Rock out, Wesley

My mind plays tricks on me every time I say something
It brings evil voices out of my head, and talks to me vulgar.
Then suddenly, I start raving

Chronic schizophrenia

But when I have bad luck I'll always hear evil voices talking to me vulgar
Everywhere I go riding on the CTA bus, all I hear is vulgarity
I hear no music at all

Chronic schizophrenia

Riding in the streets with no music sucs
Everywhere I go, I cruise the streets being called an asshole
Plus I'm being ridiculed and called a bum and called stupid

Chronic schizophrenia

Pontiac, we build excitement

I was saddened to learn news of the death of Wesley Willis, a Chicago-based singer/songwriter. It's difficult to explain why I like Wesley Willis, and probably difficult to understand for those who never saw him. Fortunately, I did see Wesley Willis, about four years ago in St. Cloud.

Willis' songs could hardly be considered genius, and some would hesitate to even call them songs. But the Casio synthesizer driven rambings on topics ranging from Elvis Presley to a fantastic battle between Wesley and Batman are nonetheless endearing. Not quite quaint, the lyrics of a Schizophrenic, 300+ pound black man are so straightforward that they contain some charm.

At his concert, Wesley signed Andy's chest, pulled Paula onstage to headbutt, and occasionally shouted at the demons in his head. Perhaps it is his open vulnerability that made him a (albeit minor) cultural icon. It seems doubtful that his catalogue will receive anymore notice, and also doubtful that it is deserving. But his innocence, an absolute contrast to expecatations one might base on his appearance, resonates through his music.

Rock over London, rock on Chicago.