Note: This piece comes from our newest contributor, Callie Windle. We’re glad to welcome her to DayBowBow.
By Callie Windle
Artists aren’t what they used to be. Purveyors of opinion and story, their works were intentional portions of self, carefully served to us–their viewers and listeners–hungry for truth and reality.
We feasted on Dylan, his words becoming the sustenance for our young and rebellious spirits; we savored Frida Kahlo, each morsel seasoned with pain and loss; and we could feel awkward originality in every bite of Vonnegut. The artists were part of our lives, and they themselves became part of us.
Today’s “artist” is more often comparable to a children’s meal at a fast food joint. Their packaging is equally as, if not more, important as the substance. The bright colors distract us from what we’re really getting: over-priced, unnourishing snacks. They don’t satisfy, and they don’t stay with us for very long—one-hit-wonders crowd shelves at Half-Price Books stores across the nation.
There are, however, exceptions—artists who carry on the traditions of old, folding love into the batter of their words and sprinkling conviction on their musical snow peas. And occasionally they give us even more—innovation. Daniel Smith is one of these artists.
The frontman for Danielson Famile, Smith is well-acquainted with the arts. Though he is mainly known for his musical endeavors, the New Jersey native is also a visual artist, and his album covers offer listeners a peek at his work.
More than that, Smith is no stranger to the discomfort that often accompanies the different, the unknown. His music has been the subject of much debate, even leading to a documentary, Danielson: a Family movie (2006).
Smith and I recently talked during his afternoon break from mixing Norwegian band I Was a King.
What follows is a glimpse into that old world of true artistry.
