In a conversation with legendary bassist Alphonso Johnson, twice he concluded anecdotes by saying, “The rest is history.” It’s a humble way of wrapping up any one of his countless experiences over the past 40 years playing with the most famous musicians in rock and jazz: from Bob Weir and Carlos Santana to Wayne Shorter and Billy Cobham, (not to mention his role teaching music at the University of Southern California or an ill-fated shot at joining Genesis). A few days after sitting in with the Night Train Music Club- a weekly gathering of touring and session veterans at a Santa Monica club- Johnson discussed a few choice moments from his incredible “history.”
You have played bass with three bands that connect to the Grateful Dead; Bobby and the Midnites, The Other Ones, and Jazz is Dead. Is there a thread that connects the experiences aside from the repertoire?
They have interesting and challenging music. I always liked their music, but I wasn’t really a Grateful Dead fan. Phil Lesh didn’t play like any other bass player I’d heard before. The whole idea is to be able to paint myself into a corner and figure out how I’m going to get out of it. In each of those three situations there was music that I was given the ability to take whatever was originally there and make it my own. For me, that was the common thread.
Playing with the Night Train Music Club is certainly a similarly painted corner.
I like the challenge of showing up and not knowing what is going to happen. I just love that. For me it’s like when I first started playing music. The thing I loved about playing music was the joy of discovery. It’s a very unique experience.
When you get together to play with people you know or played with before, informally or formally, is it in hopes of recreating some magic or creating something new?
Definitely the latter. It’s difficult to repeat the past, and probably not that much fun. I like getting together with people that I’ve known for a long time, but I also like it when we both bring something new to the table.
When you are asked to join a group, how much of you as an individual, your style do you incorporate, and how much is serving the role and the material?
There is no formula. I just kind of show up, look at the foundation of the music, and then it’s really bouncing off everybody else. In Jazz is Dead, for instance, every time we changed a band member the music altered. The stuff I played before then became the foundation. I had to assess that with whatever new was going on. Same with Weather Report. We changed members a lot. To me it was frustrating, but elating at the same time. I got to play with all these great drummers who all brought something different to the music. That was exciting.
How did Jazz is Dead come about?
I got a phone call from T Lavitz saying he was putting a band together. Billy Cobham was going to be in it, and this young, hot guitar player named Jimmy Herring. Would I be interested? And my first response was, “Of course.”
So, the appeal wasn’t necessarily the music of The Grateful Dead, but the musicians involved?
Yeah, it was the fact that I was going to get to play with a different chemistry of a band. And, it was going to be fun.
In Santana, you were playing with a group that is known for Carlos and his brilliant guitar work, but also its multi-percussionist rhythm section. Was it difficult to assimilate into that setting?
I never think about that stuff when I am playing. It’s difficult to describe. With Santana, it was like getting on this big train, this locomotive. At first, I’m just going to hold on and enjoy the ride. After a while that’s not enough anymore. I had to find different ways to make it exciting for them, as well as for Carlos. And for my own personal satisfaction- take something and modify, or find a different way of making it work. It’s always a challenge.
Are you ever incorporating the emotions and feelings of your day into the performance?
Yes, exactly. If I have an argument with somebody or what I eat, it’s in the music.
As a professor, do you think there is a way people should listen to music or does that interfere with the visceral pleasure of it?
There’s probably a happy medium. Someone can show us how to appreciate art by allowing us to see things we weren’t aware of before, but that doesn’t mean we are only going to look for those things. We develop our own tastes, but we still have that information. I go to a concert and I’m checking out what bass the bass player is using, what drums the drummer is using, but after a while I just get into the music, I stop thinking, and enjoy the sound overall.
Is it correct you turned down a chance to be in Genesis?
It’s not correct. What happened was I became friends with Phil Collins, and he told me they were going to be auditioning a replacement for (guitarist) Steve Hackett. He thought that since I play Chapman Stick, it would be a great thing if I could play all the guitar parts on Stick. Mike would play bass. Then, I would play bass when Mike would play guitar. We would switch-off.
What happened?
I was totally unprepared for the audition. I love their music, but I didn’t sit down and learn any of their songs. I thought we were going to get together, and either they were going to have charts, or stuff would be laid out for me. When I met Mike, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. He says, Okay do you know this song? I said, I could learn it. He said, Do you know any of our music? I said, I love your music, but I haven’t committed any of it to memory. I was hoping he could’ve given me a list of stuff, but that was not going to happen. So I said, Let me suggest you guys call Daryl Stuermer. He’s a great guitar player, and plays bass. And, that’s exactly what they did. He nailed it, and the rest is history.
Any regrets or is it water under the bridge?
It is water under the bridge, but I will say it is something I regretted because up until then I had a pretty pleasurable career. I had no complaints or regrets. I’d always been invited to play in groups where I really didn’t have to audition. I’ve only done two auditions in my career, and that was one. I didn’t really have any experience as to how to go about doing that. Now I know. (Laughs)
Do you mind telling what the other audition was?
I went for Manhattan Transfer. You’ll never guess who the drummer was. He was a fairly new drummer to the L.A. scene. His last name was Bonham.
Really? Jason?
Yup. I remember he didn’t read (charts) that well, so it was a little awkward. I could tell he was a rock drummer.
Was it fun? Did you get the gig?
No.
No on fun or no on the gig?
No on fun. No on the gig. (Laughs)
You did work with Phil Collins on his solo debut, Face Value. What was it like working with him?
All of the tracks were made. We were just overdubbing bass parts and Stick parts. Trying different ideas. I was looking at him more as producer/artist. He wrote the songs so, obviously, he knows what he wants from the music. I could relate to that having done my own recordings.
Of all your experiences, is there one that stands above the others?
I would say two words: Weather Report.
Why?
First of all that was something I dreamed of. I loved to listen to Bill (Cobham) and Wayne (Shorter). When they first put the group together, I never imagined I would be playing with them, but I used to dream of it. As fate had it, all the stars seemed to align. Next thing I knew I was talking to Wayne and he asked me to come out to California. The rest is history.
