The Reverend was twelve years old when first venturing down the obstacle-filled road of self-publishing. The Erie Monopoly was that first effort, six pages of handwritten comedy, record reviews and comments on comic books. I put together half-a-dozen stapled copies for friends and my sixth grade teacher and after receiving an overwhelmingly positive response, the Reverend was hooked on the written word. Inspired by writers like Lester Bangs and Dave Marsh and publications like Crawdaddy, Fusion, Rolling Stone and the biggest, baddest music zine of them all – Creem – the Reverend launched a career in "music journalism" at the tender age of fifteen.
Of course, living in rural Tennessee outside of Nashville, finding one’s way as a rock critic was kind of difficult. After all, I didn’t have Lester Bangs guiding me as he did Cameron Crowe. I didn’t live in LA, New York, Chicago or even Detroit, where rock music was happening. Hell, when first moving to Tennessee from Pennsylvania, local kids (circa 1971) had no idea who Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin were, much less why I would hang up a poster of them on my bedroom wall. So I bought a copy of Writer’s Market and proceeded to mail out (undoubtedly poorly written) record reviews to every music magazine listed in the book.
Unsurprisingly, I received no response from most of the magazines I contacted, and some kind rejections from a few others. However, one editor with a "devil may care" attitude decided to give me a chance. Rick Johnson, reviews editor of Sunrise magazine – the "journal of music and liberation" founded by relics of the White Panther Party – sent me a copy of the Hello People’s 1974 album The Handsome Devils to review. Sunrise ran my lengthy, over-written review and some kind of writing career was launched.
Thus began a long-distance relationship with Rick Johnson that would carry on for over a decade. In bi-weekly correspondence, Johnson would talk music and give this youngster tips on writing. He would send promo albums for me to review (starting a life-long addiction to free music) and a list of other albums he was trying to sell (for which I’d send him stamps stolen from the top drawer of my dad’s desk.) After that first review was published, I remember asking Rick when I was going to get "paid." This prompted a laugh-filled letter that said something along the lines of "Knight doesn’t pay anybody anything kid!" (referring to Sunrise editor Bill Knight), Johnson thus welcoming me into the rock critic fraternity.
When Sunrise went the way of so many other publications, Johnson kept in touch and was instrumental in getting me a gig at Bill Knight’s next publication, Prairie Sun, where I served as the "Tennessee correspondent" for a number of years. Later, Johnson paved the way for the Reverend to write for the touchstone of all rock criticism, Creem magazine. Where he is known at all, Rick is remembered for his work in the pages of Creem. A talented writer and critic with a satirical mind and an ear for humor, Johnson’s material was among the most popular in the magazine’s post-Bangs era. Through the years, Johnson encouraged me to develop my own writing style (much as Bangs once encouraged him) and had me writing reviews of TV shows, books…and, once, even US postage stamps…for Creem’s media page.
Rick Johnson died last week, his body found on April 3rd in his apartment after he didn’t show up for work at the smoke shop he had managed for over a decade. After Creem went down the tubes in the late-80s, it effective killed Johnson’s writing career. There was no place for Johnson’s anarchic literary style outside of the insular realm of Creem magazine and, seemingly accepting his place in history, Rick returned "home" to Macomb, Illinois where he would live until his untimely death at the too-young age of 55 last Monday.
Few Creem readers probably remember Johnson, although many of the fellow writers that he influenced and inspired still push words around for a living. The Reverend never had the opportunity to meet Johnson face-to-face and only spoke with him a few times over the phone. Our friendship was forged by U.S. Mail, each one of his letters eagerly awaited by a geeky music-loving teenage kid in rural Tennessee. Rick was as much a mentor to me as Bangs was to Crowe, and no more so than in the humor and insight that he brought to his writing. He was free with his advice and support, a perpetually upbeat older friend that never took himself too seriously and thereby taught me many valuable lessons in both writing and life.
The Reverend lost touch with Johnson when he left Creem, although he has often come to mind over the past twenty years or so. This interview with Johnson at rockcritics.com brought those of us that cared up to date on Johnson’s life and whereabouts. Although he hadn’t written a word in years, Johnson is still remembered with fondness by friends and fellow writers. Certainly deserving of a wider audience, a collection of his work would be a great read for anybody who cares a whit about rock music. It’s a damn shame that the rockcrit game changed as much as it did, marginalizing a talent as intelligent as Johnson; it’s even more of a shame that he never found another outlet for his creative voice. Rick’s influence will continue to be felt, however, in every word written by his colleagues and peers. Thanks, Rick, for your help and support – what dubious accomplishments this humble scribe has enjoyed through the years can largely be attributed to your influence. Keep on rocking, brother!
ADDENDUM: Musician Steve Kilpatrick was kind enough to forward a link to this Rick Johnson review of his Westside Crop Circles CD from late last year. This is probably the last piece written by the late critic, and it exhibits the typical humor and gonzo wordplay readers always appreciated in Johnson's writing. Another blog reader sent me info on this piece by Michael Goldberg called How Does One Become A Rock Critic? that quotes freely from Johnson. Thanks folks!
