Have You Ever Heard of Jandek?
With most acts, their greatest, most defining (most, indeed, definitive) work is pretty obvious; even the most long-running, much-lauded band having the generally-settled-upon classics. That's not the case with outsider artist Jandek, a musician-as-myth whose relentless, ever-expanding discography is all about the cumulative experience.
For over 30 years, a reclusive musician, based in Houston, has been releasing records, at a rate of two or three a year, through an imprint known only as Corwood Industries. Issued under the name Jandek, they've been almost entirely the work of one individual; studies in hermetic isolationism in which one man tunelessly moans a death blues over a guitar strung to no known 'traditional' tuning.
If Jandek had must made one record once and then fallen into obscurity, he'd more happily fit the familiar role of the 'lost' savant; figures like Syd Barrett or Skip Spence who authored solo albums and then plunged into the abyss of mental illness. But Jandek is some sort of Calvinist artist; a workhorse who bankrolled his own staggering output back when nobody at all wanted to listen to his stark, atonal take on deconstructed blues.
It is the sheer immensity of Jandek's body-of-work that is, apparently, its most impressive quality; his persistence showing that this is not some one-off goof-off or a psych-ward valentine, but a serious art-project made with definite intent. The cumulative experience is one that accrues a newfound respect for Jandek, but also that gathers a creepy residue that doesn't wash off.
The Man from Corwood
Yet, a case could be made that instead of needing to experience Jandek en masse, to feel the full weight of his colossal discography, that taking out one record as a single study is just as valuable, and maybe more rewarding. Given Jandek records are hardly a pleasure to listen to, spending quality time with one, rather than transient time with many, seems like a far more valid way of studying this singular, far-fringe musical figure. And, if you're going to pick out one record, 1982's Chair Beside a Window is an obvious case study.
The fourth album from Corwood Industries is both representative of the greater Jandek oeuvre and notably different to it, too. From the moment he moans "We can't deny there's spirits in this house" on opening, it's an achingly sad LP, wherein Jandek bashes out a startling, electrified, freeform, totally atonal death blues from unspooling tangles of unwound guitar.
But, Chair Beside a Window marks two notable beginnings: it the first time he'd ever used electric guitar or drums, and the first time he's collaborated with other musicians. They turn out to be a pair of sisters named Pat and Nancy, and it's the latter that steals the show.
On the mundanely titled "Nancy Sings," Nancy's quivering voice and Jandek's choppy, irregular guitar-patterning recall strange-folk boy/girl collaborateurs Kath Bloom and Loren Mazzacane Connors, as well as presaging, for one, the future desert-drone-blues of the almighty Charalambides.
It's possibly the most beautiful song on any of the dozens upon dozens of records disseminated by Corwood; a moment of genuine beauty glinting like a diamond amidst a dark, dank career normally reveling in the utterly ugly.
Record Label: Corwood Industries
Release Date: early 1982
