The Two Johns: an Ohd
I remember the morning I went to school. It was cold and we had to wait outside for the janitor to open the door and let us in (this was before they became Sanitation Engineers). It was December 9, and written in the boldest of graffiti on the wall in the doorway was John Lennon 1940-1980. Im not sure if I knew exactly what that meant or not, but the image is burned in my mind. I was eleven years old, and it seems to me that that year was a turning point for me. At some point I developed a theory (I am always developing theories) to explain the radical changes that began with that catalyzing graffiti on the wall. This is something that I rarely share, just because its sometimes better to keep certain notions to yourself. It seemed to me that when John Lennon died, his spirit or soul (give it a name) soared out of his bullet ridden body and soared into those whom he had touched, left his soul mark upon with his music and words. Other people have what is probably a more accurate explanation for the changes that occurred in me, they call it puberty, but well leave that for another article.
Years later, after I devoured everything I could get my hands on by or about John Lennon, I was listening to a Flaming Lips album, Priest Driven Ambulance, a fabulous and raucous album far removed from their current output. As I listened I was shocked and driven to gooseflesh when I heard the first line of the second verse of the song Five Stop Mother Superior Rain, when he sings, I was born the day they shot John Lennons brain. I thought, Did I just hear that? To me it was an utter expression of something that I had felt completely for a long time. I didnt feel so crazy then, well, I still felt crazy, I just knew I was in good company.
I can remember where I was the first two times I ever heard the song Imagine. First, in the car with my dad, as we pulled up to a traffic light on Etna Rd., turning left, and the next time wandering around in a Burlington Coat Factory, again with my dad. This was when I was pretty young, and it took me years to figure out who sang it, but I remember the day: sitting in Mindy Farrys English class. Thanks be to John Lennon for the gifts he has given us all. A quarter century gone and still we celebrate his contributions.
Another John, Johnny, really, that impacted my life in a very significant manner, is my good buddy Johnny Bartlett, Johnny B, dead now 11 years as of last Saturday. This is a man that helped bring me out of my musical shell. I can never picture him without a smile if I ever do, he quickly breaks into one. He was all things to all people, and a walking song if I ever met one. He was the first person to help move me out of punk rock and into more melodic music. He helped me to remember that I knew how to sing and encouraged me to do so. He was everybodys best friend, mine included.
We had a gig the day that he died; the Renaissance Cowboys was the name of the band. Some of the rest of the band and I were in town the night before, and we talked to him on the phone. He was home alone with the kids and wanted us to come visit. We declined saying, Well see you tomorrow. I never did.
At the time I was living in a shack up on top of one the tallest hills in the county, taking a pre-gig nap. It was very quiet up there, so I remember hearing the crunch, crunch of an oncoming visitor. I wasnt quite awake when a voice called out, Eric. I yelled my acknowledgement. It was Beth. She never came up to visit, so I immediately sat up knowing something was wrong. As I tied my boots on she said, simply, Johnny B died. I dont believe that I said anything else, just finished dressing and climbed out of the cabin.
I drove over to Johnny Bs house where the first two people on the scene, now the last, were closing up the house. I got some explanation about his death, but I hadnt a clue what to do. I drove around trying to find the band to no success, wondering, What are we gonna do about the gig? I decided to go the Skull, which was home base at the time, and where we were to play that night, and sure enough, thats where everyone was. Sometimes logic escapes me. As we sat there listening to the radio and trying to find the humor in the situation, the radio cinched up nicely by playing Shooting Star by Bad Company, a song about a guitar player named Johnny that dies too young. It was then I realized that Johnny B would be so pissed at us if we didnt play the gig. I knew that he would think that his death would be the least of things that should stop music from happening. Once I explained to my band mates this epiphany, everyone knew what to do. We called up our buddies and put on one of the most difficult and cathartic shows I have ever played in my life. It was absolutely the best thing we could have done. It was especially tough because all throughout the gig, we felt we had to explain to the crowd that our lead singer had died that afternoon.
I had a dream not too long after his death, I was walking barefoot through the snow and being led to a marketplace where the snow had melted and the ground was warm, my drum kit was set up there, and the Renaissance Cowboys were all there, including Johnny B, who was the only one that did not look confused. He said, Hey guys, Ive been working on this new song, and I wanted to try I it out. It goes like And I remember saying Johnny, this is too much, and crying, but he talked me out of it and played such a beautiful song, that I rue the morning that stole it from me when I awoke.
The memories of Johnny B and John Lennon served to inspire the first Lennon Fest in 2000, and still drive me to this day. The gifts they have given me have made me into what I am in no small part, and I do what I can to honor them and play the music they no longer can. And to go out with a little Bad Company, Johnny was a young boy when he heard his first Beatles song, Love Me Do, I think it was
Gentlemen, I know I Do.
I remember the morning I went to school. It was cold and we had to wait outside for the janitor to open the door and let us in (this was before they became Sanitation Engineers). It was December 9, and written in the boldest of graffiti on the wall in the doorway was John Lennon 1940-1980. Im not sure if I knew exactly what that meant or not, but the image is burned in my mind. I was eleven years old, and it seems to me that that year was a turning point for me. At some point I developed a theory (I am always developing theories) to explain the radical changes that began with that catalyzing graffiti on the wall. This is something that I rarely share, just because its sometimes better to keep certain notions to yourself. It seemed to me that when John Lennon died, his spirit or soul (give it a name) soared out of his bullet ridden body and soared into those whom he had touched, left his soul mark upon with his music and words. Other people have what is probably a more accurate explanation for the changes that occurred in me, they call it puberty, but well leave that for another article.
Years later, after I devoured everything I could get my hands on by or about John Lennon, I was listening to a Flaming Lips album, Priest Driven Ambulance, a fabulous and raucous album far removed from their current output. As I listened I was shocked and driven to gooseflesh when I heard the first line of the second verse of the song Five Stop Mother Superior Rain, when he sings, I was born the day they shot John Lennons brain. I thought, Did I just hear that? To me it was an utter expression of something that I had felt completely for a long time. I didnt feel so crazy then, well, I still felt crazy, I just knew I was in good company.
I can remember where I was the first two times I ever heard the song Imagine. First, in the car with my dad, as we pulled up to a traffic light on Etna Rd., turning left, and the next time wandering around in a Burlington Coat Factory, again with my dad. This was when I was pretty young, and it took me years to figure out who sang it, but I remember the day: sitting in Mindy Farrys English class. Thanks be to John Lennon for the gifts he has given us all. A quarter century gone and still we celebrate his contributions.
Another John, Johnny, really, that impacted my life in a very significant manner, is my good buddy Johnny Bartlett, Johnny B, dead now 11 years as of last Saturday. This is a man that helped bring me out of my musical shell. I can never picture him without a smile if I ever do, he quickly breaks into one. He was all things to all people, and a walking song if I ever met one. He was the first person to help move me out of punk rock and into more melodic music. He helped me to remember that I knew how to sing and encouraged me to do so. He was everybodys best friend, mine included.
We had a gig the day that he died; the Renaissance Cowboys was the name of the band. Some of the rest of the band and I were in town the night before, and we talked to him on the phone. He was home alone with the kids and wanted us to come visit. We declined saying, Well see you tomorrow. I never did.
At the time I was living in a shack up on top of one the tallest hills in the county, taking a pre-gig nap. It was very quiet up there, so I remember hearing the crunch, crunch of an oncoming visitor. I wasnt quite awake when a voice called out, Eric. I yelled my acknowledgement. It was Beth. She never came up to visit, so I immediately sat up knowing something was wrong. As I tied my boots on she said, simply, Johnny B died. I dont believe that I said anything else, just finished dressing and climbed out of the cabin.
I drove over to Johnny Bs house where the first two people on the scene, now the last, were closing up the house. I got some explanation about his death, but I hadnt a clue what to do. I drove around trying to find the band to no success, wondering, What are we gonna do about the gig? I decided to go the Skull, which was home base at the time, and where we were to play that night, and sure enough, thats where everyone was. Sometimes logic escapes me. As we sat there listening to the radio and trying to find the humor in the situation, the radio cinched up nicely by playing Shooting Star by Bad Company, a song about a guitar player named Johnny that dies too young. It was then I realized that Johnny B would be so pissed at us if we didnt play the gig. I knew that he would think that his death would be the least of things that should stop music from happening. Once I explained to my band mates this epiphany, everyone knew what to do. We called up our buddies and put on one of the most difficult and cathartic shows I have ever played in my life. It was absolutely the best thing we could have done. It was especially tough because all throughout the gig, we felt we had to explain to the crowd that our lead singer had died that afternoon.
I had a dream not too long after his death, I was walking barefoot through the snow and being led to a marketplace where the snow had melted and the ground was warm, my drum kit was set up there, and the Renaissance Cowboys were all there, including Johnny B, who was the only one that did not look confused. He said, Hey guys, Ive been working on this new song, and I wanted to try I it out. It goes like And I remember saying Johnny, this is too much, and crying, but he talked me out of it and played such a beautiful song, that I rue the morning that stole it from me when I awoke.
The memories of Johnny B and John Lennon served to inspire the first Lennon Fest in 2000, and still drive me to this day. The gifts they have given me have made me into what I am in no small part, and I do what I can to honor them and play the music they no longer can. And to go out with a little Bad Company, Johnny was a young boy when he heard his first Beatles song, Love Me Do, I think it was
Gentlemen, I know I Do.
thanks so much for the comment on my set, hon!