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Recent Articles
Recent Articles by Ray Cummings
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National Features >
Houston Press
What mainstream publishers don't want you to know about door-to-door magazine sales.
By Craig Malisow
Riverfront Times
When these huntresses on are on the prowl, the prey very much wants to be caught.
By Unreal
Broward-Palm Beach New Times
How rumored McCain veep choice Charlie Crist wants to bail out Big Sugar.
By Bob Norman
SF Weekly
Are Asian women getting their jawbones cut to look whiter?
By Lauren Smiley
Daniel Johnston
Published on February 06, 2008
Yo La Tengo collaborated with him; the late Kurt Cobain threw him all sorts of authenticity props; members of Sonic Youth rescued him on the streets of New York City during a psychological episode; Jeff Feuerzeig patched together a 2005 indie-film-circuit documentary about him. Bipolar and crushingly naive, 47-year-old Daniel Johnston is the sort of underground pop songwriter who's perpetually doomed to niche underground adoration—no matter how many new albums and best-of comps are issued or how many mainstream admirers (Beck, Kimya Dawson, Wilco, Pearl Jam, etc.) cover his tunes or insert them into films. His child-like flights of fancy and romantic distress signals come equipped with a precociously high-pitched, zig-zag-ouch singing style that brings to mind Half Japanese's Jad Fair—another minor countercultural figure soldiering valiantly on in the impassive face of total commercial indifference. Forget Ron Paul—Johnston needs and deserves your monetary vote; the dude lives with his parents in Texas. Let's all chip in and help save a career headed for footnote status, right below Eugene Kelly. 18+.
Fri., Feb. 8, 8 p.m., 2008