Josh Joplin
Undefined / Undefined
You might remember Josh Joplin. A couple years back he was signed to Artemis Records and contracted as a Jive songwriter. Folks enjoyed his records. They were produced by fancy guys with big names who liked to play with knobs. He was making a living. And he was making “hits.” But he wasn’t making himself happy. Until one day, he went to do some laundry. While making the 10-minute walk through his Brooklyn neighborhood, Josh came across a small group of people watching a man playing guitar on his stoop. At one point, the man noticed Josh and asked if he’d like to join in for few songs. He did, and it reminded him why he loved to play music. And no – it was not to craft glossy pop songs for a multi-national music conglomerate.
More on that later. Now, some history: As a kid in D.C., Josh was a little like Billy Bragg –an opinionated, impassioned songwriter who spent his nights opening up for local hardcore bands with nothing more than a guitar. In the 10th grade, he dropped out of high school, changed his name and pursued the only route natural for a Jewish kid posing as Bob Dylan – he moved to New York City with the goal of playing at Gerde’s and The Village Gate, only to find out those kind of clubs closed years before. Josh did, however, become a fairly well known dishwasher at several restaurants in the West Village. But, finding dish-pan hands unsightly and the wages sub par, Josh went South to Decatur, GA. There, he settled in with the burgeoning music scene and manager Russell Carter who swiftly procured Josh contracts with Artemis and Jive. Josh used those advances to move back to NYC – this time, Brooklyn. He’s been there for seven years.
Which brings us back to that guy on the stoop. That guy turned out to be Del Fuegos mastermind, Dan Zanes. And their chance meeting prompted Josh to recover the simple joy of playing songs and answering to no one. Childhood friend Issa Diao (Good Clean Fun, The Saturday Team), who had long thought Josh should stop making crappy records with big producers, suggested they make it happen at his D.C. studio (Monster Island), and even sent Josh a list of musicians they could use. Having no desire to corral a gaggle of session musicians for this project, Josh was skeptical. But when he looked at the list he realized it was comprised entirely of old friends and musicians they’d grown up with in D.C. – including Josh’s middle school principal. It was an ideal roster for the record he wanted to make. So even though Artemis was still holding an option for his next one, Josh took a gamble and began recording with Issa - enlisting contributions from old friends all over the country, including Ani Cordero (Cordero, Man or Astroman), Ken Olden (Damnation A.D.), Mike Schleibaum (Darkest Hour) and John Steahle - the principal. After eight weeks, the record was done.
On the outside, Jaywalker is a redemptive record. At its heart, it is a hopeful record – one comfortable in its own skin, driven as much by a long-stifled creative itch as it is by the wide-eyed optimism of those who made it. Josh’s knack for literate pop songs still shines, but isn’t bogged down by bulky production tics and perhaps the more stifling bulk of other people’s expectations. Jaywalker is big because it thinks big - not because Josh hired someone to make it that way. It delivers a perfect mix of wit, candor, irreverence, sneaky wordplay and fervent exuberance – all the while harnessing artful yet undeniable melodies and hooks you simply can’t let go of. Josh has Woody Guthrie’s gift of storytelling, a swagger in the name of Elvis Costello but a tune all his own.
When he got back home, Josh sent the Jaywalker to Artemis, who informed him that Danny Goldberg was leaving the label, and Jaywalker was not the type of record they needed. But that’s okay – it’s exactly the type of record he needed.
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