I said, describing my recently deceased former partner, “This train was bound for glory, but derailed at regular intervals.”
Betsy said, “I’ll bet there’s a story behind that.”
There is a story, but there are missing pieces in the telling because we can’t look straight into the character’s heart and mind.
The man, John Harper Lumsdaine, aka Johnny Harper, was bound for glory (and would have appreciated the nod to Woody Guthrie’s autobiography). Born the eldest son of a family of boys, he sang “Tying a Knot in the Devil’s Tail” to his spellbound elementary school classmates, having heard it a few times on the radio or around the house, spooling out the long tale of drinking, hell-raising and branding, dehorning and knotting up the devil.
At seventeen, Johnny met a girl who played the guitar. He began to play himself, first to impress her, and then because he fell in love with the combination of music, song and story. He fell so hard that he dropped out of Stanford University to pursue music, giving up a scholarship and landing in the Viet Nam war. He fell so hard that he determined to master not one, not two, but all the styles of American roots music, from blues to R&B to classic country, from gospel to funk to rock and roll. And master them he did, spending hours listening to records, copying licks, watching the hands of guitar-players when he went to concerts.
Johnny started out on acoustic guitar, but when he was in the Navy he heard The Byrds’ version of “Mr. Tambourine Man.” Transfixed by the sound of Roger McGuinn’s electric 12 string, Johnny moved to acquire the record and an electric guitar. He spent his shore leaves in Hawaii haunting record stores, ever eager to hear more, to learn more.
Released from the service as a conscientious objector with the help of an Episcopal priest, Johnny parlayed his love of music, his skill and dedication, into a career. He ran Down Home Music record store in El Cerrito for awhile, played in bands, DJ’d a radio show on KPFA Berkeley. He formed bands of his own and played all over the San Francisco Bay Area for years. He toured playing guitar behind Maria Muldaur. People who saw Johnny perform never forgot him: his patter, his impish grin, his command of his entire vocal range from the deepest half-spoken growl to the softest falsetto coo, and his incomparable, spirited, polyrhythmic guitar-playing. If you heard him play, Johnny Harper put a spell on you.
I came to know that Johnny was a versatile player. He worked solo, in duets, quartets and larger bands. An acoustic-based folksinger myself, I longed for Johnny to tone it down and play with the restraint that I would have played with had I had his chops. But in living with him, watching him rehearse, listening to him and attending his shows I came to understand that Johnny was at his best as a bandleader. He chose the songs, wrote the arrangements, selected the players and rehearsed them with care and patience and then let fly on stage a spicy gumbo of music long-simmered in his skill. He fronted his bands dressed in black with his red Telecaster strapped across his body, his long legs encased in black jeans.
People danced at Johnny’s shows. They laughed and cried and begged for the Mardi Gras beads he threw to them. They hired him to play at their weddings, funerals and street parties. They took guitar lessons from him. One of his friends followed him to every gig as sound man, roadie, whatever he needed.
When people heard Johnny play for the first time, whether he was fronting a band, hosting an open mic or playing behind someone else, they came away asking, “Who was that guy?” He was that good, that talented, that memorable.
So why, as our friend Dale Geist says, do you not know about Johnny Harper? Why isn’t he a household name? Why don’t you have a shelf of Johnny Harper CDs and a playlist of Johnny Harper favorites? What could stop this glory-bound train of talent, ambition, drive, energy and joy?
What indeed. Some time after Johnny fell in love with American vernacular music, Johnny fell in love with the bottle. No one is sure when it happened. Like many people, Johnny turned to whiskey and beer for solace, for company, for the buzz. The bottle sang a siren song to Johnny, telling him he could do whatever he wanted, that together they were invincible, immortal, telling him that she would always love him, inspire him, comfort him.
And so, after years of hard work, after some success, after promising beginnings, the Johnny Harper train began to derail. When Johnny felt under pressure from a project, under pressure from his impeccably high standards, almost always when he was on the verge of a success — a CD release party for a protege, a video shoot, a series of tribute shows to the music of The Band — Johnny ran off the rails, blew off the gig or the rehearsal or the studio date, holed up in his house with the blinds closed, hollow-eyed, drinking, watching videos for hours on end, letting his phone ring unanswered until the voicemail got full and, sinking further, letting go of showers, shaving, changing clothes, eating.
Every time he fell, Johnny got up again and gave life another try. Until this time:
On a February day or night in 2022, Johnny Harper breathed his last. He died alone on the floor of his bedroom, leaving behind students, friends, an ex-wife, a former partner, professional colleagues, fans and admirers, a beloved niece, some cousins and a brother, plus a huge trove of cassette tapes, CDs, video footage and other music that had not met his standards. He lives on in his students and in the minds and hearts of those who loved him.
As always, unbelievably good writing. I grieve along with you.
Thank you, Neola. On both counts. See you soon.
Wow, Sharyn, I am impressed and so admire you for writing like that. Thank you for including me in your mailing.
I only knew Johnny from the couple of chance-meetings at Mary’s NY parties. But, through various music communities, an ex-husband who built guitars and performed blues in the bay area, the Down Home Music neighbor of ours, my interaction with many musicians and their partners, my ex-husband’s gigs, my patients, at bluegrass events, etc., our paths could have crossed so many other times. (Amazing the extent of the music community in the bay area!) I was great to hear of Johnny’s history and to read it so beautifully-written. Bravo, my friend, for your piece of art. Teri Kay Fahmie
You are welcome, Teri. Thank you for reading.
Very well said, Sharyn. Johnny was human victory and human frailty. He will be missed..
Hiring him to produce me singing my original songs in the eighties put me off trying to be a singer-songwriter. His big personality suffocated my own.
Ouch, Steven. I know what you are saying. I fought with Johnny about what I wanted musically. He produced my most recent E.P, “The Border Song.” He played beautifully on the second track. I had to rerecord the title track more than once when his ideas and methodology messed things up — it came out okay in the end, after considerable struggle and three visits to the studio for what was supposed to be a one-shot deal. In my opinion, he preferred submissive clients who let him do whatever he wanted.
Thanks for understanding I wasn’t trolling. A good player doesn’t blame others when he gives up, and I did give up. Subbing for his regular bass player years later gave me goosebumps, and I’m grateful for that.
I’m sure he could be amazing to play in a band with, Steven. I’m glad you got to have that experience as well as the other. But it’s not too late to be a singer/songwriter if you still want that: you’re still alive.
I was in the tribute band Johnny put together to the music of Robbie Robertson and all the members of The Band. My voice had to cover the Richard MAnuel parts, and his piano, and the mandolin of Levon Helm. Johnny just became unreachable a couple weeks before our major debut at Freight & Salvage.
I tracked him down; he’s really binged out, crawling into the bottle. Months wasted. It was a shattering experience. Later, I learned that was his typical M.O.
Yes, Doug. This is unfortunately true “some of the time, not all the time.” When Johnny functioned well, he was superlative — as a friend, a teacher, a partner. When in the grip of his addiction he hurt people and let them down. He didn’t ask to be born with the alcoholism gene and he only understood intermittently that his drinking derailed his career and relationships. To give him credit, he did keep trying to get back on track, but the episodes were unspeakably sad.
I’m really sorry to hear of Johnny’s passing, Sharyn. You spoke of him so often over the years and I picked up on the fact that he was a talented man with a story! Who doesn’t know someone they’ve loved who eluded success because of addiction. It’s always heartbreaking to those they leave behind. This was a beautiful tribute. I think despite the losses incurred because of his habits, he still leaves behind people who really cared about him, and that’s says a lot to indicate he was flawed, but indeed special.
Thank you, Debra, for your wide vision. He did indeed leave people behind who cared about him. And if there are angels and heaven they have a new bandleader.
I was very sorry to hear about Johnny’s passing. I was a former student and kept tabs on his projects over the years. Some things that struck me about him was how talented he was as a teacher. He could break down any problem any phrase, and get you playing it. He just had this wonderful knack for isolating problems. The thing that impressed me the most though, was his love and enthusiasm for the music he taught. It was never just a mechanical process of teaching you the notes. There was insight, stories and humor. He had such an emotional connection to the music. Gone too soon…
Oh, so beautiful Sharyn. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Thank you, Tunde. Thanks for reading.
Thank you for sharing this. I only met Johnny a few years ago, while playing at one of his Dylan “hootenannies” as he called them. I knew instantly he was deep and a major talent, one of a kind.
I kept wishing he’d have more of these Dylan hootenannies, but now I understand why it probably didn’t happen.
As someone who’s seen too well alcohol’s destruction, I am so sorry to hear how this brutal disease brought him down.
When I met him, I wished I’d known him forever, and hoped to know him better, and hear way more of his brilliant music
Very sad loss.
Dear Susie,
Johnny loved the Dylan hoots and would have kept going with them. Harold Adler of the Art House developed other needs for the space and Johnny never found another space for the hoots, more’s the pity. Many of us are sad that Johnny could not overcome his addiction, or even, at many times, believe that it existed. Today would have been his 76th birthday. I hope wherever his atoms and molecules are they are hearing beautiful music.