A song a day keeps the demons away

>> Stepping into the weird world of Wesley Willis

by JOHNSON CUMMINS

Remember '70s rockers Boston? How about their album Third Stage? Didn't think so. This 10-song monstrosity was as welcome as a fart in an elevator and proved to be one of the biggest commercial flops of all time.

What's Boston got to do with Chicago musician/artist Wesley Willis? Well, it took the satin-trousered supa-dupa-group from Beantown eight years to come up with 10 of the measliest, most mediocre songs your ever likely to hear. Eight fuckin' years! Willis, on the other hand, can write over 700 songs in the same time it took Boston to pen 10 ditties, and churns out full-length CDs at the same rate most people visit the dry cleaners.

His lyrical fodder ranges from his everyday life, his psychiatrist and his favourite bands, to nonsensical songs like "Casper the Homosexual Friendly Ghost" or "Kris Kringle was a Car Thief." The music is carved out on his Technics KN2000 keyboard, with all songs sticking strictly to the preprogrammed demonstration sound ("Country Rock 8," actually) and varying only in tempo and key.

At the end, each song is then sent home with his trademark "Rock over London, rock on Chicago," followed each time by a different corporate catchphrase (e.g. "Pepsi-Cola, uh huh" or "Taco Bell, take a run for the border").

"I put commercials in my music because I like it and it's part of my job," Willis states simply.

This mind-numbing rate of musical output would be remarkable for any musician, but is especially interesting in the case of Willis, who suffers from chronic schizophrenia. Making music is not only a joy, but a means of keeping the voices in his head at bay.

The pen is mightier than the pill

Music is not his only way of drowning out the voices. Willis has also churned out over 2,000 drawings, which sell quite well, from prestigious art-gallery walls to the sidewalks of Chicago, where he has become a permanent fixture. Despite his illness, Willis seeks no social assistance and is able to pay his own rent and make his own way in the world through sales of his CDs, live performances and artwork alone.

I phoned Willis at his Chicago group home as he was experiencing one of his episodes, where the voices became too loud to ignore. Although on a strict regimen of pills, Willis finds the medication is not helping as much these days and has taken to wearing a Walkman to help drown out the voices, or "demons," with rock 'n' roll and gangsta rap. When I talked to him he had just finished listening to one of his favourites, Moetley Cruee, but it seems that this time even the Cruee were unable to shout at the devil loud enough. Willis was forced to put the phone down in mid-conversation and scream and curse until the voices in his head subsided and he could resume our interview.

After apologizing, he gives me a glimpse of the darker recesses of his mind with which he wrestles every day. "These demons inside my head," he says, "keep cursing me and calling me names and try to shoot down my music."

As with many schizophrenics, Willis's memory for detail and numbers borders on obsessive. In his Bic pen and magic marker artwork, which are often renderings of buses and cityscapes, the detail and perspective are stunning. His drawings include minute, exacting bus codes, advertising, route signs and complex building architecture. Sadly, because of the increasingly louder voices in his head, he has been unable to return to his daily ritual of drawing for eight months now. "I don't draw anymore because the demons are on my butt. When I draw I get on a hellride [schizophrenic episode] and get into trouble."

He gets by with a little help...

Willis's support system does not come only in pill form, but also from a steady stream of friends and care workers who help him get motivated, make his doctor's appointments on time and take his medication on a regular basis, as well as travel with him for live engagements. Schizophrenics often suffer their illness alone, due to its socially awkward ramifications and the amount of attention and patience it requires from others. When talking to Willis, though, it's clear why he has so many friends. Despite his intimidating 6'5", 310 lb. frame and his occasional outburst, he proves to be as gentle as a lamb and quite a charmer.

"I love being around people because I'm a rock star and they love me," he says. Willis's favourite greeting is butting a person's head very gently, locking eyes and asking the them to say "Rah" with him, followed by his pitch, "Would you like to buy a CD off of me?"

"'Rah' is just something I made up. It came from my own mind. It makes me feel really good to say it and I like it when people say it to me, it makes me feel like a rock star. I like bumpin' heads with people because I'm crazy."

Being a rock star has become a big part of Willis's life. After the Beastie Boys attempted to sign him to Grand Royal, Willis signed on to Jello Biafra's Alternative Tentacles, to release only greatest-hits packages from his catalogue of self-released CDs. Biafra is quoted as saying that Willis's records are by far the punkest thing on his roster, as Willis's workset and business sense is quintessentially in keeping with the punk rock DIY ethic.

Lights, camera, distraction

Willis's popularity and unique vision have now made him the subject of three documentaries. The latest one, which is currently in production, is by Montrealer Dan Bitton. Bitton self-financed the film and has just recently gotten a Canada Council grant to finish it. Plans to shop it to European public television are already underway.

Bitton was originally drawn to Willis because of his songs' marked simplicity and similarity to the essence of early folk and blues recordings. "There is just so much pretentious music out there," says Bitton. "True, Willis's is at a special level, but it's done with so much integrity and honesty. I think it really brings a lot of happiness. It's kind of like when you're a child and you have so much spirit and you write these funny things in your notebook or whatever. That's what he does."

Once Bitton finally went down to Chicago to film Willis on his own turf for 10 days, he noticed that music was just a small part of the story. "When we were interviewing Wesley, he opened up after a couple of days and told me about his upbringing, which was really rough."

Willis says his schizophrenia started on October 21, 1989, when his stepfather put a gun to his head, demanding Willis's life savings, earned with his artwork, so he could buy cocaine. His days of growing up in the Chicago projects were constantly marked with tragedy. "He was telling stories about his mother's toes getting frostbitten," recalls Bitton. "They had to be amputated because there was no heat in the apartment. But we also saw good sides of him. We went to the zoo with him, where he bought a $150 worth of books on animals, and loved it. We got to see him with his friends and him writing a song about Kinko's copy shops."

Jailhouse rock

One of Willis's biggest fears is going to prison. When I mentioned to him that he was booked to play a place called Jailhouse, he became upset. I realized first-hand the patience it takes to deal with Willis when I spent 20 minutes explaining to him that Jailhouse is just a rock 'n' roll club that will be full of his fans, and that he is not going to be locked up when he gets there. "My uncle Sid is in jail for killing somebody," he explains, "and I can't go to visit him because if I go to visit him they'll lock me up. I miss him a lot."

Why is it so many people love Wesley, and are inexplicably drawn to him and his music? Maybe it's because he's an underdog living in an well-adjusted, mentally balanced society. Despite the odds stacked up against him by a society misinformed about mental illness, he manages to survive doing exactly what he wants to. Through his extraordinary strength, endurance and heaping amounts of charm, Willis gets under our skin and shows us a different world that is sometimes scary, often funny and always interesting.

When I ask him if he has any messages for his fans in Montreal, he doesn't miss a beat. "Rock over London, rock on Chicago. Mitsubishi, word is getting around." Rah!

With the Causey Way and Vaginal Croutons at Jailhouse Rock on Wednesday, Oct. 18, 8pm, $9