Remembering My Dad Through His Old Record Collection...

 Larry E. Johnson, Nov 16, 1937 - Dec 16, 2000

My dad loved music.

He grew up on bluegrass and western swing. His father played guitar, banjo, and other stringed instruments, and his mother played ukulele and mandolin. When my dad was very young he learned the accordion and harmonica. Later, in his early twenties, he learned the guitar, and he would often  play around the house. He also aspired to be a jazz drummer, and would tinker around on my drum kit.

 My grandparents, Ray Ezra Johnson and Marian (Hagerman) Anderson

When I was growing up, he had a Zenith record player/stereo on the "buffet table" in our dining room, with speakers on the floor underneath. He would spend hours sitting at the dinner table listening to records, drinking a beer, and sometimes reading with music playing in the background.

When I was little, my mom stayed at home with me during the day while my dad worked, and at night she worked a factory job. While she was at work, my dad would busy himself with folding laundry and cleaning the house for her. He would often sit me down on the floor in front of the speakers with my toys and my bottle, where i would spend hours mesmerized and memorizing Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Buddy Holly records. They were almost like my baby sitters. Their music became part of my DNA. I knew every word.

I had a pretty good musical education growing up. Bluegrass, rockabilly, country, old folk songs, and even some Motown.

I listen to these records now, and I can feel my dad all around me, smell him in the record sleeves. I can hear him in the songs. It might as well be him singing, particularly the Waylon Jennings records. Sometimes I can't listen at all. That's how powerful music can be.

I'll start off with a little Johnny Cash Live at Folsom Prison. This song scared me when i was very young. I remember asking my dad if the part about shooting the man just to watch him die was real.

The next song was one I knew by heart almost immediately. It's a classic. One of my favorite songs...

My dad loved bluegrass most of all. He probably had more bluegrass records than any other genre. "Blue Moon of Kentucky" was the song I remember hearing the most. I remember thinking that the sound of the mandolin must have been a sped up guitar...

Electric Brew.

Played a little show with my friend Caralie Raymond at the Electric Brew in Goshen, Indiana over the weekend. The drive down to Goshen from Paw Paw was amazing, just awesome. The scenery this time of year along the route I took is truly breathtaking. Gave me chills. I'd come up over a hill and back down again, and all I could see were miles of orange maple trees, rolling, dried-up corn fields, gold soybean fields, and a bright blue sky. The scenery reminded me, somehow, of the poppy fields in the Wizard of Oz. It was about 4:30 in the afternoon when I left and the sun that time of day, on this day, just made everything look brighter.

I felt like I was on an adventure. This was my first time playing a show in Indiana, first time out completely on my own. The trip down felt like a dream I've had a few times. I'm driving to a gig, tracing my way on a map, taking in the scenery and the architecture of the buildings as i pass by. Memorizing the turns and hills. Looking forward to the people I might meet, the place to where I'm headed, and watching everything get smaller in the rear view mirror.

Finally, when I reached Goshen, I tried to dial in "Globe Radio", a station that had played some of our music a few years back. Somehow I got distracted and landed on a channel that was all in spanish. For a moment I was confused by all of the traffic and street signs. The phone rang. It was a text from Caralie saying that she was in Goshen already, sitting out side a bar that hadn't yet opened. I turned the corner and drove up the street, looking for the Electric Brew. There it was off to my left, sitting there waving as if to say "here I am!" I parked the van and called Cara. " I'm up the street", she said, "I can see you walking the other way." I turned around and saw this little speck of a person way down the street on the opposite side, waving at me.

Sure enough, the bar was just opening when I got there. A place called the Constant Spring. A few other people were being let in as the bartender turned the open sign around. We ordered some food, and sat at the concrete bar eating and getting re-acquainted for a couple of hours before we had to play. We mostly talked about people we knew from the Old Dog Tavern.

I had only briefly met Caralie a few times at the Old Dog Tavern open mic night. I had only heard her play one song, and I knew that she was someone I wanted to do shows with. I thought our sets would fit nicely together. I'm always on the lookout for other musicians that will somehow compliment what I'm trying to do. Caralie seemed like she didn't realize how good she was as a musician. She has a smooth sweetness to her voice. Effortless control. And she's pretty good at guitar too.

It was getting closer to show time, and we decided to head down to the Electric Brew. As we approached the building, I noticed all of the upcoming show posters that were hung in the windows. Ours, for whatever reason, wasn't featured there. We wandered in, taking in the vibe of the place. We set our guitars down and conversed with the staff that were hastily working away at getting dishes organized. I felt really dizzy all of a sudden. The clanking dishes were distracting. The smell of coffee was overwhelming. I couldn't make out what anyone was saying for a moment. Something about microphones, and what time they close up for the night. I must have been all over the place in my thoughts. There were lots of things on the wall to look at. A giant chest of jewelry stood next to our table. I began to focus on unpacking my things.

After we got settled in, we decided we wouldn't play in the normal spot where everyone played. Something about the corner of the room we were in was cozy. We decided that the acoustics of the room would suit our needs perfectly there, and we wouldn't use any microphones or amplification. We were essentially busking indoors.

As I wrote my set list, we talked about our influences, how we wrote songs. Caralie told me about how her dad played and taught her the guitar. We talked about Paul Simon and Gordon Lightfoot. I told her about meeting Patrick Bloom (Brickel, at the time) from Iowa, and how it had an influence on me to get off my butt and do music. We talked Ron Sexsmith, Greg Brown and Iron and Wine. She showed me a guitar chord she had lifted from a Paul Simon tune. Later, when she was playing her songs, I noticed the chord a few times and she nodded that that was the one.

We decided instead of playing separate sets, we would trade off. She would do a song, then me, then she would go again. She didn't have as many songs as me, so she started her set list over again. By then, there was a completely different audience there watching, so no one knew the difference. I was having some tuning problems. I didn't take the time to change my strings beforehand. Lesson learned.

We took a break for about 15 minutes or so. Sat outside, Caralie had a smoke. We picked up our conversation about the Old Dog Tavern again. Somehow we got into a discussion about depression and I realized that I hadn't been depressed for a very long time. It was a realization that i was glad to have.

As I turned to look back inside the coffeehouse, I saw a guy putting a fist full of cash into our tip boot. We weren't even playing, and people were giving us money. Caralie took one last drag from her cigarette and we headed back inside. I started playing and Caralie disappeared down the hallway toward the ladies room. We still had about an hour to go before closing time, and I had a bunch of song left to play. Caralie came up with a few cover tunes and decided to play them. It was such a relaxed environment that we basically did whatever we wanted. One of us would end a song, and the other would start talking about something. Cara asked me if I was a Neil Young fan, and said I sounded like him. I get that all the time. I actually didn't know much about Neil Young until people started comparing me to him. I had to check him out to see if I indeed did sound like him. Only then did I consciously begin to emulate him.

One of my last songs was "Sunday Clouds", one of a handful of songs I wrote for my dad after he died in December of 2000 . Since we had talked about our dads so much that night, it seemed like a good way to end the evening. Finally I ended with a new song "Miracle To Me" which I would be debuting at my father-in-laws wedding the next day. I basically wrote the song for the occasion. I flubbed a few chords and lyrics, which made me nervous to play it for the newly-weds.

And with that, our "show" was over. There were only a few people left in the place when we finished playing. "We really know how to clear out a room" Caralie said, joking. It really didn't matter to us at that point if anyone was listening. We were just happy to play and hang out.

We packed up our things and said our goodbyes to the staff. Out at the van, we dumped the tip boot out onto the side walk and divied up the tips which included a ten and a two dollar bill, a few fives, and a number of ones. Not bad for two hours of, dare I say, sitting around doing nothing.

We talked for a moment about doing another show there together, and bringing our friends next time. We said our goodbyes as Caralie disappeared behind a row of cars and into the night. I thought for a moment that perhaps I should have accompanied her back to her car, or dropped her off. Then again, I thought, if someone tried to mug her, she could probably take them. It had been a great night, and now it was time to find my way back home.

A learning experience.
I played solo at the Old Hat on Saturday August 15th. It was a learning experience. I had booked the gig about 8 weeks prior and forgot about it. About a week before the show I happened to get on the Old Hat web site and saw that I was booked to play. Because we were planning to go to the cottage on that date, I thought about cancelling and trying to find someone else to fill the gig. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a better idea to play the gig, I didn’t want to burn my bridge with the Old Hat, namely Tom Fuller.
So I started getting my act together. Was I going to be able to play for 3 hours? No way in hell. I quickly began combing through my collection of music to find some “easy” songs to play. I managed to pull together a list of about ten songs to add to the 15 originals and 10 or so Midwestern Lull covers.
Next I created a flier. It always makes the venue happy when you hang fliers. I still think the flier I made was a pretty good one. I included my “tiny bio” which is a version of a very long bio I wrote a long time ago. If you can make yourself sound good in just a few sentences, you’re better off. Its all about short and sweet, less is more. Revise toward a “snap-shot” type of biography. What credentials you have, what you sound like, and what other people think of you. It’s nice to have the “tiny bio”. Its almost like having a little letter of recommendation.
The night before the show I crossed out some of the songs on the list. There were to many songs that I felt I wouldn’t be able to play with confidence. Looking back now, I could have crossed out more. Some song just don’t fit with the other songs on the list, some were bad song choices for my voice.
I was really nervous the day of the show. I had an upset stomach for most of the day. When I got to the Old Hat I started setting up a bunch of guitars thinking I would play them on various songs. It didn’t work out that way. I ended up wasting time and energy by setting all that stuff up. I had a hard enough time getting the PA to sound good. Even by the end of the night I still was not convinced that it sounded good. I had trouble hearing myself at times.
Finally it was show time. I was so nervous that I just blocked out everything else. I didn’t acknowledge the audience- bad mistake. I felt like I was shaking so bad I couldn’t play the chords. When I looked out into the crowd, they were looking at me like they were watching me die. I felt like I was dying. I was sweating bullets, my glasses were slipping down my nose. I couldn’t snap out of it. Usually when I play with the band I have a few drinks before we go on. I didn’t drink anything before this show. I was hoping to put on a good show without the alcohol- bad mistake #2. By the third set I had consumed at least 1 glass of wine. If you are familiar with Old Hat wine, you know its potent stuff. So my final set went great. I played my “best-of” material. There were a few people still at the bar and about 10 family and friends down in front. People were singing along, bobbing their heads.
The staff at the Old Hat said that they had enjoyed my show. “Really?” I thought. The first two sets were awful in my eyes. They said they were going to recommend to Tom Fuller he invite me back. I hope they do have me back. Next time I’ll get someone to open for me so I don’t have to fill 3 hours. I did manage to pull off three, forty minute sets and got paid accordingly. Last night I pulled out my set list from that night and paired it down to about 23 songs, which is plenty for now. Also, next time, I’ll be bringing one guitar and perhaps the banjo. No more over doing it. Less is more after all.
I think I learned a lot from this gig. What to do…what to do more of…what not to do…what to do less of.
I need to write some new tunes, get some new covers together and start playing in front of crowds more often. I think I’ll do just fine.

Liberty St.

One morning in May of 1997 I awoke to the phone ringing off the hook. It was Mark calling-"Hey, I found a place for us to live!" I hadnt recalled our conversation about even living together, let alone me moving out of my parents house. I was just getting use to my bedroom again and three square meals a day. But that was Mark for you. He always had some new project to work on and usually they required insane amounts of time and effort. He said that aunt Irene was sick and that she had to move in with his aunt Erica. They made a deal that if we cleaned the house out and painted inside, we could live there rent free. He didnt even give me time to think twice about it. He picked me up 20 minutes later and we were off to 114 Liberty street to look at the house.After Grandma T. died, aunt Irene had become a total recluse. She developed a severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and started collecting anything she could get her hands on. I pictured the inside of the house the way it was the last time I had been there. Spotless and well kept. But when grandma died, the house keeper hit the road and Irene was on her own. One day she just stopped cleaning, or maybe she never started. We walked up the driveway to the front steps. All of the memories were coming back to me about playing music in the basement and just the smell outside the house made me think of grandma T. But when we entered the house, all of that was quickly erased. I couldnt believe my eyes. Irene had filled the entire house from wall to wall, floor to ceiling with random stuff. Junk mostly, and garbage.There were trails leading from the kitchen to the bathroom to a space on the couch big enough for one person to sit on. There were ash trays overflowing with cigarette butts, dirty tissues thrown about. Stacks of news papers and magazines. Piles of dirty laundry. Small plastic shopping bags full of miscellaneous items. Empty cans of cat food. Stacks of old phone books. A huge box of cheap greeting cards. Old video tapes and beta tapes. Paperback books and records that looked like they had been through a flood. Appliances, broken VCRs , broken stereo equipment. Bags full of empty soda cans. Old toys, sports equipment and board games galore. Tin cans full of nails, nuts and bolts and auto parts. Dead flashlights. Broken furniture. You name it, it was probably in that house. We opened the door to one bedrooms and the entire room was packed with clothes. Packed solid, right up to the door so that when we opened it, the clothes became a wall flush with the door frame. When we emptied out the clothes we discovered a smell coming from one of the bedrooms that was surely something dead. A squirrel had somehow found his way into the house and made a home in the dresser, where it perished.Upon investigating the kitchen we found a box of cereal on top of the refrigerator that had been there since we were 12 years old, and discovered a set of Christmas lights...in the microwave. Mark was ready to start cleaning the place out. He didnt realize that this was going to become a full time job.We started out the next day filling garbage bags full of junk. But the bags were getting expensive and it became impractical. We made separate piles of miscellaneous items that we called “bins“. We had a bin for wicker baskets and one for purses. It took up the entire living room...a bin for shoes and one for telephones. We emptied one room into another, getting nowhere fast. Goodwill received huge donations of stuff during the first week. But they too were running out of storage room, and turned us away. Marks dad ended up renting a huge dumpster that took up almost the entire drive way. We just through everything out from that point on. Stuff that people could have used. We entertained the idea of a yard sale, but that would require twice as much time organizing, and pricing items. We also thought maybe we would just let people come and take what they wanted, but we didnt want anyone taking something that wasnt intended to go. We worked day and night. There was no point in getting real jobs. We figured that would just slow us down and living rent free would make up for not having jobs. And it did for a while. It took us the entire month of June, working 12 hours a day or more, just to get the house emptied out. To this day I have not worked so hard in my life. During the time we had been getting the house ready to move in we were listening to a lot of oldies on the radio. On the day we started painting, I bought the new album Being There by a band I had never heard of called Wilco. I became obsessed with the CD and it was a huge influence. I had been writing little bits and pieces of songs and music since I returned from Ohio. I was still making up stuff that sounded somewhere in between the Beatles, punk ock, and Americana although I still wasnt sure what that meant exactly. Mark and I started coming up with ideas one night to record a full length album.. When we got settled into the house, we recruited our old friend Dana Owens to play bass, called the band Boy Wonder, and started recording in earnest. Using two four-track recorders and a computer would allow us to record and edit onto tape and then add infinite overdubs. We turned the house into a makeshift studio and lived around the equipment, often times moving a cymbal stand out of the way to watch television. Once again we were pulling all-nighters doing take after take, drinking caffeine, and going to bed at sun rise, all summer long. We had friends over round the clock. Jeremy Golembiewski, Paul and Matt Toliusis, Isaac Rzonca, Dan Anderer, Juanita Davis, Becky , Laura, Joe Burke, Joe Diprima, and Brad Winkleman. Most of the time they would just sit there and watch us make music. Sometimes they would get in on the recording process, pushing the record button on the machine, or contributing to a clap track. Mark and I took turns playing guitar, bass and drums. We shared one microphone to sing harmonies and would spend hours just perfecting one backing vocal track. It was like someone had turned on the faucet, and the creativity just poured out. In addition to the songs, we made hours of sound effects recordings, including the sound of our cat Sammie and the music box that went on forever and ever (just when you thought it was running outit would start playing again slower and slower). We ended up recording lots of conversations- and we talked about everything, not just the songs -absolutely everything. Dana didnt stick around to work on the recordings to often, he usually just played his bass parts and left. He didnt really want to have anything more to do with it than that. One night Joe was there and during one of our breaks he hypnotized us. We ended up at Big Boy and Joe had me screaming at the top of my lungs for a refill.We recorded Falling Feeling, two versions of Massieville Rd. Song, The No Incident, Spinning Pennies, Thats What I Know, Starshine, My Philosophy, and a version of the Beatles tune Tomorrow Never Knows. I also made some demos of a song called Stupid Promise. We ended up mixing four of the songs and making them into a demo tape which we sold at a couple of shows. We mostly gave the tapes away. But we did the whole project ourselves and to me thats what mattered most. We did a lot of bonding during that time. It was a magical summer. I loved living in that house and making those recordings.
It was one of the best times of my life.

4th of july weekend 2009

what a whurl-wind. went from one thing right to the next. didnt have much time to even think. andy and laurel tied the knot on saturday on the beach in south haven. missed the ceremony...saw the kiss and watched everyone applaud from the hill. got t0 do some busking on sunday. played in south haven all day. had someone come up and start taking video of me while i was playing. got a chance to play with michael the fiddler for a few tunes. later, a couple of dudes carrying a huge cooler told me that they would pay me to play a song by "wings". they were suprised when i busted out "band on the run". andy and laurel were "honeymooning" they came down to where i was playing and i played a few tunes for them. andy had on a really cool hat that i was super jealous of. i offered to buy it off him, but it wasnt for sale. andy seems like he is really happy, and im glad. i have always worried about him.
kids are crying...its bedtime.

massieville rd song.

Massieville Rd. Song is a song i wrote about 12 or so years ago. its really the first song i was proud of. all of the songs i had written up until that point were pointless and didnt make any sense. i hadnt figured out songwriting until i wrote Massieville Rd. Song. the song was written after the death of a friend, the end of a relationship, the end of two bands i was in, and i was leaving home for the first time. i started writing the song in my bedroom at home, when i still lived with my parents. i wrote down the verses in a notebook, recorded them on my 4 track and left it at that. 4 months later, after so many things had happend and so many things had changed, the chorus just came to me. it just popped into my head, like it was a wall or something and i just ran right into it. it was the night before a recording session was to begin and i didnt have anything in mind to even record. when i started working on the song again, it just all fit together and i recorded it the next day with my room mates. they helped me make adjustments to the lyrics and showed me how to sing it to make it more dramatic. their advice hit the spot. we recorded the song in 4 takes. at the end of the session, someone was going to label the tape box and asked me what the song was called. " i dont know" i shrugged, "how bout, Massieville Rd. Song."
Massieville Rd. was the road that we lived on then. it was such a special song, i didnt want to give it a title that would cheapen the song. like "open your eyes" or, "youre dreamin". the name stuck. the recording on the other hand, got lost.
ive just recently started playing the song again. everyone loves that song. thats the one i get the most compliments on. even though its just a song, it represents a huge chunk of my life. it was a turning point for me. i had grown into something different at that point and there was no turning back. thats what the song means to me now. i dont so much equate the lyrics with the death of a friend, a realtionship ending etc. i still think about those things when i play it though.