It's not a syndrome I've ever been entirely comfortable with. I'm sure there are people out there who truly derive some listening pleasure out of music by those two, or Jandek, or whichever your Outsider Artist du jour happens to be, but I'm not one of them. Not long ago, when folks flocked to see Wesley Willis, prior to his untimely demise, I had to wonder how many people in the audience truly enjoyed his music and how many simply wanted to indulge in the all American sport of laughing at someone less fortunate than themselves. I doubt the self-confessed BJ Snowden "fanatic" that I punched time with at a chain store warehouse really spent as much time listening to Snowden as she did talking about Snowden. If she had, she might have shut up occasionally and appreciated the music for what it was.

On the other end of the spectrum you have those who are so strait-jacketed by their own misguided sensitivity that they would never dream of patronizing the work of a schizophrenic obese Black man. This may be because they're so concerned with the idea of exploitation that they inadvertently end up stifling artistic expressions from segments of the population that need it the most.

The context matters as well. Undoubtedly, when Jello Biafra stumbled across Willis and signed him to Alternative Tentacles, he was sincere in his appreciation of Willis' work. But once the novelty starved hordes discovered Willis, he was regulated to the "noble savage" status that instantly diminished his material. (And without getting too political about it, I can't help but note that both Willis and Snowden are Black, and their fan bases consist almost exclusively of privileged White kids). Again, I wonder how many of the Willis fans out there actually sat down and listened to his records. The mentality of those who go see Cat Power in the secret hope that she'll have a nervous breakdown onstage is not a whit different from the ghouls who attend NASCAR with their fingers crossed for a fiery crash. Who gives a damn about the people involved? We need our entertainment!

What I can say is that Gary Wilson is an outsider artist by any stretch of the term, and that when my friend Geoff first played "You Think You Really Know Me?" at his record store, I was captivated. Gary was (and is ) the real deal; art without artifice. "You Think You Really Know Me" -- Wilson's 1977 one man debut -- stands as one of the starkest artistic statements I have ever come across. Yes, there was the novel quality of a man ranting about chromium bitches and red red lips over eviscerated jazz licks. But novelty lasts only a few spins. The music is a near indescribable mix of new wave weirdness, lounge lizard suavity and hopeless yearning, all emanating from a basement in Endicott, New York. At the core of the record was the same immediacy, the same lack of artifice and total directness that is so rare in any medium. Few works have ever quite had the same effect on me; perhaps Abel Ferrara's first few movies, Mark Lanegan's "Whiskey For The Holy Ghost" and the "I-Ching" demo by The Mob are the only ones that come close.

Adrian Milan and Christian Bates sum this up nicely in the liner notes to the Motel Records re-issue of "You Think You Really Know Me". Bates and Milan wrote: "A generation later, we hear this music in a new context only to realize that it's probably still a bit ahead of its time. Maybe because there is nothing quite like it, and at times, quite frankly, you'll realize nothing else will do".

Wilson's eccentricities and history are well documented at this stage. What I hoped to do with this interview is be able to shed a little more light on his musical background and work itself. I thank Gary for taking the time to do the interview, and also Melinda McCreven, Miguel Garcia and Geoff Grunkmeyer for all helping out substantially in one way or another.

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What were some of your first musical memories? Because you got started quite young… 

My first memory of music was probably my father.  He was a musician.  He played string bass in a quartet.  He had a good gig.  Twenty five years, three nights a week at the local Endicott hotel lounge.  He also worked for IBM for 40 years.  I started getting into music around third grade (8 years old).  I played in the local school chamber groups (cello and string bass).  I continued this through high school.  I started to take an interest in the music of Dion, Bobby Rydell, Fabian, Frankie Avalon, in fourth grade (nine years old).  I joined the Dion fan club and wrote my first song when I was nine years old.  

What was Endicott like?

The town of Endicott, New York, where I grew up, had some real good musicians living there.  Endicott is about ten miles from Binghamton, New York where Rod Serling (Twilight Zone) is from.  Johnny Hart (BC comics) also lived in the area.  Since my father and uncle were working musicians in the area, I had an early exposure to music.  The town was sort of conservative, so I went the opposite way and went for the most avant garde music and art.  I did many art shows when I was young.  Very experimental.  Finding outlets for the avant garde sometimes was a problem in a small town but I managed to find the appropriate places… but sometimes I felt I was in the wrong place for what I was doing. 

Tell me a little about your first band "Lord Fuzz".

Lord Fuzz was a band I joined when I was in eighth grade (13 years old).  My father bought my brother and I a Farfisa Combo Compact and a Danoelectro amplifier.  Lord Fuzz needed an organ player and they had the gigs so I joined the band.  We were all thirteen years old, local Italian boys from the neighborhood.  We played every week in a teen center or high school, battle of the bands, etc.  A great time for young teenagers.  At the time we did mostly covers of the better sixties music.  Lord Fuzz had a good sound.  We cut a single, "Move On" and "The Freak" when we were in ninth grade.  I wrote the music.  A couple of years later, the lead singer, Tom Lababara, left the band and I transformed it into an experimental rock band.  Soon we became Dr. Zork and the Warts. 

You met with John Cage once, correct? 

John Cage was my hero when I was thirteen years old (and still is).  I was playing in the local youth symphony and school orchestra and began writing avant garde classical pieces.  Our local chamber group would give performances of my works.  This led me to sending John Cage some of my music when I was 14 years old.  Mr. Cage invited me to his home in Haverstraw, New York (outside of NYC).  I spent three days with John Cage (one on one).  I remember my mother driving me to Haverstraw from Endicott.  She got lost in the woods near John Cage's house.  John Cage came out and picked me up in his car and drove me to his house.  I remember making small talk with John Cage as he drove me to his house.  He went over my scores with me.  A great man.  A wonderful moment in my life.  I saw John Cage, shortly before his death at UCSD in San Diego.  I went up to him and said, "Mr. Cage, do you remember me from 30 years ago."  He said he did and I handed him a copy of my E.P., "This Is Why I Wear My Wedding Gown". 

You were in New York when punk was really taking off. What did you think of it? 

I released "You Think You Really Know Me" in 1977.  New York and CBGB's was exploding and all the punk bands were out in force.  I liked Talking Heads, Television, Patti Smith, etc.  I was also listening to Herbie Hancock, Keith Jarrett, Patty Waters, Miles Davis, Don Cherry, Ornette Coleman, Pharaoh Sanders, Burton Green and Barry White.  I guess I was an outcast even in the New York music scene.  I would show up with a Fender Rhodes piano and the punks would start yelling at me. 

What were your early shows like as Gary Wilson? I've heard they were pretty insane. What was the story with flour and milk being dumped everywhere?

So what was a typical Gary Wilson show?

A typical show in my early years usually ended up with the club owner or promoter screaming at us, pulling the plug on us and the audience wanting to kill us.  We had to have a number of police escorts out of the club because the audience, and the club owner wanted to harm us.  I enjoyed the tension and would play off of the audience reaction.  Usually we were not invited back to perform.  New York City was a little more open and understanding of my music and show.  I always enjoy playing New York City.  Now the audience sings the words to my songs at my performances.  A big change from the early days. 

You sing quite a bit about girls, care to comment further? 

My current girlfriend, Mary doesn't like me to talk about the "other" girls in my life.  The girls that I sing about on my records, Debbie, Linda,  Karen, etc., are real girls that I have known and dated.  Some girls I've known for a short time.  Others longer.  I have named my mannequins after the girls I have dated. (This sounds like a great idea- Sascha).  They usually come to my shows.  Then I put them back into my closet.  The mannequins get jealous of one another when I bring them on the stage. 

Just what does "6.4=Makeout" really mean? What did it mean in 1977 as opposed to now?

My new record is called "Mary Had Brown Hair" and it is released on Stones Throw Records.  When Motel Records went out of business, Stones Throw Records wanted to release some new music from me.  I said sure, let's do it.  I had been working on some new things and I sent the new songs to Peanut Butter Wolf at Stones Throw. He (Stones Throw) decided to release  "Mary Had Brown Hair".  Stones Throw has been very good to me. 

GARY WILSON CURRENTLY LIVES IN SAN DIEGO. HIS FAVORITE COOKIES ARE PIZZELLES. 6.4=MAKEOUT FOREVER.