I’m walking down the crowded sidewalk at Bumbershoot, a local Seattle music and arts festival, en route to see Ani Difranco, and have to stop because the sidewalk is clogged with people. From behind the clog comes the sound of an accordion and yelling, then the section of crowd nearest me yells “ARRRR,” answered by an adjacent “DiVARK.” The ARRR and the DiVARK grow louder and closer together until it becomes apparent--Aardvark! I rush on, late as usual. Later I hear that a sidewalk performer named Jason Webley was permanently banned from Bumbershoot for leading a group of people into the large fountain. Later still, I put the two events together, did some web searching, bought some CDs (for 8 bucks! each), saw a couple of concerts, and, quite simply, became a huge fan.
Jason Webley is one of the most unusual and compelling performers I’ve stumbled across in recent years. He plays accordion in the style of a northern European, pens his own songs, is enormously charming and charismatic, and puts on concerts that are often more like performance art. His voice has been compared to the gravelly bone-scraping of Tom Waits. He has been known to cavort with vegetables and lead parades of fans down major thoroughfares. Yearly, Webley symbolically dies and is resurrected. As one viewer described “the concert culminated with Webley’s hair being shorn off by three women, his placement in a glass coffin, and removal by a hearse.” At another show he crawled out of the water onto a ferry wearing only a package and a thong. At yet another show he led the audience to Lake Union, then swam out to a boat piloted by a mysterious woman and disappeared. Clearly this is not your average folk troubadour. Jason currently has 3 CDs available,
Viaje (1998), Against the
Night (1999) and Counterpoint (2002). These, along with biographical and tour information is available at his website www.jasonwebley.com.
Over the past few months I conducted an e-mail interview with Jason, catching him as he was heading off to Russia for a tour, and following him through that tour.
What or who was your major influence in the marriage of music and theatre that you often achieve in your concerts, which are at times almost operatic?
I don’t know. I used to do a lot of theater. I remember being really in love with the idea of musical theater, but when I would go see big productions they left me totally cold. Opera is the same for me usually. I guess I have a desire to transcend this coldness. I'd like to make music driven theatrical events that really pull you along somewhere. I guess, I try to create the things I wish someone would create for me.
In your concerts, you seem to strive hard to make a real connection with the audience. In doing so, you often exert a rather incredible influence/power over people. Does that ever scare you?
Yes. Of course. It is a strange thing when you build something and then people come to inhabit it. It is also a wonderful thing. It has in theory scared me, but I trust myself. I trust my impulses and the world around me. And I still spend a lot of time before each big concert pacing around and worrying about this sort of thing. But generally when it is unfolding I release this. I think my actual power over people is actually quite limited. I don't really know what to say about this . . .
It is important to me that people connect with what they are seeing take place in a more direct way than most entertainment asks for or encourages. I want people to remember these experiences not just in their heads but in their bodies. And I know that for a lot of people these kind of situations bring up bad associations- Nazi Germany, cults, organized religion period. This makes them distrustful, afraid.
I think in this world today it takes courage to approach things with trust and openness. And trust and openness are great tools.
What was the most unusual spontaneous event to ever happen at one of your concerts?
The whole business with the fountain [At the 2002 Seattle Bumbershoot music festival Jason led a group of fans into the giant fountain at Seattle Center] was great because it was completely unplanned, but followed an uncanny logic. I announced to the crowd before intending to go in the fountain that it would probably be my last concert at Bumbershoot. Even when we went into the water I had no intention of climbing on top until people began pushing me up. Then after they arrested me and told me I couldn't play at Bumbershoot anymore, I couldn't stop smiling.
Next page: "We rarely get what we expect"
