Daniel Johnston is many things — a highly influential songwriter, a cult hero, a widely exhibited visual artist, an indie rock legend and a lo-fi pioneer — but he is anything but a consistent performer. At a show at last year’s South by Southwest conference in Austin, Texas, Johnston barely made it through a shambling set with his new band, the Nightmares. He forgot words and chords, made a number of offensive comments and gestures and played songs that few (if any) members of the audience knew.

None of this was entirely surprising: Johnston has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and has spent his entire life chronicling his struggles with mental illness through art. For every creative triumph that Johnston has experienced (and there have been many), he’s experienced a similar if not greater defeat, usually resulting directly from his vacillating condition. Without veering too far into the realm of exploitation (Johnston fans already occupy a precarious ground that lies at the crossroads between reverence, sympathy, contempt and wonder), I can recommend the 2005 documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston, if you’re not entirely familiar with Johnston’s backstory.

Setting aside the considerable myth of Daniel Johnston, I can say that Daniel Johnston the man was very much present at the Black Cat on Saturday night, turning in a passionate, affecting set that touched on many of his catalog’s highlights. Flipping through his trademark manila folder full of song lyrics, Johnston seemed at once both crippled by anxiety and completely at ease. Fists balled at his sides, he rarely made eye contact with the audience, choosing instead to focus his attention on the microphone in front of him. He did, however, manage to crack a few well-received jokes in between songs. “Alright Washington D.C., how’s the president been?” he quipped at the end of opening number, “Mean Girls Give Pleasure”, immediately adding that he doesn’t pay much attention to politics. “Didn’t the last two presidents look about the same?”