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redemption for the soul, enlightenment for the earhole - jesse johnson lyrics

[spoken: jezabella kipp*messmer]
outside the front entrance of a sleek and fashionably nondescript gray bungalow nestled in a quaint suburban cul*de*sac, a small blue lamp glows in the dusk like a covert beacon for a predetermined few

inside, most of them have already arrived. some fifteen locals, men and women, from varied cultural backgrounds and ranging in age from their late 20s to mid 70s, mingle, chat and sip libations while casually nibbling from a potluck feast on the dining room table. tonight, there will be laughter, a poetry reading or two and the usual spiritеd discourse regarding religion and politics

and god willing, thеre will be music

once upon a time, there was plenty of music. like air, it was just there, to be enjoyed by all. but that was forever ago, before the great last war left the nuorennus realm in control. declaring the creative expression of music the ultimate form of rebellion and individualism, the n r promptly banned it. music was not to be created, performed or listened to, ever, privately or in public

thus, in the days of the deafening quiet, those who dare listen to music must do so surreptitiously, at private gatherings like this one, hosted in the homes of souls bold
enough to risk freedom and quite possibly their lives to spread the joy and emotional craftsmanship of music

problem is, nanji is not here

one of the torchbearers of the underground music movement, nanji has served both music and lovers of the art fearlessly, literally putting his life on the line to smuggle musical recordings of every genre, musical instruments and even musicians themselves to secret gatherings

when freedom fighters like nanji arrive at a safe house music meeting, they could be carrying russian waltz recordings, acetate of ’30s swing, and tapes of ancient tibetan chants or bluegrass. it matters not to the listeners at the houses. they simply long to hear the magical mélange of instrumentation, melody, vocals and harmony that an autocratic rule has seen fit to deny the people, they want to hear music

but when more than an hour passe and there is still no sign of nanji, the bungalow host and his guests resign themselves to an evening of conversation. they understand: conditions might have deemed it unsafe for nanji to travel across town with his melodic contraband. or the dreaded kreativ polizei, whose job it was to bust advocates of the creative arts, especially music, might have taken him

a young man in the middle of reading the gathering an essay about love and circumstance has his cadence interrupted by a soft, urgent know at the back door. the host scurries to the kitchen window, peers out and sees a lean, hooded middle*aged man man in dark athletic wear looking back at him. music is here!

nanji is ushered into the living room amidst applause, hugs and kisses. someone hands him a giblet of merlot. he recognizes many of these faces from the other safe house listening sessions over the years

the guests excitedly settle onto the couch, in chairs and on colorful indian*made pillows on the floor. what melodic treat does nanji bring for them this time? a delicious italian opera? stoul*stirring christian hymns? chopin? louis armstrong?
“this evening i have something very special for you,” nanji proudly declares, standing in the center of the room and reaching into his canvas knapsack. he explains that tonight’s music is from the 20th/21st century guitarist, songwriter, producer, vocalist and performer named jesse johnson
nanji only shares music that is close to his heart; he prides himself on supplying listeners with history of artists and their music. considering that jesse was a child of the modern rock era, he says with a smile, it somehow seems poetic that the artist was born in an illinois town called rock island

jesse’s work, nanji continues, was informed by some of the greats who helped shape popular music itself, among them curtis mayfield, jimi hendrix and james brown. the musician would become one of the most prolific artists of the so*called minneapolis sound of the 1980s, augmenting a band called the time**indeed, co*writing the unit’s signature song, “jungle love” and “the bird”**before leaving to record five solo albums, four of them going gold and platinum and sp*wning such hits as “be your man,” “can you help me,” “i want my girl,” “free world” and “crazay,” jesse’s duet with the iconic sly stone

however, says nanji, verbal penetration, the jesse johnson music presented this night, reflected a pivotal juncture in the artist’s life and career. written and recorded during 2008 and 2009, the two*cd set embodied jesse’s often poignant perspective regarding 21st century american culture on subjects including communication, romance, race, self*love, astrology and history. often, nanji notes, there is more than one idea going on in music. for instance, jazz instrumental “ali frazier” is as much a tribute to those two legendary athletes as jesse’s inspired guitar work on the track is homage to jazz guitar great wes montgomery. and, winks nanji, “the last temptation” may not be what you think it’s about

but enough talk, he says, inserting the microchip into the host’s sound system. nanji presses play and the room braces itself

soon the bungalow, soundproofed just for occasions like these, is bathed in the big, raucous sound. at times angry, often tender and loving, but always dynamic in its passion and insight, verbal penetration is an entrancing amalgamation of soul, rock and jazz, a contemplative masterpiece of rhythm and melody with a lot on its mind

the guests bob their heads to the groove, stomp their feet to the beat. giddy in their joy, they laugh. others, unable to contain themselves, get up and dance. and they weep: seems this jesse johnson, even way back in 2009, was writing and singing about the very issues those in this room fight for today**freedom, self*respect, love and the omnipotent power of communication. the more things change, the more they stay the same

when the last note has played, the room cheer. they hug one another, thank their host and nanji, and in prayer, they thank god: this music has recharged their collective spirit

a sudden banging at the front door slices the jubilation. the room freezes. nervously, the host looks out a peephole and beholds the mortifying image of an n r patrol vehicle out on the street and at the bungalow door, a long, intense*looking realm officer. everyone here knows the grim consequences

slowly, the host opens the door. before he can utter a word, the officer solemnly orders him to spare the feeble negotiation: he’s been parked out front from the start. through his trust music detection monitor, he has heard it all, he adds, and before this crowd disperses, he has but one thing to say: “i gotta have me a copy of this sh*t.”

- jesse johnson lyrics

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