Jandek Reviews, Pt. 2: Living in a Moon so Blue

As I mentioned in my review of Six and Six, I'm anticipating a lot of these Jandek albums to sound very similar to one another. For now, I'll give a brief recap of Jandek's sound, but focus more on giving a brief description of how Living in a Moon so Blue (1982) differs from Six and Six (1981). The upcoming installments in the Jandek Reviews series will follow this general format (brief description of Jandek's style with a description of how the current album differs from those that came before it). Unless I come across an album that is such a departure that warrants a brand new, from scratch review, I'll stick with this format. On to the review of Living in a Moon so Blue:

Jandek's music consists of a single man playing guitar and singing. The guitar is out of tune, and played with hard, unpleasant plucking, rather than strumming. The guitar playing can be arrhythmic and seemingly random. Jandek's singing is usually a hushed whisper, a sort of speak-singing, but can at times rise into a strained, somewhat atonal singing voice. The lyrics tend to be of a stream-of-consciousness, surreal, and nightmarish style. His music is unpleasant and strange, but much like his almost nonsensical lyrics, there is deep emotional and intimate content that is as easy to feel as it is oblique and difficult to make sense of.

Broadly, Living in a Moon so Blue doesn't deviate too much from that description. It does, however, differ from Six and Six in some ways. Lyrically, the album is not as impenetrable. The lyrics are still oblique and personal, but they make more literal sense than Six and Six. The guitar work seems to have progressed a bit. It is still difficult, out of tune, and consists mainly of plucking, but it seems less random. A few songs even incorporate some strumming, but it is just as harsh and abrasive as the plucking (e.g. "One Step Ahead" started giving me a headache by the end of its 2:24 run time). At times, the guitar sounds like it is being strummed and smacked at the same time ("Crime Pays"). Just as the guitar playing has progressed a bit, harmonica is introduced as well, such as in the song "Alexandria Knows."

Overall, Living in a Moon so Blue is very similar to Six and Six, but includes a little more variety and is slightly more straightforward. But make no mistake, this is still harsh, unpleasant, and difficult music. Part of what makes listening to Jandek rewarding is having the patience to appreciate the subtle changes to such a simple and singular approach.

Jandek Reviews, Pt. 1: Six and Six

I've been listening to those Jandek albums for a while. I'm get the distinct impression that Jandek's style is so singular, if I'm going to review each album individually, I'm going to end up repeating myself a lot. I'll give it a shot anyways, but most of the reviews (at least until I get to some of his later albums when some he starts incorporating other musicians and starts varying his style a bit) will be short and to the point. With that in mind, here's part 1 of what will hopefully be a 10 part series, my review of Jandek's Six and Six.

As I had previously discussed, Jandek's music consists mainly of a single man playing a lone acoustic guitar while sing-whispering stream-of-consciousness lyrics.

The guitar sounds grossly out of tune (though in one of his two "interviews" Jandek claims it is not out of tune, but an open blues tuning). It is rarely if ever strummed, mainly plucked slowly, hardly, and generally arhythmically. Often the notes seemed to be selected at random, a slow and harsh cascade of random dissonant tones. The more his songs play, some semblance of reason emerges, and whether there is subtle, hidden rhyme or reason to his playing, or if I'm just being dragged into such an insular world that I'm developing a sort of musical apophenia, I honestly can't tell.

More central to Jandek's guitar than tuning, strumming, plucking, rhythm, or technical ability is the simple, basic, emotional gut-reaction to it. At times it is quiet and slow, creeping about in an almost suffocatingly vast empty space. As songs build, the plucking becomes harsher, louder, and faster. At first the notes seem to linger threateningly in the air, before coming alive, flying at you, and attacking.

Over this cacophonous guitar, Jandek sings and whispers lyrics that are surreal and nightmarish, that ache painfully of desperation. While the lyrics may maintain a certain level of nonsensicalness, they reek of something deeply personal. You might not know what he's singing about, but you get the distinct sense that whatever it is, it is so serious, so intimate, that you shouldn't be listening to them. That you've inadvertently walked in on something that wasn't meant to be heard by anyone, least of all, you.

He may never yell or scream, but Jandek's voice follows the same pattern as his guitar playing. He often sings in a hushed whisper that suggests a deep resignation, but just as the guitar turns from haunting to dangerous, that resignation turns into a thinly veiled, barely controlled rage. That seeming desperation gives way to a base fury, as his voice rises and that whisper turns into strained harsh singing.

The two basic ingredients to Jandek's music, his guitar and his voice, echo and hiss, sounding like they were recorded in a large empty room in an old house. The sound of the recording suggest a man, sitting alone in a room with little to no furniture, in a decaying house out in the vast prairies and scrublands of East Texas. The echoing of his guitar and voice sound almost oppressively vast and empty, as if Jandek and his guitar were the only things as far as the eye could see. A single man, with his guitar, out in a harsh, wide-open landscape.

Another Jandek Update

I recently mailed in an order to Corwood Industries for some Jandek albums (see Part I and Part II for more information regarding Jandek). Trying to decide what to order seemed like a daunting task, seeing as his discography spans 30 years and 50 albums (including live albums, but not DVDs). After my friend Laura went and saw him live in Gainesville (he has been playing relatively more frequently the past few years) and reported back with nothing but glowing things to say about the performance, I finally decided to just bite the bullet and order some damn albums.

A combination of nerdy excitement about delving into an extremely obscure musician and gnawing fear that Jandek could disappear at any moment and I'd never be able to order more later prompted me to order 10 albums, roughly covering the duration of his discography. Here are the albums:

Six And Six (1981)

Living In A Moon So Blue (1982)

Chair Beside A Window (1982)

Interstellar Discussion (1984)

Foreign Keys (1985)

Blue Corpse (1987)

Glad To Get Away (1994)

New Town (1998)

This Narrow Road (2001)

Glasgow Sunday (live) (2005)

With the holidays coming up, I'll be spending about two weeks back in small town Michigan, so hopefully that will give me time to start pouring through hours of music. I'm planning on doing a ten-part series of individual reviews for each album, but I have the feeling that that might not totally pan out. We'll see.

In the meantime, here is the note that was included with my order:

Jandek Update

As I said at the end of my Jandek post, I was going to write to Corwood Industries to request a catalogue. I did just that, mailing my request the Monday after the initial post. By Friday, look what I found in the mail:



And yes, I redacted my full name and full address. This is the Internet people; I don't need that shit floating around in the ether. But I wanted to point out that that envelope is addressed by hand. That's probably Jandek's handwriting, right there on the envelope. Pretty sweet, right?

Also, here is the catalogue itself:



It's not so much a "catalogue" as a single piece of paper that looks to have been typed out by hand on a typewriter. I'll be spending at least part of this weekend doing some research into what are some good albums to start out with, that way I can mail my order on Monday. I'll keep the updates coming as I venture down the rabbit hole.

Jandek on Corwood

I’ve been fascinated by Jandek for a few years now. I don’t remember how I heard about him (I wish I did), but he has been one of those musicians I’d been meaning to listen to for years. I never have, because tracking down his music isn’t exactly easy. And here’s why:

Jandek is the pseudonym for a solo musician (real name unknown) apparently based out of the Houston area. In 1978 he self-released his debut album (as “The Units”) and sent it to various music magazines. The album was a single man speak-singing whispery stream-of-consciousness lyrics that were painfully personal over an acoustic guitar that seemed to be wildly out of tune and was played with hard single string plucking style. It was met with confusion, no one really seeming to know what to make of it. Jandek found one review in Option magazine to apparently be encouraging enough. A couple years later, Jandek released his follow-up, now calling himself “Jandek” after receiving a cease-and-desist order from a San Francisco band named “The Units”. He has continued to release roughly two albums a year ever since, making him one of the most prolific musicians in modern music.

Jandek has done this while maintaining what may be the lowest profile in the history of music. He has only conducted two interviews (one of which involved having drinking with friends and refusing outright to discuss his music), the occasional written correspondence, his first live appearance was in 2003, an unannounced concert appearance, and he has only played live a handful of times since. Some of his album covers feature pictures of a tall thin man with blond hair, and this is assumed to be Jandek, though there is nothing to suggest that it is actually him besides the fact that this man appears on multiple covers. Even these very limited contacts are all conducted under the guise of contacting “a representative of Corwood Industries,” a man claiming to not actually be the musician Jandek.

Corwood Industries is a company that appears to only exist as a PO Box in Houston, TX, and the only thing is seems to do is release Jandek albums. Up until recent years, if you wanted to contact Jandek or purchase one of his albums, you had to write to Corwood’s PO Box. Unless you lived near a record store that improbably carried Jandek albums, you had to simply send money and a request for a specific album, and hope that Corwood would fulfill your request and mail an album to you. In this, the Internet age, fans have created music videos to post on Youtube and someone has even created a Myspace page for him. There are even a couple of online music retailers that will now fulfill your Jandek orders. These all appear to be fan-driven developments, as Jandek still seems to only be available via Corwood’s PO Box (the same box for 30 years – PO Box 15375, Houston, TX, 77020).

As I said, I’d been curious about Jandek for a while now, and recently found out that Chad Freidrichs had released a documentary about Jandek in 2003. Jandek on Corwood seemed like the perfect way to dip my toe in the mysterious Jandek pool. Here is the trailer for Jandek on Corwood:

Jandek on Corwood consists of two basic elements. There are the sections made up of interviews with musicians, music writers, DJs, record store and record label owners who are all Jandek fans discussing Jandek. The other element is simply montages of imagery set to Jandek’s music. This second element is handled beautifully. The images that creep across the screen are perfectly matched to Jandek’s intense, raw, minimalist music that seems to ooze a sort of decrepit, timeless Americana. It is like watching a beautiful, haunting, long-form art house music video. If you have any interest in hearing what Jandek sounds like, these sections of the film provide an amazing introduction to the listening experience.

The interviews, on the other hand, are odd at first. It is apparent that the people being interviewed are by no means objective. They are fervent Jandek fans. They acknowledge that the music isn’t traditionally beautiful, and many times isn’t even remotely entertaining to listen to. But they have obviously bought into the mystery that is Jandek, they revel in playing the guessing game of who Jandek is, what his life is like, where this music comes from. They expound on what makes his music brilliant and singular. They discuss the elements that make art, especially outsider art, high quality. They seem to be almost making a sales pitch for Jandek.

At first this is off-putting, but after listening to the music, it becomes apparent what is happening. This is not the music that can generate casual fans. The only people who could possibly sit down and discuss this music are the people who have bought so whole-heartedly into what Jandek is doing and what he is about. Anyone who hears this music will have one of two reactions. Either they will abandon it and forget about it forever, or they will be drawn in and left endlessly fascinated by it. There simply is no one out there who can speak objectively about Jandek, he is simply too polarizing. Ultimately, you’re given something akin to an indepth tour through the cult fanbase of this wildly idiosyncratic musician.

Now that I’ve seen the movie and heard the music, what is my take? Personally, I’m hooked. Jandek’s music is intense, filled with such raw intimacy that it is almost scary to listen to. It is like you’re listening to something you’re not meant to listen to. The music brings to mind visions of a broken, reclusive man spewing his deepest, barest, most honest thoughts and emotions alone in an empty room. One of the contributors to the film described Jandek’s music as a 30+ part, 25+ year suicide note. Everything is imbued with such heavy finality, that every note seems like it might be the man’s last. While the content of Jandek’s music may not be that dire (though sometimes it is), the concept of listening for years to something as intimate as a suicide note written by a total stranger is not far off in describing the experience of listening to such emotionally raw music.

For a documentary about a reclusive musician, I found myself actually being kind of scared by the end. Listening to this unbelievably haunting music, seeing these images of rotting Americana, listening to people speak so obsessively about this man who has rarely been seen, whom no one knows, I felt like this is something I should stay away from.

But it’s too late. I’ll be writing to Corwood Industries, PO Box 15375, Houston, TX, 77020 to request my catalogue.