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REAL VERSION

I'm too old to write this bio in third person or pretend someone else is writing it. I'm just gonna tell it to you straight and true. I absolutely love making music. If there's such a thing as "flow" in life, when I'm creating music, taking the bones of a song from my guitar or just out of thin air, coaxing the words and melodies from the ether, inviting other musicians into the mix and bringing it to life, I feel totally present, connected, purposeful and useful. I didn't always feel that way about music or life in general though. It took a lot of hard lessons, humility and loss for me to truly appreciate what a gift music is and to understand that it is a craft and practice to be respected and honored.

 

My first exposure to music was listening to 50s and 60s pop music in the car on the way to school - I absorbed all those catchy and simple melodies like a sponge; not a bad entrance into the world of songwriting and producing as those musicians and players were really great at crafting songs. In the meantime I was pawing through my grandma's records, mostly classic country and some pop gospel as well as some really obscure and fun sound effects type records. All of those songs and images are imprinted on my brain and she always had music on when I was there. She would later describe my own songs as "music people wash their cars to" and I can't entirely disagree with that odd description. The final piece of the petri dish was my three year stint in the Episcopal boy's choir. Full on red robes, coffee filter around the neck, formal and structured, ancient, beautiful hymns, all sung in a crystal falsetto that I still use on occasion to this day. 

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Around that time, circa 1990, country music exploded across America, driven by Garth Brook's mega hits, and there I was singing English hymns at school and Mary Chapin Carpenter and Randy Travis songs at home. I still had my Weird Al tapes though so I wasn't a full on country fan boy. I briefly wore a cowboy hat, but felt ridiculous even at age 11. The next logical step was discovering blues music and rock through the power of Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin and eventually my spirit animal band Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers; with emphasis on the Heartbreakers as I listened just as deeply to Benmont Tench's synths and Mike Campbell's chiming guitars as I did to Petty's melodies and stories. My first guitar love affair was and always will be Jimi, though I've long stopped aspiring to such freaky psychedelic heights. It was also Jimi who introduced me to my inner world and the complex struggle with one's self. When he sang the lyric "Manic Depression is a frustrating mess" from the angular rock song "Manic Depression," even as an uninitiated teenage, I identified with what he was saying.

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With that musicial foundation and a gleam in my eye, I was on my way into the wilderness. I honed my craft through college, playing in bars and at fraternity parties, and later quit graduate school, basically throwing down a gauntlet, declaring my mission of "making it in the music industry." My passion was all consuming and I would physically run from my car to the rehearsal space I was so excited. Little did I know that unbridled passion does not equal dedicated fans, a European tour or a big recording contract, whatever that may look like. I could not have been more naive.

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For the next decade, fueled by my seemingly bottomless passion and youthful energy, I roamed the country, bushwhacking my path forward, eventually landing in Chicago and forming a band with the people who became my closet friends and musical brothers. We played every shithole that would have us and slept in many questionable places, all the while learning how to be in a band and interact with each other on a stage. It was during these years that my relationship to alcohol was changing and I really began punishing my brain and my soul. What started out as a fun adventure and pursuit of a dream, would morph into self-destruction and some serious battles with mental health and spiritual drain. The premonitions I felt through Jimi's music were becoming real. It was not romantic, it was not artful, it definitely was not profitable, it was just hard and dark.

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Skipping the gory details, that ten year musical trip ended with a whimper rather than a bang and I hung up my guitar after a slew of self-produced albums, lots of stories, some amazing friendships, zero dollars in the bank, a perpetual hangover and a heavy fog over my brain and heart. I had become a slave to my creative pursuits and worst impulses and I was paying the price for it. I actually hated music and all I thought it represented to me.

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But, thankfully from pain comes growth. I made the decision to stop drinking, examine my choices and face my fears. In short, I took responsibility for myself and stopped leaning so heavily on my precious art. Those changes would open my heart back up, heal my soul and allow me to rediscover my passion with a renewed sense of purpose, grace and gratitude. 

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Pinkish Clouds is the result of all of that experience and wisdom. I love music and creation more than ever. I practice my guitar more now than I did when I was a kid in my bedroom trying to figure out the chords changes to Allman Brothers' songs. My passion has not diminished at all - it was just abused and disfigured by darkness. I grew tired of courting darkness, swallowed my pride, and decided being in the light was where I truly belong. 

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Now, with fresh ears and a sense of humility and contentment, I can listen to an Al Green song and appreciate every note. I can better understand my heroes like JJ Cale, Bill Withers, Jeff Tweedy, Randy Newman, Neko Case, Elliott Smith, Nina Simone, Aretha Franklin, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Albert King, Ry Cooder, Steve Cropper, or OV Wright (to name a few). And while I will always pull from the giants of my American music history, I can appreciate and be inspired by musicians making their way today. I'm looking at you Kurt Vile, Courtney Barnett, Leon Bridges, Gary Clark Jr., Sharon Van Etten, Angel Olson, Wye Oak, Idles, White Denim and Tame Impala. Thank God for KUTX in Austin, KEXP in Seattle, Audiotree in Chicago and NPR's Tiny Desk series.    

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I write everyday. I practice and rehearse because I want to, not because I have to. I make music for the sake of making it and while I hope it will have an audience, I will survive if it does not. The songs on Warm Tortillas are born from my experiences and when I sing "I can't stay, I can't go," on the tune "Crazy" I'm trying to describe that same frustrating mess Jimi told me about when I was a boy. "Beyond the Darkness" is about facing your fears and having the courage to go beyond the horizon, toward the light. The song "Cold Tortillas" is about realizing you've been cultivating loneliness and seeing the results - cold tortillas on your floor and sour cream smeared on your guitar. There are some heartbreak songs on there and a dose of regret and loss, but I see this collection of songs being about the first ray of light coming over the horizon after a long storm. These are not dark songs, but songs of reflection and possibility. I'm genuinely excited about sharing this music and making the next round of songs and I am thankful for the darkness I've experienced because it makes me truly grateful to be in the light.

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- Justin Jahnke, Singer, Songwriter, Guitarist - Pinkish Clouds - Austin, TX

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