For Wesley Willis, nothing starts a show better than a good head-butt. The schizophrenic, obese lyricist dispensed several of his trademark greetings to fans before he performed at The Continental last Thursday night, after the show was moved from the Mohawk Place due to an oversized crowd of about 90 people.
During the performance of the opening acts, The Snot Rockets and Angry Atom, Willis could be seen lounging in a chair across from the bar. As people would timidly approach him to express their appreciation for his humorous material, Willis would reach up, grab them from behind their necks and give a couple of friendly head-butts. It was nothing extreme, just enough to say, "Hey, thanks for coming tonight."
Kicking off his show, the sound technician announced to the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr. Wesley Willis."
Willis then stood up and proceeded to walk towards the opposite direction of the stage.
"He'll be on right when he gets done in the big boy's room," said the technician.
Adorned in a bright orange hunter's cap, Willis triumphantly made his way to the stage after his bathroom break. Due to his weight, he had to be helped up onto the stage; even with the aid of a step, he could not manage on his own. For anyone interested in the cause of his physical condition, read the lyrics to his song, "I'm Sorry That I Got Fat."
Willis was then assisted into his folding chair and he settled in behind his keyboard. Propped in front of the keyboard were a pair of bull's horns with a doll of Jack Skellington from "The Nightmare Before Christmas" strapped to the top.
He opened his show with "Osama Bin Laden," though the Willis song, "Rock Saddam Hussein's Ass," would have been more appropriate.
Despite some of the song's serious content about how the al-Qaeda leader "killed 3,100 people," nobody in the audience could hold back their laughter. At least not with lyrics like, "You are a no good bastard as I speak. You are a stupid, a- jerk of no-knowledge."
It was not so much what he said but how he said it. At The Continental show, it appeared he could invoke laughter simply by speaking with his indecipherable voice. The only words that stuck out in any song were expletives.
Perhaps the most entertaining facet of his performance was the introduction of each song, due to the obscenely odd titles, including "Suck My Doberman's Dick" and "I Whupped Batman's A-," along with the fact that he'd repeat the title no less than 10 times before playing. But it grew tiresome after the fourth or fifth song.
A trademark of the Willis show, the performer simply pressed a button on the keyboard and the pre-recorded beats would sound. As always, the title of the song was sung (or more appropriately, wailed) about four times in the chorus.
It was actually a bit sad to witness the way that people are willing to cheer and pay Willis to do this, as his fans have done for years. The musician was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 1989 after he and his mother were robbed in their apartment in a Chicago slum. He has been afflicted with it since. The voices in his head, or the "demons" as he dubs them in interviews, have often interfered with his life.
In his aptly titled song, "Chronic Schizophrenia," Willis has related his experience: "But when I have bad luck, I'll always hear evil voices talking to me vulgar/Everywhere I go riding on the C.T.A. (Chicago Transportation Authority) bus, all I hear is vulgarity/I hear no music at all."
Music was the artist's outlet to fight the voices, and Willis's quirky lyrics in songs such as, "Casper the Homosexual Friendly Ghost" and "They Kicked Me Out of Church," has made him a cult star.
The fact that people could talk to this guy as if he was a musician, or even a respectable novelty act, is remarkable. But as he pulls in crowds who cheer and chortle during his shows, it begs the question, are they laughing with or at a man that cannot help but write, sing and play the way he does?
Opening the show to an entirely different beat were hometown heroes "The Snot Rockets," who kicked it off with their Irish-punk sound and novel stage persona. The first few songs of their set were fun, well constructed and easy on the ears, especially for a developing punk band.
The absolute highlight of their performance occurred when lead singer Snot Lester asked the audience, "Anybody want to play the drums?"
One young man responded instantly and jumped on the stage. Guitarist Dr. Flip offered a few riffs from the upcoming song and the new drummer instantly improvised like a pro.
"Angry Atom," a punk rock trio from Minnesota, followed The Snot Rockets.
There is little that distinguishes them from anyone else of their genre. The group used typical, two-part vocal harmonies broken into thirds - a fixture of punk choruses - and they used the technique in nearly every song.
The crowd response started off positive, but the audience could sense their dwindling creativity as the set wore on.
