People // Joel T Johnson // Blog

During high school I was not cool. I was not an athlete. I had never won anything, not a contest, not a raffle, not classroom bingo… nothing. I was quite conscious of this record and that's probably why I didn't win. In school, my academics were poor. I have mentioned my so-called learning disability in a previous blog. This was a factor of course but I also just didn't care very much. I knew I wanted to be a rock musician since I was twelve and I knew I had enough talent. The logic of killing myself over world history or trig just didn't compute at the time. My brother was getting excelent grades which made me feel badly. My parents were good not to pressure me too much, I would have just rebeled but they were both teachers and I knew they were at least a little disapointed. "I'll do better. I'll work hard and... I'll just do better." I promised myself. I studied, I did homework, I but after just a few minutes it was as if I was just looking at words on the page. Each word would evaporate from my mind as I read them. It was so bloody hard, soon my desire to pick up my bass won out over the books and I was breaking new ground on bass but looking at C's and D's again. Social life wasn't much a solace either, I was completely desperate for sex or any attention at all from a girl. Of course, this made me completely unable to talk to them. While this angst made it hard to concentrate on anything it also made me a pretty decent bass player. Note: The bass guitar is a wonderful conduit for sexual energy. The sex of Rock and Roll is all about the bass and the drums. Guitars are great billboards for bravado and heart but if you want the goods in the sack girls, find yourself a bass player or a drummer. Music I had its problems too. I had barely mustered a B- on my NYSMA solo competition solo on upright bass. As a bass player I was always in the background; not a lot of recognition of any kind. I had never won an audition either. During my senior year I went to Penn Yan, New York to audition for the Area All State Jazz Ensemble. There were several others auditioning but I primarily noticed this one local guy warming up. He was a skinny kid that had a silk shirt with pictures of little records on it. He wore his bass very low, almost to his knee. He was playing some Led Zeppelin tune to warm up with. "Mr. Cool." "No problem", I thought, "I can outplay this guy. I'll clean up Mr. Cool without breaking a sweat." During my audition though, things did not go smoothly. There was no drummer or anyone to play along with. Being so exposed kinda killed my mojo. I completely botched the site-reading. One of the judges handed me a chart for a piece that he himself had composed and that I had never seen before. Without anyone else to play with, I could barely get out the notes let alone lay out a good feel. Did I mention this particular judge was also from Penn Yan: Mr. Cool's music teacher? No matter. I didn't pass the audition, needless to say. Shelly Binder, a stellar trumpet player from our school, did make it. When she returned she brought with her a jazz-rock chart that the Area All State Jazz Band had played. During jazz band rehearsal she mentioned that the bass player, "Mr. Cool", had taken a solo in the piece. My blood began to boil but then she finished. "I think Joel would have done better. He should take a solo too." Later that year Canandaigua Academy Jazz Band, our jazz band was at a jazz competition at Haverling High School in Hammondsport, New York. We were backstage, on-deck to perform. There was another band milling about that was following us. Among them was a tall slender girl in a yellow dress with a Les Paul guitar strapped on. Be still my heart! A cute girl with a Les Paul! I attempted to make conversation with her but she, noting I was wearing a cheap, Japanese built Hondo II P-bass copy, was well aware that she outclassed me by around a thousand dollars. There was no talking to her. It didn't bother me too much though. I knew what was coming. Onstage, in the late measures of our final piece, that jazz-rock piece that Shelly brought in, I reached back and twisted the volume knob on my Fender Bassman 100 sitting on top of my 2-15 speaker cabinette. I spun around in time to light into my solo. I wailed. The notes came together together like Swiss gears and left my amp like forest fire. I was completely in the moment. I relished every note. I didn't even notice if the snobby girl guitarist was impressed as we left the stage. To my imagination she would kick herself forever that she hadn't been more friendly when she had the chance. I could have thrown her a "how-do-you-like-me-now" smirk but there was no need I was on top of the world. Mr. Not-so-cool's Revenge in Four Acts: 1. During the awards there was an award for the best soloist. I barely paid attention. It's not an award for bass pla… "The bass player from Canandaigua." What? What did they say? There was back-slapping from all directions. Otherwise I'd have thought I was hearing things. Stunned I began to rise from my seat to redeem my award but the slapping hands pulled me back. Karl Taylor, our band's representative was already onstage to receive all our awards. Our band won the overall competition as well. 2. I didn't know it at the time but Mr. Cool was also in attendance for both the solo and the award. My friend Scott, also a Penn Yan student, was sitting next to him and later told me that Mr. Cool was quite impressed with my solo. My revenge was complete… Or was it? 3. Still reeling from my award, I sat on the bus with the rest of the band waiting for our director, Barry Peters, to return from the judges meeting. We were all on a psych from the win. Maybe I remember it wrong, but I got the feeling they were all nearly as happy about my unexpected win as the band's championship. When Mr. Peters reached the bus it was plain that he was very pleased too. He came right up to me grinning like the Cheshire cat. "One of the judges is the jazz band director at St. Bonaventure University. He was really impressed with your playing. In fact, he wants to pay you a scholarship to go to school there and play in their jazz band." I've never been so blown away in my life. I was already adjusting to my first "win". The word "scholarship" and I simply didn't belong in the same sentence. Frankly, it was hard to take, all this honor and attention--It was also mentioned during the morning announcements the next day at school. It was all great and wonderful but I was completely unprepared to know how to feel. 4. By the time the bus reached our school and drove home it was midnight. I rapped gently on my parents' door and stepped into the dark of their room. "You'll never guess what," I said.