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ABOUT MY DAD
My father was born James Norris Johnson to Roland and Marion Johnson on November 20st, 1935 in Kenosha, WI. At an early age he showed an aptitude for music, as well as other pursuits such as hunting, fishing, and mechanics. Eventually his family moved out west to California.
My dad had many jobs in his youth. He worked for Standard Oil in El Segundo, for Snap-on tools, and eventually for the state of California, which led him (and us) to Redding and Sacramento, California, where I consider to be my home town.
Nothing compared to playing the horn, however. In his free time he played with others in music groups as an amateur trumpet player in the Los Angeles area.
I don't recall the circumstances surrounding his old Conn coronet, or how he came about it, although I do remember it to be an interesting story. It had something to do with a pawn shop and the pawn shop's owner selling it to him greatly under the horn's value.
However he came about the horn, it became one of my father's most treasured possessions. He played with many different groups in his youth, and established several ties and friendships that lasted until his death in 1983.
Music, and especially jazz, has a tendency to form and strengthen friendships with others. Some of the greatest people I have known are or were jazz musicians. Perhaps it's the reliance on each other due to the way the music is structured. To play jazz music in the way that it is designed is a group collaborative process; everyone relies on everyone else to fulfill their role in the ensemble.
Unfortunately, an accident while a forest fire fighter in Northern California ended my dad's career in music. While goofing off with friends, he broke his teeth on the bumper of a parked vehicle, forever changing his embouchure and playing style. Not too long after he married my mother, and his dreams of music were later passed on to me when I was a young child.
I remember pretty clearly his tone: an airy sound similar to Freddie Hubbard or Clifford Brown. And buzzy too. That was mostly because due to his restructured embouchure, he played out of the right side of his mouth. Many trumpet players then and now would have loved to have that unique buzzy style in their tone; my dad saw it as sort of a weakness, I think. I never heard what he sounded like before, but he often assured me he was able to reach 'Doc Severinson' heights in pitch and in tone. I think I would have preferred the tone that I remembered.
The first jazz record I remember of my dad's was Miles Davis' 1956 recording of "Blue Haze." It's a great record. The way that it is recorded has a permanent imprint on my mind as how a jazz record in the mid-50's should sound. And the record itself, too: tattered, with a plastic sleeve that is browning and getting more and more dirty from being slid back and forth between other of my dad's favorites. The memory of my dad's records even affects the graphic style of professional work. One need only look at the site for Phonografix I designed in 2000, and the 12VoltArts site I designed in 2004 to get an idea of how dusty old jazz records influences my professional graphic style.
My father would get up early on a Saturday and Sunday morning, throw on a record like "Blue Haze," and play along to "Four," "Old Devil Moon," "When Lights Are Low," or a list of other great forgotten standards.
Of course, my sister and I always thought it was his way of getting us up early to do yard work or clean the garage. Even then, however, I couldn't think of a better way to be awoken on a Saturday or Sunday morning, than the sound of my dad's horn drifting from downstairs over the sound of a scratchy record.
My father had other great records that become favorites in my collection. He had a fascination with Stan Kenton and his big band arrangements that feature eclectic instruments, such as the French Horn. I think that aspect of versatility affects me, too, in that I often pair up instruments that normally wouldn't be placed together.
Before he died he became very interested in Chuck Mangione, who was more of a pop musician but did some interesting things in world-pop music. I think Mangione is best known for "Feels So Good," which I have trouble listening to all the way through, since my dad would play it over and over to get it just right. I hadn't heard it again all the way through, in fact, until 20 years later in 2003 at a Mariner's baseball game, where Mangione came out to play the national anthem with his flugelhorn. Amazing horn player, that Mangione. He still wears that trademark hat, too.
For all the action that "Feels So Good" got with my father, his favorite Mangione record had to be "The Children of Sanchez." He had it on reel-to-reel, along with a few other records on the same tape. He listened to them all back to back, playing along using the musical arrangement book produced by Mangione.
After my dad died of a heart attack in July 1983, a few other people saw to it that I was cared for, mostly notably my mother, who sacrificed everything she had for my sister and me. I view her as a saint, and is partly the reason why I call that song to her "Joan of Geneva." It has a saintly sound to it, and it's precisely the level of recognition my mother deserves. Her strength, devotion to raising my sister and me, and immense love and pride carried us through some challenging years in the mid-80's, and still resonates in the way that I continue to live my life both as a musician and as a person.
One of my best friends at the time of my father's death was John Atilano, a schoolmate in middle school. His father co-managed the little league team that "Little John" and I were on. Even before my father died, he was instrumental to my upbringing; influencing me in ways I'm not sure he'll ever know. After my dad passed, he said that my father was one of the nicest and funniest men he'd ever known, and that it was an honor to know him. I wrote the Latin-influenced piece "Onalita" for him, which of course is "Atilano" spelled backwards.
Another best friend lived 4 houses down on the same street, named Ron Adamovich. Ron's dad Robert didn't know my dad very well; they were merely neighbors on the same street. Ron and I had quickly become friends by about the 7th grade, and were pretty much inseparable. On the morning my father died, Ron was the first to know.
A few days later, his dad approached me while we sat in the street. Pulling me aside, he told me that his dad had died when he was 13 years old, and that he understood the pain and confusion that I must be feeling. He said if there is anything my mother or I need, to come down and get him. I have never forgotten how touched I was and am by his understanding. For years after, several times a year they would take me on vacation on camping and fishing trips. We had a great time, and it took my mind off of things at home for at least a short while. I will always be grateful. I liked to call him "Mr. A" when I was kid.
My brother, being 9 years older than me, has always been somewhat of a father figure. He has always been and always be one of my best friends. It's probably not even needed to mention here how much of an influence he is to me; before my dad passed he taught me important details about life. My only regret is that I'm not able to see him more; he always seems to live so far away from the family that we only get to see him once a year.
I don't believe this record is a reflection of my individual talents as a songwriter or musician. I would like it be thought of as the collaborative work on a handful of individuals who made me what I am today, either directly or indirectly. It is because of them I was able to do this, and this is merely my small way of thanking them and their efforts.
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