by JIM REED
Published: November, 2004

When crafting a short, quick biographical sketch to be used in promoting the work of a musician or performing artist, it always helps to be in possession of at least one memorable nugget of information -- something succinct that makes a convenient hook on which to hang an explanation for said artist’s entire catalog.
Whether or not the anecdote is ultimately proven apochryphal is unimportant. All that matters is that the majority of overworked – and often jaded – journalists and critics find in this wee tale a germ of an idea: a doorway, if you will, through which they can more easily approach a perplexing subject.
The music made by guitarist Richard Leo Johnson is one such subject.
A complex – and often stupefyingly intricate – instrumental amalgam of the American acoustic folk idiom, the late-’70s heyday of electric jazz fusion, the psychedelic backwash of Krautrock avatars CAN, and the type of hypnotic Eastern drones favored by such ‘60s avant-garde archetypes as La Monte Young and Albert Ayler, Johnson’s pocket guitar symphonies are often so cerebral and idiosyncratic as to defy categorization.
(Johnson demurs, “I always avoid categories. I see my music as progressive instrumental, nothing more or less.”)
Which is why one of those aforementioned press release nuggets is especially useful in sussing out the origins of such a stellar – and singular – talent.
However, unlike most contrived tales used to hype up lightweight artists, the one most commonly attached to Johnson has the ring of truth. And – if legit – goes a long way towards explaining just how he arrived at his beguiling and virtuosic style. More Article>>>