Danielson at Beachland Ballroom 7/27

Well, there are certain artists that I alternate between

a.appreciating their originality and creative contribution to society as a whole and

b.getting the living crap annoyed out of (how's that for an awkward use of the passive voice)

They Might Be Giants, Stereolab, Brian Eno, punk rock, The Aquabats, etc. No one hits the extremes for me as much as Danielson though.

My mental process goes something like "how did he develop his vocal style? that's real-- [screech] please just stop singing! i had inner ear surgery as a child, have mer...oh, interesting chord progression"... it's really quite difficult to ascertain whether I hate, or love him. And that's sort of a disconcerting feeling for anyone to have, but particularly so for someone as opinionated as I am.

And I've been trying to figure this out ever since I became aware of Sufjan Stevens circa Michigan and talked to my friends about him. They had previously only known him through affiliation with the Br. Danielson AKA Daniel Smith. It's been a weary road.

This has been exacerbated by the fact that media darlings Pitchfork suddenly changed their pan-Danielson policy from sardonic jabs at his faith mixed with sardonic jabs at his unique voice to if you love him so much, why don't you just marry him? Suddenly he's elevated from reviled cult-star to hipster icon complete with a showcase at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago? What gives?

I do kind of like that one song "Did I Step on your Trumpet?" though. A little more focused from a song-writing standpoint. I put it on my current mixtape for my car (in lieu of my broken iPod) and I've been enjoying it pretty well.

So when my liscence-less friend asked for a ride to Cleveland to go see him, I obliged. And also in order to satisfy my curiosity, I finally decided to see what this guy looked like. I braved flash flood warnings and four mysteriously wrecked cars on the side of I-71 to find out. And he looks like a cross between Lance Armstrong and Charlie Brown.

Well, Danielson and the Famile, replete with police uniforms and striped slacks (with the exception the dour and creepy Sister Megan) were in all their glory at the Beachland Ballroom. Danielson transformed from a mild-mannered, wine buying short polo-shirted guy that was ignored at the bar to a guitared ring-wraith and center of attention to a diverse crowd of hipsters.

They played mostly stuff off their new record, Ships, and a few things out of the catalogue. And you know what, I enjoyed the spectacle and may be able to listen to some of the recorded music with a refreshed perspective. Live music can have that healing effect.