'm having none of it. It's time to crank it up full blast and wake up the neighbours with some truly awesome music. The stuff you just won't hear on the radio. Anywhere

Outsider musicians are those folks who simply make music the only way they know how. With very little to no musical training whatsoever. The conventional requisites of stardom are simply unheard of among outsider musicians.

This is not American Idol. There is no competition. Or critiquing. Or even practicing and rehearsals. What you hear is what you get.

They simply don't care about commercial success. Or any musical conventionality even amateur musicians adhere strictly to. They make their music on their own whims and for the sheer sake of their own personal enjoyment. Even if the only one enjoying it is themselves, they wouldn't care.

It also differs from vanity acts. Vanity acts actively look for a commercial breakthrough and exposure to the masses. Most outsider acts would never be heard at all were it not for certain friends and associates encouraging them to take a leap of faith and record their material.

Sometimes a major label finds them, but that's usually a by-product of local press buzz or through chance contacts. The labels never seek outsider musicians and outsider musicians never seek the labels. If planets align, they align. But that's very rare if they do. The major labels want something that delivers a massive return on whatever investment they make. And that's something no outsider act has ever really done. 

Outsider music isn't even a conscientious rebellion against mainstream rock and pop's status quo, which usually drives most hardcore independent lo-fi punk bands. They truly believe in what they are doing in spite of what anyone thinks. They simply let their dim lights shine.

But what may sound like tone-deaf psychiatric patients (some, but not all outsider musicians suffer from some sort of severe mental illness) to the rest of us is technically a sub-sub genre of Alternative rock. It's not even a "new" thing ("Wild Man" Fischer, whom Frank Zappa discovered in the late 1960s, is a pioneer. So is David Peel, whom John Lennon discovered and released a few albums of his on the Beatles' Apple label in the early '70s, The Shaggs and to some extent, even Charles Manson.)

Today, we're going head first into the most obscure of obscure music genres. But like most of my posts here, I don't disclose everything. I like to leave some of it out for you, the reader, to explore on your own. I just merely set up the launch pad for your own journey (it might be one-way.) So this is not a complete list. Not by far. But it's enough to give a basic insight into this strange genre. Google "Outsider music", if you're really curious.

Bingo Gazingo

Sweet dreams, ladies.....
Bingo Gazingo (Murray Wachs, 1924-2010) was an elderly New York City outsider musician and poet with perhaps more punk rock authenticity than any band that ever played at CBGB's. And I mean all of them. He was, perhaps literally, the grandfather of punk.

With song titles like "Oh Madonna, You Stole My Pants", "Up Your Jurassic Park" and "I Love You So Fucking Much, I Can't Shit", you pretty much get the idea this was no ordinary retired postal worker from Queens.

He released an album through WFMU Radio in 1996 and this song, "You're Out of The Computer" was a collaboration with techno artist My Robot Friend (Howard Rigberg) from My Robot Friend's 2004 CD Hot Action! It also appears on the Songs in The Key of Z compilation of outsider music.

Tragically, Bingo Gazingo was struck down by a cab on his way to a performance at the Bowery Poetry Club where he appeared weekly every Monday night in November of 2009. He died of his injuries on New Year's Day, 2010. He was 85.


Wesley Willis


Wesley Willis (1963-2003) could be the most famous of outsider musicians, even garnering some airplay on mainstream alternative rock radio in the 1990s.

His story began as one of ten children born in a dysfunctional family (having so many siblings can throw even the most stable family off - think the Duggars) in the housing projects of Chicago. He spent most of his life going from foster home to foster home with two older brothers as their parents had a violent relationship and split up when Wesley was a child.

In spite of this horrific background, Wesley seemed to be a bright and fairly normal young man. However on October 21, 1989 (there are people who remember this specific date), he began to hear voices in his head, which he called "demons" and was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.

About this time, he also began making music. Mostly as an outlet to escape the turmoil inside his head. He also made artwork and was discovered by members of Chicago's alternative rock scene, who encouraged his musical pursuits. This led to a collaboration called The Wesley Willis Fiasco and he actually became a sensation in the Chicago alternative underground, gaining attention from major label American Recordings, which was distributed by Warner Bros.

His favourite greeting wasn't a handshake or a hug. It was a headbutt to the forehead. I am not making that up. This left a permanent bruise on his forehead. 

His music was crude, rambling and often profane. One unique characteristic of Wesley Willis is no matter what song he's performing, they all sound identical to each other. They mostly are songs about things that he had personally identified with in his life. Such as his local McDonald's, bands and stars such as Pink Floyd, Foo Fighters, Kurt Cobain and whatever else figured.

Here's a sample of what that sounded like


He eventually recorded 50 albums from 1994 until his untimely death in 2003 from leukemia. He was 40.

Daniel Johnston


Daniel Johnston, like Wesley Willis, also suffers from schizophrenia and like Willis, also uses music as a way to cope with it. Johnston is also a visual artist as well. However Johnston is different in the sense that his music is more introspective and melodic than either Wesley Willis or Bingo Gazingo. He's been called a "fractured genius" and "the indie Brian Wilson". He quite possibly could have achieved mainstream stardom and in fact, he came quite close to it.

Daniel Johnston began recording music as a teenager on a boombox at home in the late '70s. By the early '80s, he was self releasing his own material. He moved to Austin and appeared on MTV in 1985, which gained him further exposure. He went on to make more recordings, including collaborations with Sonic Youth, Half Japanese and other indie acts, who became fans of his.

But his schizophrenia was also worsening. In 1990, on the way to West Virginia on a small, private two-seater plane piloted by his father Bill, Johnston had a manic psychotic episode believing he was Casper the Friendly Ghost and removed the key from the plane's ignition and threw it out of the plane. His father, a former Air Force pilot, managed to successfully crash-land the plane, even though "there was nothing down there but trees". Although the plane was destroyed, Johnston and his father emerged with only minor injuries. As a result of this episode, Johnston was involuntarily committed to a mental hospital.

In the early '90s, Kurt Cobain was often seen wearing a t-shirt with the cover image of Johnston's 1983 album Hi, How Are You? on it.



Which lead to even more interest in Daniel Johnston. Even while involuntarily committed at the mental hospital, Warner Music label Elektra Records was interested in signing him, but he refused the deal as Elektra then was also the label home of Metallica, whom Johnston thought worshipped Satan.

Eventually he signed with Warner co-owned Atlantic Records, which released his only major label LP Fun in 1995. The album flopped commercially and Atlantic ended his contract in 1996. 

In 2005, a full length documentary DVD on Daniel Johnston's life The Devil and Daniel Johnston was released.

Johnston is still active in music.


Jandek


To say Jandek is merely an outsider musician just doesn't quite cut it. In fact, he's been described as "The Rock N' Roll J.D. Salinger". Because he's perhaps the most reclusive of all the outsider musicians.

Yet he has released over 70 albums on the mail order Corwood Industries label. A label that while Jandek maintains a certain distance from professionally, has only issued Jandek material. And he has a surprisingly loyal and solid worldwide fan base. With almost no radio airplay or any promotion of any kind.


Most Jandek albums feature a young man on the covers in random photo shots and when you lay them out, you realize they are the same person - Jandek himself? Possibly.











But nothing has been directly confirmed by Jandek - he's only done a few interviews. But in rare recent pictures of Jandek, you do see a very strong, even uncanny resemblance.


Jandek's actual name has never been confirmed directly either, but he's believed to be Sterling Smith and he was born in 1945. Other than that, very little else is known about him. And that's how he likes it.

His music is a sort of psychedelic country-blues. But even that description isn't quite accurate. Jandek is a genre all to himself.

Jandek is an enigma even by outsider music standards. And that's saying something. In 2003, he released Jandek on Corwood, a documentary DVD that doesn't answer even the most basic questions of his life his fans always wanted to know. But then again, that mystique is still a part of his attraction.

He's still active, releasing an album or two a year and occasionally touring.






More:

Curly Toes

Wing Over America

Florence Foster Jenkins

"Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" Tiny Tim (1982)


Saturday, March 14, 2015

"A Message To Khomeini" Roger Hallmark & The Thrasher Brothers (1979)



In the diplomatic faux pas of the last week, I was reminded of this little gem from the days of the Iranian Hostage Crisis.

You'd swear it was the same people who signed off on this letter who came up with this tune.

Friday, August 22, 2014

Are You INSANE??

List of reasons why you could have been admitted into an insane asylum in the late 1800s. Do YOU qualify?

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Suicidal Depression: An Open Confession


I've never came forward with this publicly beyond my inner circle of friends and a few family members. But the suicide of Robin Williams yesterday hit just a little too close to home.

And I have a confession to make; I suffer from chronic depression with suicidal tendencies with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and anxiety. (I also have Asperger's and Cogan's Syndrome.)

There. I've said it.

It's not easy to come clean with any kind of mental illness. It's like a gay person publicly coming out of the closet. You just don't know what to expect. Will people you've been very close to begin avoiding you? Will they try and overcompensate for any perceived wrongdoings on their part (which is just as disturbing as avoidance.)

Or will they begin to take advantage of you, mock you, condescend you and use what you are as a weapon against you? Or in more egregious cases, to take control of you?

Having lived with this since I was a teenager (although I remember having symptoms, including suicidal thoughts as young as 5), it's nothing you just "get over".

Everyone has problems. Everyone hurts. But most people bounce back and carry on. People with depression cannot do this without therapy, if at all. They live with a low self-esteem, and a constant feeling of hopelessness and worthlessness that cannot be overcome by personal achievements, success or popularity. For me, it's life behind two-way glass. You know others see something remarkable in you. But you don't. You just see a reflection of the same person you wished was never born.

Robin Williams is an example of this. He was one of the most successful, popular and beloved comedians in history. He had everything. He could do whatever he wanted. But he still couldn't do what most people take for granted and that's feel it within himself. Money can't buy that. And there's no magical "happy pill" for it. If there was, I'd be eating those things like popcorn.

I fought back tears all day today. Because I saw so much of myself in Robin. Because we both used a sense of humour and a happy-go-lucky personality to camouflage the real person underneath that thick veneer. We wanted to be understood, but afraid of what would happen if someone doesn't. Or even if they actually did.
 
I take several pills daily, including Wellbutrin, Risperdal and Zoloft. I also smoke marijuana to relieve acute feelings of depression. Pills and cannabis alone do nothing but control the brain chemical balances enough to where you can function at a certain level. And it's only a small part of the equation. It also takes therapy, friends, family and a routine to keep you focused and someone to talk to when it gets too much.   

For others, depression is so crippling that they cannot even leave their homes. And some rely on public assistance to get by.

You just don't understand humiliation until someone tells you to "Suck it up!" Or "You're faking it" or "You're lazy". Or "selfish", a "worry-wart" or any number of insensitive and thoughtless things. I have actually been told "If you want to die so bad, why don't you just kill yourself and rid the world of another useless idiot like you". I'm embarrassed to say it, but there are actually people like that in the world.

NOBODY wants to live this way. I never raised my hand in second grade and said "When I grow up, I want to have feelings of hopelessness and despair, to fight back thoughts of killing myself daily and to take pills every day to function at the most basic level of human existence."

Depression is not an alternative lifestyle. Depression is not a fun and easy lifestyle. It's the closest thing to hell in the human condition.

I wish I could say that the medications alone changed my life. That I could say that things suddenly got brighter and life was suddenly worth living, that I could smile genuinely and feel the same happiness I see in others. But I can't. Even with the best medication and therapy, I still have to carry on with a void and emptiness nothing could fill. It's like feeling like you don't have a soul. You know you have one, you have empathy and compassion for others. You feel their pain, but you just can't describe your own. And that's what makes depression so hard to talk to people about. You feel so guilty and ashamed for needing anyone's help. And nobody likes a whiner.

So you take it out in one of two ways - some do it internally through self destruction. Or externally by lashing out at others.

Or the third way; Get help. I took things out internally. Even if they weren't my fault.  And I'm just learning to unlearn that behaviour. But it's going to take time I'm 45 now and I'm sure that had I not gotten the help I did, I would not be here telling you this.

I still fight minute by minute with feelings of worthlessness. That nobody cares about me (In fact, I generally feel that most people hate me, that I am unworthy of the time of day from them, let alone their attention.) That I am not worth knowing or loving. And that everything would be better if I just didn't exist. Not a day goes by that I don't think of how much relief I would get from something that would suddenly end my life. And my pain.

It's hard to tell what is worse. The pain of dying or the pain of living. I have the worst of both worlds; The pain of living a dying life.

I have lived with this all my life. When I was 13, a family member went and dumped rocket fuel on a smoldering, but then containable fire with years of verbal and emotional abuse to the point I began attempting suicide in earnest (This is the source of my PTSD. And I have only spoken to this person only once and only through e-mail in the last 18 years.) I have been hospitalized many times from suicide attempts, several of them nearly successful, including a three week coma. Even psychiatry specialists were baffled  

But another day comes and the sun rises. I take my pills and put on that happy-go-lucky facade. I find something weird or memorable and I talk about it here. And there are days I simply can't do that at all. In part because I also have arthritis and my joints hurt constantly, but much of the time, I'm too sad to talk about anything. It's my brain chemistry roller coaster in action.

There are also times the sky clears up and I feel some mediocre level of peace. I cherish those moments more than anything else whatsoever. Because they are so rare. But suddenly, I'm back down the spiral and I'm contemplating suicide again. It's crazy, I know. But please bear with me. Because this is the only life I have ever known.

I pray everyday the next day will be the one I feel okay. Or the one that never comes. The day I never wake up. But here I am still.  For now.

Sometimes I wonder why I keep doing it. And is this my life? To give others what I can never feel inside? To put a smile on the faces of strangers when I can't smile at all or even feel the happiness that creates a sincere smile? Without being told to? It doesn't make sense.

Starting this blog is one of the ways I'm learning to cope with my depression. To create that "happy place" where I could escape without bringing everybody down. To touch on things we have forgotten or are unknown to others. I carried around most of this information for most of my life and here, I have an outlet to dump all that. As well as act as a distraction from the bad news of today with something positive. Or weird.

I don't like to talk about bad news here - especially about myself. But this is one of those rare moments I have to get a certain weight off my shoulders FTW.  

But every once in a while, I get a message like this and for a little while, I feel like there's new hope.


 It's hard for me to understand this effect I have on some people. I'm flattered by it but at the same time, confused by it. I never saw myself worthy of any kind of praise. I should be proud of myself. But I feel uncomfortable doing that. Who am I to wave my own flag? My denial sometimes gets to the point I actually think they are talking about someone else named Larry.

But in some small way, if I made someone's day in some small redundant way, I might have what it takes to carry on for the rest of the day. But I wake up again and I'm back at square one. Is this life worth carrying on? I feel like a time bomb.

But never forget this; Little things do mean a LOT to someone with depression. You can't fix depression. There is no cure for it and there's lot of trial and error to find the right treatment plan (the one I have is very limited in it's success. It keeps it barely under control, but not much else. At least I have that. Depression has different effects for different people and no two treatment plans are ever the same.)

Most of all, it takes very special people. Those with positively reinforcing energy (and it's not some special super-hero power. If you are anyone's friend, you already have it.)

I don't expect miracles. But I guess if I can't find internal happiness, I'll accept the next best thing, a momentary peace of mind. And just swing from limb to limb on those alone.

Maybe I will finally find a way to stop feeling like this. Maybe they will finally invent that "happy pill" that changes everything - if artificially. Or a brain surgery that removes the part that's hurting me.

I'll do anything. Just make it stop.

I know there are people who care and worry about me. People who would be devastated without me and tell me so. It is for those people I struggle to carry on for. 
 
I'm trying to carry on. That's all I can do. But sometimes, it is so hard.....

Saturday, July 26, 2014

The Worst 45 RPM Record In History?

Image: The World's Worst Records
"Could You Would You" The Planets (1958) WARNING: INDUCES VOMITING AND EXTREME DEPRESSION. SEE DISCLAIMER BELOW...


Upon playing this YouTube link, you agree to not hold History's Dumpster or me personally liable for any and all damage, mental and physical or to property, including brain hemorrhaging, gnawing off limbs and extreme pain and suffering which may occur when hearing this song... 

I once thought I finally heard every godawful song the human imagination could create. This time however, I have found something so bad, I actually barfed for five minutes. I couldn't even make it past the first minute. I slammed down several anti-depressant pills. Just so I can type this.

Please don't take this lightly. You're reading this from a man who once had to write a review for the entire six CD Yoko Ono box set Onobox. I can take a lot. That was hell. But the entire Onobox was actually quite refreshing compared to this two and a half minute record. This one record nearly pushed me over the edge.

This record does not belong in any collection. It belongs in a sealed EPA drum and buried forever in a lead covered concrete box at Hanford, WA.

        PLAY AT YOUR OWN RISK.  

Friday, January 17, 2014

"Don't Be So Holy Poly Over My Souly" Kit Ream (1978)


Oh dear, where do I simply begin?

The story of Kit Ream begins in the 1960s. Kit was a very wealthy heir to the Nabisco cookie fortune. And living such a charmed life up to that point, he had instant access to anything he wanted. Women, cars, the very best in anything and everything. And drugs.

And then someone gave him acid.

From here, the story goes off into multiple tangents. Some say his behaviour became increasingly erratic over time, others say he was at a party one night and bought and ate his dealer's entire stock of acid in one night on a whim. Who knows? All that is known is things were never the same again for Kit Ream.

He spent the rest of the '60s and most of the '70s in a psychiatric hospital as the acid wore off (which is probably an indicator of how much acid he actually ate), staring at his own reflection in a mirror. Before the decade ended, he was deemed recovered enough to be released. After which, it's been said he tried to start a religious cult (which has been discredited by sources close to Ream.)

He also recorded and released a vanity album titled All That I Am, from which we hear this incredible selection.

Listen to the entire tune. The drugs have already been done for you. Just turn it up loud. If you dare...

Sunday, December 02, 2012

Baby Lu-Lu: The SCARIEST Record Ever Made

This is a TRUE story.

Some time in the late '60s or early '70s, a strange record appeared


I see a fence back there and I'm really hoping this cover shot was taken at a state hospital.

It gets worse. Look at the back cover. Click on it to enlarge. Read it.


You read this correctly. This was a middle aged woman, (allegedly) channeling a three year old.  

How a woman like this is loose on the streets (let alone allowed anywhere near children. Or a recording studio) is beyond me. But it takes "Born-Again Christian" to a brand new low (instead of being "born again", why don't they just GROW UP.)

I honestly don't know what it is with evangelist women and big hair, geological layers of makeup and poodles, I just don't.

But it's not just this woman who scares me like crazy. It's her enablers. Jay W. Turney, Steve Chandler, Eddie Crook and the entire staff of Electric Arts Studio of Madisonville, KY.

Mr. Turney is also this woman's husband. Whom she also refers to as "Daddy". And the oozing disgust about this record only BEGINS there.

There's nothing I can say that can illustrate this horror better than LISTENING to this record itself.