It’s difficult to imagine that Art Paul Schlosser’s Wikipedia page was written by anybody other than Art Paul Schlosser. The page of the local Madison legend is riddled with typos and curious unsourced tidbits of knowledge about his personal life, reading more as an autobiography than an informational web page.
The Wikipedia page represents Schlosser’s endearing, but sometimes annoying, persona. The State Street performer can often be seen wearing one of several ridiculous hats in his wardrobe, which include a cheese head and sombrero, performing songs such as “Have a Peanut Butter Sandwich” and “My Cat Was Taking a Bath.” It would be easy to point and laugh at his efforts, but that would be discrediting the sincerity he brings forth with his rambling songs.
Schlosser has a significant body of work. Forty albums, hundreds of songs and a botched America’s Got Talent appearance define his career as an unrelenting artist. The songs he writes more closely resemble personal thoughts or diary entries than music made for the masses. He is a cult musician without a cult, and his stages include the space between the Towers and Statesider, the open mic night at Ian’s Pizza and anywhere else where people can listen to his sound, whether they want to or not.
In terms of work ethic, Schlosser most closely resembles Houston rapper Viper. With over 900 albums on Spotify and more on the way, he has become an internet oddity and sensation. His to-the-point lyrics and poor album artwork are frequently the subjects of snarky commentary on hip-hop and music forums. Some say that his massive discography is worth it for one single song, “You’ll Cowards Don’t Even Smoke Crack,” which has over 800,000 views on YouTube and could easily fit on an artistic vaporwave album.
There’s something inherently ominous about artists like Viper and Schlosser who dedicate their whole lives to putting out more music than most could dream of making. I got the same chilling feeling listening to either artist when I stumbled upon a middle-aged man’s harmonica channel on YouTube. He had recorded thousands of videos, each one rarely reaching past double digits on their view counts. It felt as if he was invading my life as much as I was invading his, and that I had intruded on a realm of the Internet I was never supposed to see.
The information age has allowed for sincerity to reach listeners in a way that was previously only able to be experienced by watching a singer-songwriter play in a dimly-lit dive bar. DIY culture does not insist that artists have to get tangled up in a record deal and promotions before they can begin focusing on their art. Schlosser can write a song about a passerby’s smile one day and have it out on his Spotify the next day.
Unfortunately, sincerity is often mistaken for musicianship. Forty albums later and Schlosser has yet to improve his recording, songwriting or guitar work. Personality musicians like Viper and Schlosser miss the key step in songwriting of reflecting on past work while developing a plan for the future.
So, does Schlosser deserve merit for his massive discography? Is his music meant to be critiqued in the same way that a Beatles or Animal Collective album is? A majority of his songs are truly terrible. His charisma often cannot make up for poor recording and guitar work, especially for songs such as “Lead Zeppelin.” However, that doesn’t mean that his work can’t be discussed as a serious artistic contribution.
At his best, Schlosser achieves a sound that borders Captain Beefheart. Though Schlosser’s finer moments could easily be bursts of good luck, where his mistimed guitar and dissonant harmonica take on the sound of avant-garde mastery as opposed to poor songwriting. Listen to one or two more songs after one of these moments, and it becomes clear that it was, in fact, almost certainly good luck.
At the same time, the imperfection of Schlosser is one of his most endearing traits. Finding a great moment in one of his songs is like finding something worthwhile in your parents’ attic. Most of it is trash, but there’s always that one sentimental object you stumble upon that touches you on a personal level for no discernible reason. The feeling of seeing an off-white mildewy polaroid of my parents while they were young is the same feeling I get when hearing Schlosser sing about his mother or even Scott Walker.
At the end of the day, Art Paul Schlosser is not a good musician. It pains me to say that, because every interaction I’ve had with him has shown that he is a genuinely good and caring person. That being said, whether intentional or unintentional, Art Paul Schlosser’s music inspires some sort of emotion and reaction from those who stop and listen to his songs on State Street. The fact I’m even able to write on the artistic merit of a State Street performer with a poorly tuned guitar and kazoo means that for all the terrible songs he writes, Schlosser has crafted himself into an artistic statement that deserves to be discussed, and that might just make up for his utter lack of musical talent.
