It’s like Jandek, W. says … Didn’t I teach him everything he knows about Jandek? Didn’t I instruct him? Didn’t I take him through the later albums one by one? I Threw You Away. The Gone Wait. The Ruins of Adventure. Raining Down Diamonds … What titles! What album sleeves!
Jandek only sings about suffering, I told W. Only despair, suffering and pain, and their variations. Jandek begins at the end, at the very end. And he somehow goes on from the very end. He somehow continues, beginning at the end and not relinquishing the end, a man alone in a room with a guitar, with a reel-to-reel tape recorder running. He goes on, plucking or strumming open strings, leaving them to rattle, crying and howling and moaning and gasping …
Jandek doesn’t teach us about the end of the world so much as the endlessness of the end, W. says.
I don’t know what to do except/ Sit in a chair/ Maybe walk around/ Once in a while/ But quick, back to that chair …
Let me tell you about my blues/ My blues have turned black/ Black, black, black, black, black …
The things Jandek’s known, W. says. The things he’s experienced. Jandek’s gone outside, W. says. Jandek’s stayed outside …
Lars Iyer's Blog 