Before Music, It Was Theater

On a whim in college, I auditioned for a theatrical spin on the story of Red Riding Hood called Little Wolf. It was about a young wolf who thinks he knows everything and subsequently learns to quiet his ego and listen to the wind.

I landed the part of the Little Wolf. I had never been involved in theater and had no real experience performing. I remember looking down at my hands (paws) to see them shaking. Don't ever let anyone tell you elementary students aren't intimidating. But by the end of the run, I was feeling pretty good about my work. And I was very much enjoying the applause and praise at the end of each show (elementary school kids are also very rewarding).

I worked diligently at acting for years, getting on every production I could. It wasn't long before I began to feel a growing desire for more affirmation. I was so worried about what I was getting out of performing, that I lost sight of what I could give. That is not a position for sustainable art-making.

Then late one night at a party, I found myself in a stranger's bedroom, thumbing through their CDs, until I came across Peter Gabriel Plays Live. I wasn't yet a musician, not an avid music listener, and had never even heard of Peter Gabriel, but something compelled me.

The crowd thundered through the speakers. “Cheering," I thought, "I can relate to that." Peter Gabriel proclaimed: “This is for Stephen Biko!” The crowd erupted as if to say, “Oh yes, life is about to change right here and now." I was enveloped by the music and the message of a freedom fighter.

Then, I was struck by a memory: lying in the rear of the family station wagon, turning slowly up the driveway, and over the radio, a repeating melody to the repeating call “Oh, Biko, Biko, because Biko.” I had heard this song before and it had somehow stuck with me over the years--above and beyond all the pop and top 40 I'd heard over and over, this song resonated across time and space for me.

It was a wave of inspiration unlike any I’ve ever felt before. Hearing another artist dedicate his work to someone, to something greater than himself sparked a change in me. It made me want to fight every injustice, join every movement of positive change, share every message of wakefulness and fearlessness, but also to sing.

“This," I thought. "This is what I want to do. For my life. I want to make music, like this.”

Music Takes Hold

When an unlikely opportunity presented itself--to compose music for a daring young theater company called dog & pony DC--I seized it. The production promised to be a genuine agent for social change. The director wanted gypsy punk songs performed live by a garage-style rock ensemble. When I asked her what gypsy punk was, she turned me to the music of The Decemberists, Beirut, Tom Waits and, in particular, Gogol Bordello.

At first, this primal music just seemed noisy. But after three weeks my feet began to tap and I sat down to write some songs. We found our players, enjoyed a raucous, inspiring run and, when the play closed, the band decided to stick together... with the sole exception of the accordionist. So I started learning to play it myself.

Soon, I got word of a theatrical casting search for an accordionist who could also sing and act. I reached out and received the following reply:

“Thanks for your interest, John. We are indeed looking for such a performer, but the music is difficult and the role is for a national Broadway tour.  Unless you are very strong in all three of those disciplines, we should save one another’s time.”

I asked to see the music. I told them that if I had a month, I could make something of it. They gave me two weeks.

Bless my partner Megan, who bore the brunt of the cacophony. Bless the occupants of all the apartments adjacent to ours, who endured the bad playing, on a bad accordion, the same song, on repeat, day after night, night after day. And bless the spirits of my ancestors who seemed to nudge my intuition toward blind faith, because I was definitely better off not knowing the scale of what I was working towards.

I submitted a video of the performance and was asked to travel to NYC for an audition not once, not twice, but three times before they booked me. Megan and I worked out the logistics of maintaining our relationship while I was traveling full-time. Finally, I notified my employer, my students, and my bandmates that I’d landed a “role of a lifetime.” Then I set out on a national tour of my hardest and greatest career lessons.