Gary Wilson's Mary Had Brown Hair

In the very same moments when Punk rock was saying fuck you to the previous generation’s current decadence and disco techniques, Gary Wilson self-released an album called “you think you really know me”, doing it himself like so many others in 1977.  He preluded the synth craze of the 80’s with a concoction of strange sounds, funkadelic grooves, and lyrics that would make any woman’s skin crawl if only it were in the form of a silent love poem, unadulterated by the all those outlandish and distracting sounds.  His performances were (and still are) a spectacle as well- he always wears sunglasses and a wig, and on stage he will wrap bags around himself and his band with electric tape or whatever he can find. Costuming has also been DIY for Gary.  After releasing “you think you know me”, Gary stopped recording, though he claims that he still performed in smaller venues in Southern California that unfortunately did not receive him well, and the 600 albums that circulated New York and other places created a slight cult following of this clearly novel and strange mystery man that seemed to have disappeared from even the underground media’s watchful eye. Gary resurfaced in 2002, when Motel Records re-released “you think you really know me”  and “forgotten lovers” in 2003.  Unfortunately, they went under shortly after the 2003 release, but almost instantly Stones Throw Record’s Peanut Butter Wolf saw his opportunity and swooped Gary from the depths and now he resides in the hip hop label that takes a special interest in funk and funky beats.  Mary had Brown Hair is the first album released by Stone’s Throw in 2004.  It meets all expectations of a fan expecting more creepy songs about girls that you can dance lonely to, and new comers are in for a rare delicacy.

            His music is ridiculous.  It is jazzy and funky and under the influence of other worldly substances.  All of this accompanying even more absurd chants and repetitive pleas to Linda and Debbie to just pay attention to him.  Even at his creepiest in songs like “Gary’s in the park” and “Mary had Brown Hair”, I can’t help but laugh and think about when I was twelve and stalked other boys in that harmless leaving-mix-tapes-in-your-mail-box kind of way; the most harmless thing a fixated person can do is give the gift of music, free of sexual perversion and any cause for real alarm.  His music has been a healing tool for me at times when I have gotten a little too crazy with the boyfriend, too.  When my boyfriend and I would get into arguments while I was overseas, I was forced to either listen to Gary or whine to other people about my problems.  Realizing that other people probably didn’t care, I was able to detect the absurdities in my own dramatic life in Gary Wilson’s swanky and at times sleazy songs that make me shudder and giggle at the same time- a truly uncomfortable sensation.  Gary’s woes were mine, and if he could give me the worst in himself then I could loosen up a bit, too.

            But, who is the man underneath the trash bags and behind the sunglasses? The album only further mystifies the innocent maniac and brings us closer to his obsessive persona, a past filled with women and pubescent woe. We know the women by name, Linda, Debbie, Lisa, Shauna, Mary, Cindy, even Frank Roma, the guy that Gary spotted kissing Linda, but Gary refers to himself in the third person in many instances and alters between his regular speaking voice and a high pitched chipmunk, probably generated without the aide of any machines. 55 year old Gary allows himself many different personalities that have the capacity to love so many different women based on a few dates and an adolescent fantasy. His music is obsessive , insane, experimental, but that the lyrics spread themselves so thinly over an array of similar scenarios lends little to any potential depth to Gary’s purposely veiled identity. I watched his documentary today and it did not give me much else to work with.  After seeing award winning documentaries on artists like Daniel Johnston and The Brian Jonestown massacre, I was spoiled with the expectation that every documentary conveyed a defined purpose, -giving the viewer an intimate portrait of the artists(s) with the intention of explaining either the music or the artist’s path. Something like that.  But “You think you really know me” was more a sloppy synopsis of how Motel Records was able to discover Gary before anyone else, allotting them a prized amount of street cred.  I even got acquainted with Frank Roma, but the documentary didn’t really go into any detail on Roma’s relationship with Linda. During many instances Gary showed himself without anything covering himself, but I still didn’t discover the man I wanted to meet.  I wasn’t satisfied; the convoluted compositions weren’t given any story except a jazz background and an obsession with John Cage and Dion.  I suppose  the music is the only place to uncover, or atleast appreciate, the mystery of the small town freak form Endicott, New York.