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.