backstage with jack johnsonSanta Barbara’s Most Famous Export Is Just Like You and Meby Matt Kettmann

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the manFirst, the obligatory history: Born in 1975on Oahu. Learned guitar from his dad’sfriend, Jeff “Peff” Eick. Made Pipeline hisbackyard at age 12. Mastered the break withsurfing pros Kelly Slater and Rob Machado.Played guitar with his first band, the non-renowned Hawaiian punk group LimberChicken. Declined dad’s last-minute offer totour the world after graduating high school.Went to UC-Santa Barbara to study math.Met Kim Baker in UCSB’s De la Guerradining hall, immortalized in the song“Bubbletoes” with the Gaucho-pleasing line“I was eating lunch at the DLG when thislittle girl came and she sat next to me.”Played to the Isla Vista crowds with the jamband Soil. Wrote some songs but, being tooshy, only sang back-up. Became a film stud-ies major in his sophomore year. Began lay-ing down tunes in his own voice in the pri-vacy of his Sueno Road living room on afour-track recording system his mombought him. Distributed tapes to surfingfriends the world over. Dug by everybodyfrom Sydney to San Diego. Filmed two surfflicks, Thicker than Water and SeptemberSessions. Won acclaim from critics andsurfers alike. Met Garrett Dutton, the G inPhiladelphia’s G-Love and Special Sauce.Recorded his “Rodeo Clowns” song withGarret. Made airwaves. Hunted down by

record execs. Turned down major label deal.Recorded first album, Brushfire Fairytales,with bassist Merlo Podlewski and drummerAdam Topol on Ben Harper’s manager’sEnjoy Records label. Married Kim in 2000.Toured the United States and Europerepeatedly. Sold more than a million copiesof the album. Recorded second album instudios on Oahu. Toured Australia and NewZealand with Ben Harper, who is, handsdown, Down Under’s most popular rockmusician. Returned stateside to play at hissecond Coachella, a two-day, 75-band-plusmega-fest billed as the world’s biggest rockconcert. Currently patiently awaiting nextTuesday’s CD release party at the Arlington.

Now you’re up to speed.It’s been quite a jam-packed three years

for Jack, but somehow, he’s pretty much thesame guy I met during my first interview

with him. Close friends, big waves, and peaceof mind are still most important to him.

After last March’s Santa BarbaraInternational Film Festival screening ofThicker than Water, Jack played a few solosongs during the private after-party atLongboard’s. While fans hung on his everyword, his mind was clearly elsewhere. Hestopped after six quick songs and walkedover to a group of friends. With a shy smile,Jack said, “That didn’t feel right. This isn’tthe time. I just want to hang out.”

After his sold-out show at the SantaBarbara Bowl last fall, Jack showed up atRestaurant Roy on Carrillo Street, set onhanging out with friends. As a handful ofmusicians and artists have done before, Jackchallenged Roy Gandy, the restaurant’sowner/chef, to a bike race around the block.To my amazement—I was the official time-keeper that night—Jack beat Roy, the manwho had invented the two-wheeled grandprix. Later, when another challenger crashedwhile rounding the corner in front of theGamekeeper store, Jack led the crowd run-ning to investigate. His friend Vaughn wasonly scraped. The borrowed bike was a dif-ferent story.

Just ask around. If you don’t know some-one who knows Jack, you’d be surprisedhow easy they are to find. His friendshipsare with all sorts of people, from haolisurfer dudes to Latino hip-hoppers to plain

old white-collar grads he knowsfrom his UCSB days.

As for surfing, it’s still a bigpart of his life. More than onemorning during his Australiantour, Jack got up before 6 a.m.,caught a ride with a local kidwho had lent him a wetsuit andboard, and drove two hours to asecret break. Backstage just anhour before his stage appearanceat Coachella, he took a breakfrom tuning his guitar todescribe, with intricate handmovements, the last couple ofwaves he caught in Hawaii tofriend Conan Hayes, a pro surferwho was visiting in the dressingroom.

Jack still gets jazzed when hegets to meet the superstars thatpreceded him. When fellowSanta Barbara musical legendDavid Crosby called Jack up, heand Kim were totally excited.Kim—who still can’t believe“David Crosby and his wife camefor dinner!”—was so nervous shedidn’t even try to cook and just

ordered take-out Thai food instead.In the same vein, when the Beastie Boys

hit the stage at Coachella, I asked Jack, whowas watching their performance intently, ifhe’d met them. With an ever-so-slight hintof yearning, Jack simply muttered, “No.”

And he still takes his fame lightly. Lastweekend, a 20-something ran up and blurt-ed out somewhat confusedly, “You’re mybiggest fan.” Jack, calm, friendly, and alwaysapproachable, laughed, “I just met mybiggest idol.”

At the same time, Jack knows he’s not inKansas anymore. Inside the dressing trailer,as the world’s beastie boys, sonic youths,and extra spicy chili peppers milled about,he said, “It’s weird coming from Byron Bay(Australia) and Hawaii (where he took abreather for three days) to Coachella. Here,

jack johnson is nothing special. I know it’s hard to

believe, but trust me, I know him. It’s true. Despite selling a million albums,

making two killer surf flicks, and playing to sold-out crowds at the top venues

on three continents—all in the last three years and all before his 28th birth-

day—Jack’s exactly like you and me. Well, at least me. He’s a laid-back, flip-

flopped, and baggy-shorted dude who’s just trying to have some fun.

And unlike the rarified rock gods before him—from Elvis to Michael Jackson,

men most definitely not like you and me—it’s expressly Jack’s down-to-earth

nature that has catapulted the singer/songwriter to global stardom. His music

is so accessible—thoughtful lyrics easy to remember, simple melodies easy

to hum—that he’s become one of Santa Barbara’s most successful musicians

ever, and he’s only called the South Coast home for the past decade. But as

star pressure mounts—from the intrusive media, the fanatical fans, the des-

perate record execs—Jack’s taking action to ensure he stays a regular guy.

It can’t be easy, but his second album—On and On, to be released next

Tuesday with much coinciding fanfare at the Arlington Theatre—is certainly a

start. It drives home the essential element of Jack’s music, sweet and sim-

ple, fun and familiar. It serves as his statement of purpose, his line in the

sand. And just to be sure that his line isn’t washed away by future tides of

success, Jack’s leaving the California limelight and returning to his native

Hawaii by summer’s end.

A scribe of songs and melodies whose first album, Brushfire Fairytales, went

platinum; a fearless wave rider who could have gone pro, famous among

surfers for his mastery of Oahu’s widow-making North Shore; a filmmaker

whose surfing movies have won awards from Surfer Magazine and ESPN; a

27-year-old unflappable chick magnet who has married, without a hint of

regret, his college sweetheart. It’s hard to believe, I know, but Jack Johnson

is nothing special.

Last weekend at the Coachella Valley Arts and Music Festival, where Jack

played to more than 30,000 fans, he had, as he usually does before big

shows, become so nervous he couldn’t eat and could barely hold up conver-

sations with friends. On stage, he closed his eyes most of the time, afraid of

seeing that the crowd is not enthralled by his music. On the way to

Coachella, he got in a minor fender bender and, on Saturday night, let the

batteries die in his new van.

Yes, Santa Barbarans, this man, whose celebrity is so infectious that merely utter-

ing the words “I know Jack Johnson” has multiplied my own fame quotient

among both near strangers and close relatives, is not superman.

But as you’ll see, he’s even better, because there’s a lesson in his life for all of us.

Known in the surfing world as a fearlesswaverider, Jack catches tube at Backdoor, thebreak next to Pipeline on Oahu’s notoriouswidow-making North Shore. Even from insidethe barrel, Jack can catch glimpses of both hisparents’ pad where he grew up and the newhome he recently bought right on the beach.

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you’re either famous, half-famous,or wanting to meet someonefamous. I’m still tripping.”

As much as we Santa Barbaranswould like to claim him as ourown, at Jack’s core is a quiet, pri-vate Hawaiian family man, with aperennial tan that defies hisAnglo-Irish and Danish back-ground. His grandmother, twomarried brothers, slew of niecesand nephews, and the rest of hisfamily all live close together onOahu. And even big days atRincon can’t shake his memoriesof the North Shore’s big waves.

As he and Kim explained overbrunch Sunday at the poshEsmerelda Resort in Palm Desert,they’ve pretty much already movedmost of their stuff out of theMontecito flat to their house onthe North Shore. His new backyardbreak will now be Rock Piles, butPipeline at his parents’ pad is onlya “two-minute bike ride away,”according to Jack. “We’ll keep theplace in Santa Barbara at leastthrough the summer,” explainedKim, hoping to make that theirchill-out spot during short breakson this summer’s tour. “But we’llbe back a lot,” said Jack.

Indeed, Santa Barbara will for-ever be a part of the Jack story.While Jack has supported causesthat affect Santa Barbara’s shore-front—including a large gift toHeal the Ocean and donations torecent Surfrider auctions—his hitcurrently on the radio is about theview from the South Coast. Asocial commentary on our cul-ture’s dependence upon oil com-panies—or “the pirates of the newage,” as the lyrics go— “Horizon’sBeen Defeated” critiques “aliencasinos,” a phrase invented by hisbike-crashing friend Vaughn todescribe the luminescent oil plat-forms at night. (Interestingly, thesame structures are supposed to

have inspired Jim Morrison towrite the Door’s “Crystal Ship.”)

the music Jack’s sound is summed up in twosyllables: mel-low. I’ve had a copyof the new album On and On forabout two months now, and all Ican say, other than I like it betterthan the first, is that it’s even moremel-low than Brushfire Fairytales.The 16 songs, all but a couple ledby acoustic guitar, are about onebeat slower and a minute shorterthan the first album’s. Comparedto the slightly more electricFairytales, On and On is closer tothe kind of music Jack wants tokeep doing in the future. Heexplained, “The second album wasmy own rebellious way of out-doing the first one. I just wentmore mellow, because that’s thekind of music I like making.”

In a musical world increasinglydefined by over-the-top originali-ty—whether it be the high-energyedge of the White Stripes, thepunky pop of The Hives, or eventhe live music hip-hop of BlackEyed Peas (all bands that Jacklikes)—it’s a bold, even brash,move to make this his second, thesuperstitiously scary sophomoreeffort, so simple. Yet despite Jack’soutward appearance of unflusteredtranquility, he has a natural under-lying concern about what otherpeople think.

When the Los Angeles Times list-ed the top 50 must-see bands atCoachella, neither Jack nor G-Lovemade the list. They both reactedwith mild but cautiously con-cerned laughter. “Hey, man,” Jacktold Garrett backstage, “we’re theunderdogs.”

Or even take his slightlybummed reaction to the recentnegative critique in Rolling Stone ofhis second album. He actuallyappreciated one of the disparaging

comments—that it would take a“leap of faith to trust that Johnsoncould really be this calm”—but wasdisappointed at the mediocrereview and being compared toDonovan without the “weirdness.”But I think trying to place Jack’ssound into popular-music cate-gories will never work, since criti-cal eyes tend to overlook whatmakes it so special.

I contemplated his quick rise tofame while listening to both of hisalbums back-to-back on my five-hour, traffic-clogged drive throughthe Los Angeles basin on the wayto Coachella. The tunes remindedme of the camaraderie that’s feltduring his live shows, when every-one’s singing and swaying in uni-son, so I concluded that it’s Jack’ssimplicity that makes his music sopopular. Look at such top-sellingbands as the White Stripes orQueens of the Stone Age, or eventhe Beastie Boys for that matter.What’s disappeared from the pop-ular music world is somethingpure and simple, a sound thatmight be easy and familiar but issincere and authentic as well. Justas it’s easy to miss Jack in a crowdof Pacific Ocean white boysbecause he looks like everyonearound him, it’s also true thatJack’s influences—reggae and rock,hip-hop and punk—are a genuinehybrid of what an entire genera-tion has grown up listening to.Sure, it’s slow and über mellow, butit’s all there: the cadence of hip-hop, the roots of reggae, the jamsof rock, the everyday lyrical con-tent of punk.

A colleague of mine often refersto Jack’s sound as “campfire music.”Jack’s heard it called “barbecuemusic.” Either description hits itdead-on. You can’t deny it. Jack’ssongs are the tunes you want tosing with your closest friends whiledrinking beers and sitting around aglowing pit or hot grill. Thankfully,

Whether on stage before thousands or waiting for big waves in the water or chillin’ on a ranchnear Jalama with a goat, Jack’s laid-back, down-to-earth demeanor never fades.

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On and On continues this tradi-tion, as I quickly found myselfsinging along with songs I’d heardonly the first time an hour before.

the messageConfession: I was a late arrival onthe Jack train. Since I tend to shyaway from the next best thing—anattitude I’ve learned is often, as inthis case, shortsighted—I avoidedeven listening to his music until Iprepared for our first interview acouple of years back. When I heardthe chorus of the first song onBrushfire Fairytales—“Slow downeveryone / you’re moving toofast”—I was hooked. That albumand the upcoming On and On arejam-packed with poignant socialcommentary. In the same song-writing tradition of Bob Dylan andthe Clash’s Joe Strummer, Jack hassomething important to say andhe’s successfully using catchy musicas his medium.

And therein lies the true reasonI believe so many people of allages—and certainly most of hiscollege-aged and post-college-agedfans—love Jack’s music: He hassomething to tell them.

Television is not a good thing;we watch too much of it, and weplace too much emphasis on whatthe little box tells us, as he explainsin “It’s All Understood” and“Falling.” We are too concernedwith others, too focused on keep-ing up with material trends, anddon’t spend enough time under-standing ourselves, the recurringtheme in the old and new songs“Posters,” “Gone,” “Wasting Time,”and “Symbol in My Driveway.” As aculture, we pass blame for atroci-ties down the line, from aschoolkid triggerman, to the par-ents, to the media, to the songwrit-ers and filmmakers, as he sings in“Cookie Jar,” summing up, “It wasyou, it was me, it was every man /We’ve all got blood on our hands.”

There’s wisdom in his musings,which equates to value for a gener-ation strangled by popular mediaand starving for someone in thespotlight to say what we’ve all beenthinking. Even his love songs toKim stay pure and, on the new

album, the lyrics of those songsreveal the deeper relationship issuesthat occur in every partnership.

In all his music, Jack says itpoetically and presents it in an eas-ily digestible format. And for that,no matter what your musical taste,he should be commended. He’sjust being himself—flip-flops,T-shirts, shorts, and all—and say-ing what he thinks, and, it appears,some of that sincerity is beingtransferred to the masses.

“I think what attracts the peoplewho come out to the shows is thatthey feel they could have writtenthese songs,” Jack said Monday,reflecting on the past weekend’sconcert. “When people are singingalong, it feels really good to knowyou’re around a group of peoplewho have similar beliefs and feelthe same way about the world’sstate of affairs.”

In our numerous conversations,both official with tape recordersand informal in bars and restau-rants, Jack has told me that herarely reads what’s written abouthim, no matter whether it’s inTime, GQ, Rolling Stone, or TheIndependent. There’s no point, he’sexplained, since if it’s complimen-tary, he may “get a big head,” and ifit’s critical, well, no one wants toread bad things about themselves.

So I doubt he’s reading this. Butif you are, Jack, I want to give aheartfelt thank you. Thanks for themusic, of course, the veritablesoundtrack of my post-UCSByears, but also for being a positiverole model for a growing genera-tion that desperately needs one.

But most of all, thank you, Jack,for showing the rest of us thatsometimes just being ourselves iscool enough. ■

Jack Johnson celebrates therelease of his new album On and Onthis Tuesday, May 6, with a show atthe Arlington Theatre. Doors openat 7 p.m., show starts at 8 p.m.Tickets available today at allTicketmaster locations, includingthe Arlington, Robinsons May, The Wherehouse, and Tower Records.

Jack played to upwards of 30,000 at his second CoachellaValley fest last weekend, and judging by the crowd’s singingand smiling reception, his mellow sound still rocks.

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