At the end of my interview with Art Paul Schlosser, he said something probably unprecedented in interviewing history.
\No matter what you decide to write, let's be friends,"" he said, smiling sincerely as I stood to leave him to the remains of his double cheeseburger, fries and Dr. Pepper in a booth at State Street Brats.
If you have met Art Paul, a Madison musician, painter and public access television host who personifies ""local color,"" you shouldn't be surprised that he would end an interview uniquely. Indeed, any chat that begins with one party removing a wire-hanger/kazoo-suspension apparatus from around his neck is bound to be memorable.
Born in Elmhurst, Ill., in 1960, Art Paul moved to Madison to live with his uncle Karl on the East Side as a boy. There, Art Paul got from his family the urge to create. ""My sister encouraged me to be an artist,"" he says.
A street musician for 17 years, this elder statesman of outdoor guitar performance wrings smiles, gazes of wonderment and even looks of alarm and taunts from State Street passersby who often just don't get him.
In an inimitable style that mixes whacked-out lyrical humor with deadpan artistic aplomb, Art Paul kicks out acoustic jams that range from funny to sad and from sarcastic to religious. A prolific songwriter, he has made 12 compact discs, most sporting self-illustrated covers. You will rarely see him without pockets full of them.
Like a jukebox in a sweater and scarf, give him a dollar or even 50 cents, and you can select a live performance, frequently with kazoo accompaniment, from a catalog that includes such laughers as ""I Don't Want to Find Waldo"" or ""I Want a Date With the Menard's Lady,"" the hip-hop inspired ""Pink Pants"" or Art Paul's current gospel favorite, ""Jesus is My Savior.""
But Art Paul's importance as a State Street icon is more than the sum of the messages in the music he plays. Art has a lot to say about being an artist whose livelihood depends on a rapidly changing downtown.
""It's going to be a big corporate mall,"" he says, noting the effect chain stores have on local flavor.
""Have you ever seen a folksy musician playing at Starbucks?"" he asks, in sad recognition of what could be the demise of his profession.
Just as some don't understand what is wrong with bland, distant corporations steamrolling independent State Street enterprises, Art Paul knows that some people don't ""get"" what he is doing. But he says his real fans see his message.
""They understand that I'm not the greatest comedian in the world. I'm not a lead guitarist,"" he says. ""I'm just singing a song or two.""
And to critics and doubters too jaded to see the decidedly unsubtle humor and warmth in an Art Paul live performance, he poses a very sensible question:
""What do you want for almost free?""
Art Paul knows that some people are always going to think his music, his ever-present paintings and he, himself, are strange. And he doesn't care.
""Maybe normal is actually weird,"" he suggests, turning the tables on those who glance uncomfortably or laugh nervously as they hurry past a true State Street treasure.
""How crazy am I if I'm doing what I like?""
