JON22

Jon Berman—known by many under his chosen moniker Jon22—brings Muse, his debut album out into the world on Nov 22. Given how important transparency has become to discerning listeners, he could have picked a better title. Something like My First Rodeo would’ve worked, given how this is Berman’s promising debut and he readily admits there’s still many things he’s exasperatingly naive about making music. Another consideration could’ve been Old School, since Berman is close to flipping his inner odometer to begin his sixth decade on Earth. He’s clearly not pop, boy-band material.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since I was a kid,” says Berman about exploring his musical interests. “I remember when I wanted to just be a backup singer for this band in high school. So badly! I remember the name of the band was Topaz—like, the worst name ever. I remember the lead singer was a big Tom Petty fan, and they would cover ‘Refugee’ and stuff. And I'd just be like, ‘Please let me sing backup.’ They're like, No way, Berman!’” Now decades later—not quite a lifetime ago—he’s doing his own thing and on his own terms.

But back to the title: Muse works for two reasons. The Texas-born Berman dedicates his debut long-player to his wife, Princess French, the woman who is without doubt his greatest inspiration to do great things musically and the right things socially. Secondly, the word acts like a summary of his artistic vision, one that’s not strictly married to one genre but to that temporal center that guides his slightly askew sonic visions. Whether he’s cultivating Southern roots in a French countryside or refracting off a lenticular mirror where electromagnetic field readings suggest Hank Williams’ ghost morphing into David Bowie (perhaps even Richard Ashcroft on a grand night), Jon22 is clearly driven by his own consciousness.

“I was in one band for like, three days,” he reveals. “And the only song we did was [Led Zeppelin’s] ‘Communication Breakdown' when I was like 15 and all I did was scream. Because I couldn't sing it for sure, because growing up, I was like a Carpenters fan, okay? And when everybody loved KISS, I loved the Carpenters!”

Berman self-funded the making of Muse out of his own pocket. But the project would’ve been doomed from the start had he not had the great enthusiasm of friends that willingly supported his vision. Produced at Dallas’ Pleasantry Lane Studios, an outpost owned bySalim Nourallah—who handled bass and backing vocals on Muse, and also produced records by the Old ‘97s, Deathray Davies and Smile Smiles. Nourallah was helpful in midwifing Berman’s songs to achieve greater clarity and compelling performances. Berman was also aided and abetted by such respected players as John Dufilho(Deathray Davies, The Apples In Stereo), Chris Holt (“Chris is the guy that you hear just killing it throughout the whole album on lead guitar,” says Berman about the A-list sideman for The Eagles, Bob Dylan, Mike Campbell And The Dirty Knobs amongst many others), Paul Slavens (Ten Hands, Baptist Generals), Nick Earl, Billy Harveyand (of course) Princess French, who stands by her man by delivering backing vocals to the melancholy “Six Of Cups.” 

“I realized while I was sitting in [the studio], what a dopamine drop I was getting,” Berman says excitedly about recording Muse. “I really like mixing—singing and mixing the guitar. I just like to sing. The guitar is just a way to write songs. And by the way, I'm 59 and 7/8 now and I’ve started counting like that again!”

But it was a long-running friendship with old friend Tim DeLaughter of legendary Texas units The Polyphonic Spree and Tripping Daisy, that strongly encouraged Berman to take his introspective chamber-pop/country helixes to the greater world. “Here in Dallas, it's a big city, but it's a real small community of musicians,” he says. “Like we all know everything about everybody, right? We're all friends. We compete a little bit, but in a friendly way. And it was hard for me to get my music taken very seriously right here in my hometown except for Tim.” He recalls the time when he hatched a plan tricking DeLaughter into listening to Muse by making him drive an hour back home after visiting a casino. I'm like, ‘Hey, will you drive back?’ And he's like, “sure”. And I’ve got him now because we're going to be in the car for an hour, and my album's 48 minutes. I'm like, ‘Listen, man: I listened to your album, so we’re gonna listen to my album all the way back home! You don't have to like it. You can listen to it, right?’ So we laughed about it and listened to it. And by the time we got back, Tim was like, ‘Man, I love it. Afterward, all I was thinking about was, ‘Now I can get into the record store.’” Some mutual friends got Muse into the hands of Declared Goods label founder Greg Vegas, and Berman was closer to getting out into the greater world than he would’ve imagined.

At the heart of Berman’s aesthetics are melodic songs with direct emotional content to the moments or people that inspired them. But it’s how he chooses to convey those moments that makes Muse an alluring listen. Sure, buzzword terms like “Texas-based singer-songwriter” might make for good marketing copy, but it’s only telling a fraction of the story. The opening track “Growin’” is a breezy pop number that feels like Berman is piloting a triple-seated bicycle with Beck and Wayne Coyne. In other places, Berman is a spirit channel for a celestial Laurel Canyon mirage where David Bowie and Gram Parsons meet for tea and scones on “Home Is Us.” Elsewhere, the Texas-born Berman creates a mise en scene of British heavyweights (“Reincarnate,” “Melting Sky”) that call to mind Pink Floyd’s guitar legend David Gilmour alongside such moody Britpop entities as Jarvis Cocker and Richard Ashcroft.

Listening to Berman share his experiences in the making of this record is truly heart-rendering. In a music industry where everybody is fronting on so many levels, it’s hard to remember why they all got into the business in the first place. To that end, Muse is like a favorite hoodie where the sleeves are longer to accommodate Jon22’s heart, soul and unwavering tributes to his wife, family and the musical moments of his formative years. From his mother blasting an 8-track cartridge of The Beatles’ Abbey Road on car trips to obsessing over his own love affair with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon, Berman’s unabashed love of music is always at the forefront. That’s not record-label hype: He is such a divining rod for musical inspiration that on the first day of any vacation Berman takes, he seeks out stores looking for stringed instruments the same way writers buy notebooks and pens. Sometimes he leaves the gear in the places he visits (“La Ville Durand”), in the hopes that somebody else’s imagination could use them as flints for their own personal sparking. But in a world where egos run rampant and need to be frequently massaged, Jon22 is just happy to be here.

“I have a friend who is a neurosurgeon in France,” says Berman somewhat vivaciously. “He says that he plays my music all the time in the operating room. Which I thought was really cool: I have one incapacitated fan at every show in that operating theater!”

So, submitted for your approval, Jon22. Because Jon Berman knows that you will never be as young as you are right now, and there are more places to find love and wonderment—so long as you follow his Muse.

“I have to come to terms with the future,” he resigns. “My next album might be [covering] Bread's Greatest Hits, where the most rocking song is ‘Guitar Man,’ right?” He begins to laugh. “And I’m like, ‘That song rocks! And my friends are like, ‘No, it doesn’t!’”