The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #300

#300: "Chronic Schizophrenia" (2000) - Wesley Willis

He whupped Batman, but later the Birdman whupped him. Even though he knew Jesus was the answer, they threw him out of church. He broke out your winshield, but STP conked out his engine, 'cause Kris Kringle was a car thief. The termites ate his house up, and he's sorry he got fat. He was a rock; he was a roll; he was Wesley Willis.

Willis was a street musician of sorts, recording thousands of songs (on over fifty albums) at home on his Technics keyboard. He'd then hit the subways and streets of Chicago, perform, and hawk his CDs. In the '90s, word started getting around about Willis's singular style, and he started to grow a cult following--so much so that American Records signed him, and noted artists played for him and asked him to open shows for them. In 2004, one of his songs was prominently featured in a movie. None of this information would seem surprising if it came from, say, some normal indie band or folk-singing chanteause. Wesley Willis was neither of those, though; in fact, Wesley Willis wasn't quite normal at all.

Willis was a schizophrenic. He had daily visions of demons, and he fought hard not to hit these monsters with bricks while traveling on the subway (which was good for the demons, because they usually manifested themselves in the bodies of ordinary people). These demons and other monsters (referenced in song titles such as "Vampire Bat," "Electric Eel," and "The Chicken Cow") troubled Willis terribly, so he'd sing about his "warhellrides" with them--sometimes he'd be victorious, sometimes not--in order to exorcise them. He'd also sing about his "harmony joy rides"--his favorite musical acts, in songs such as, "Urge Overkill," "Stabbing Westward," and "Mojo Nixon." Willis also had to give some shout outs to his friends, so he'd write songs about them, like "Dale Meiners," "Caryn Shaffer," and "Tammy Smith." Crime fascinated Willis, and he'd sing about the terrible exploits of the criminals in tunes such as,"Al Capone," "Richard Speck," and "Larry Nevers/Walter Budzyn."

In all of these songs (and almost every other), Willis used the same basic structure:

• brief keyboard intro
• first verse (usually about four lines)
• chorus (the song's title repeated four times)
• second verse (usually about two lines)
• chorus
• keyboard solo
• third verse (usually about two lines)
• chorus
• outro (always "Rock over London/Rock on Chicago" followed by a product and its slogan)

The music rarely varies, too: Willis used his Technics keyboard's preprogrammed melody to create the tune (the same one) for all his songs, though he would always adjust the key and vary the tempo for different songs (Willis never actually, truly, "played" the keyboard). Willis's singing style varied between spoken-word (for the verses) and off-key (not purposefully) singing (for the chorus). He seldom changed these patterns.

If his music was so formulaic (and it was), then why the cult following? Part of it surely comes from derision, as Willis's songs make for prime picking. The longer you listen to his oeuvre, though, the more you start to see Willis's music as a portrait of the artist as a conflicted man, at times full of joy, at times full of pain. Sometimes it's funny, and sometimes it's frightening (and, quite often, it's vulgar, but I believe that Willis's frequent outbursts of profanity were symptoms of his disorder). And sometimes, in songs like "Chronic Schizophrenia," the effect is tragic, as here Willis lucidly details how his mind starts to slip away, and the soft, electronic, factory-set music--set here in a minor key--provides the moody bed in which Willis's tale lies.

Willis's music isn't going to be for everyone; it's outsider music, and it's definitely an acquired taste. At first listen, you may laugh, or you may think it's the worst thing you've ever heard. Listen again, though--and again, and again--and you might start to hear the art inside the artifice.

Sadly, the vultures ate Wesley Willis's dead ass up in 2003, as he succumbed to leukemia...but hopefully not before he took that harmony joy bus ride to the sky. Rock over London. Rock on Chicago. Wesley Willis: music of champions.