I was lucky enough to get in touch with my good friend Wesley Willis before a performance on Monday at the Replay Lounge in Lawrence, Kansas. Not wanting to take up too much of his preshow time, I kept the interview brief.
\Wesley, what are people going to see at your show on Friday?""
""A lotta people.""
""Will there be rock, Wes?""
""Yeah.""
""Any roll?""
""Yeah.""
""That sounds good, Wes.""
""It do.""
It's inconceivable to me that anyone who ever used Napster or lived in a dorm hasn't had some exposure to Wesley Willis, the most prolific 360-lb. chronic schizophrenic musician in the business today. Even if the name doesn't sound familiar, chances are you've at one time heard refrains like ""I'm sorry that I got fat/I will slim down"" or ""I got kicked out of church"" over a churning synthesized beat. Great stuff, innit?
The Wesley Willis story will no doubt be a fine TNT movie starring Forest Whitaker someday, but in the meantime, his biography goes something like this: In the late 1980s, Wes was living on the streets of Chicago, with some minor income from selling impressively detailed drawings of Chicago city life. Around 1992, he began writing songs and was taken in by local guitarist Dale Meiners, with whom he formed The Wesley Willis Fiasco, with Wesley's trademark stream-of-consciousness lyrics over a basic punk rock setup. After a couple of years, Wes broke up the Fiasco band and decided to work solo, adhering to a strict verse-chorus-verse-chorus formula and accompanying himself musically with the pre-recorded rhythms of a Ketron keyboard (named The Dragnews). The result: A remarkably productive artist who records a new 20-song album every couple of weeks, the best of which are put out by Jello Biafra's Alternative Tentacles record label.
Despite treatment, Wes is still afflicted with schizophrenia, which, in his case, is manifested as a demon in his head, constantly commanding him to do things he knows he shouldn't. The only way to quiet the demon, as he explained it to me, is with rock 'n' roll. So, Wes has made rock 'n' roll his life, writing songs, releasing albums and touring the United States. In his own words, ""music can take a hellride and turn it into a joyride.""
All of which explains why Wesley makes this music, but might not necessarily explain why you should listen to songs that are repetitive, obtuse and often graphically instructing the listener to perform oral sex on animals. Well, you probably shouldn't to any great extent. I own three Wesley Willis CDs, which is more than anyone needs. I only bought them because Wes either insisted they were his best to date or they contained songs about friends of mine.
But seeing Wes live is an experience that no one should miss out on, if only because it's extremely likely that you'll meet the man beforehand, hawking various paraphernalia and recommending which albums to buy.(They're $10 each, but I'll give you two for $20."") For all his girth and occasional loud outbursts, he's really quite a nice guy, always willing to sign things, lead you in a chorus of ""rock"" and ""roll"" and butt heads (another way he shows the demon who's boss). And not to make too much of his lyrical ability, but Wes is one of the only people I know who effectively makes personal tragedy seem so hilarious.
I've never been to a show where the crowd has shown anything but unconditional love for the man, even when he curses at them for requesting particular songs or another encore (""It's past my bedtime, goddamnit!""). Even the people that don't exactly get it at the beginning tend to get caught up in admiration of Wes' brand of peculiar genius by the end. If there's a lotta people at the Annex this Friday, like he says there will be, then he won't let you down. Rock on, Madison, Wis.
