Here we are, less than a week from the first major slew of 2010 releases dropping, and I still have some unfinished 2009 business to attend to. There are a bunch of records released in the last quarter of last year that we didn’t get to, but for me, the most important one to weigh in on, regardless of the exceptional tardiness, is Daniel Johnston’s Is And Always Was.

Johnston’s seventh studio album, Is And Always Was, continues his recent streak of working with talented and unique producers to amplify the traditional singer-songwriter quirk and turn it into something new and unusual. Following previous partnerships with folks like Mark Linkous (Fear Yourself) and Brian Beattie (Rejected Unknown, Lost and Found), Johnston gave the production nod to Jason Falkner this go-round, a choice, having listened to this record countless times since its October release, that was as inspired as it was sound.

Falkner, who is known to enthusiasts from his work with artists like Air and Beck, does a great job of taking Johnston’s raw materials, namely his voice and his lyrics, and fusing them with rock arrangements that take the tracks to new levels. In so doing, he’s evolved Johnston’s traditional minimalistic, Beatles-esque sound into a fuller effort more akin to the post-Beatles work done by George Harrison and, especially, Paul McCartney in the 1970s. This new sound is as big and complex as anything Johnston’s done to date, save perhaps his short-lived garage experiment with some fellow Waller TX residents in Danny and the Nightmares.

Perhaps that’s why so much of the writing on the record seems like an effort on Johnston’s part to evoke “Daniel Johnston” the character rather than Daniel Dale Johnston the person. We don’t hear as many references to lost love and funeral homes on Is And Always Was, though the ones we do have – “Freedom” and “High Horse” – are pretty great. What we do hear, however, are a number of awkward references to Johnston’s mental illness (“Mind Movies”) and his previous releases (“Lost In My Infinite Memory”). It should be noted, though, that “I Had Lost My Mind” gets excused from this critique, despite the thematic similarities, since it is essentially an awesomely tricked-out reprise of a track from Johnston’s 1982 recording, Don’t Be Scared. It also has the whimsical and unforced self-deprecation of that era that seems to be missing from some of these heavy-handed songs.

This isn’t to slag on the man – he’s still my favorite songwriter and one of my most dearly beloved artists – but just to say that his writing on several songs seems unnecessarily referential to a particular popular portrayal of him as a person. The songs where Johnston’s not bogged down in perpetuating the myth, on the other hand, are some of the finest on the album (“Tears,” “Queenie the Dog,” “Is And Always Was,” and especially “Light of Day”).

These quibbles, however, will only resonate with longtime Johnston listeners, and even some of them won’t be bothered. Those new to Daniel Johnston or even heretofore unaware of his body of work are unlikely even to notice. Instead, most attention will be paid, and rightfully so, to the sonic compositions that Johnston and Falkner have created. Considered in that way, Is And Always Was is an incredibly successful effort, sprinkled with gems and smothered in charm.

The album begins almost deceptively, Johnston’s nervous warble and guitar only, but when the brief chorus (“And I love you so/And I can’t let go”) is repeated, it is accompanied by a spaced-out vibe that one hasn’t heard before on an original Johnston recording. Falkner’s involvement on the record – in addition to producing, Falkner also plays guitar, bass, and keys on numerous tracks – becomes more evident on the driving, dirty rock of “Fake Records of Rock n Roll – in Johnston’s own words, “a get-down boogie like never before” and Irish wake-style ditty in honor of a past pet on the hilarious and moving track “Queenie the Dog.” The absolute counter-point to Jason Lytle’s “Ghost of My Old Dog,” which is the musical equivalent of Old Yeller and, thus, impossible for me to listen to without choking up, “Queenie the Dog” is a song Phish could’ve written during the Junta sessions.. This song feels the way I earnestly hope to when my beloved beagle shuffles off this mortal coil, and finds Johnston at his most playful and light-hearted, singing strange lines about speaking dogs, werewolves, and howling at the sun with glee and love.

Throughout Is And Always Was, Johnston and Falkner change up the vibe. “High Horse” features delightful synth effects and a light echo, while “Without You” has a kitschy 80s contemporary sound that would be perfect as the theme song of a Night Court rom-com spin-off. The album’s title track, however, is a psychadelic swirl, vintage Daniel Johnston by way of Jefferson Airplane. The song focuses on self-loathing, religion, pop culture, and self-awareness, and the pairing of words with music brilliantly links the foreboding and fantastical dimensions with darker manifestations of romantic love. The preceding track, “Tears,” however, is an entirely different vehicle, all syncopation in the backseat with Johnston’s vocals and lyrics at the wheel on cruise control.

Along with “Tears,” the three stand-out tracks on this record include the reconditioned “I Had Lost My Mind,” which was used to great effect in this Austin-based musical about Johnston’s life and art, the album’s lead single “Freedom,” which was the stand-out song during Johnston’s performance in Ann Arbor last summer reviewed here, and, most definitely, the album’s terrifyingly genius closer, “Light of Day.” This 6 1/2 minute opus alone is worth the price of purchase for Is And Always Was. It is, in a word, WONDERFUL, the kind of song you just don’t want to end. While it does eventually end – everything does, eventually – the long stretch you get with it is a delectably slow jam, repetitive but hardly noticeably so, given the deep, deep groove Johnston gets to in the song. Longtime listeners who have not yet had the pleasure of hearing this song will probably be shocked to hear this, but there’s even a point in the track (at about 3:50) where you’ll find yourself fist-pumping. Part of that is because the song is just so damn good, but a lot of the credit in this track should go to session drummer Joey Waronker (REM, Beck, Smashing Pumpkins), who somehow resists what must have been biblical-scale urges to go with the thundersticks, and instead keeps things so laudably atmospheric your adrenalin will rise as high as its been since the last time you got mugged, but in a very good way.

In all, Is And Always Was amounts to incontrovertible evidence that Daniel Johnston the artist is still alive and kicking, but, at the same time, is at his best with the supportive guidance from a talented producer and musician like Jason Falkner (or Mark Linkous or Brian Beattie) and, maybe, a little encouragement to write songs about the now and even the future, rather than taking steps to keep in the spirit of the cariacature of his character that has developed since his post-The Devil and Daniel Johnston resurgence.

Daniel Johnston – Freedom