A memoir by Mark E. Johnson
Blow the
Man Down
A gangly North Carolina farm boy talks his way into the 1980s music business and somehow ends up on a Caribbean island of ill repute.
I grew up on Doc Savage pulp novels and Hardy Boys mysteries in the Christmas tree fields of the Appalachians, certain I wanted adventure and with no earthly idea where to find it.
Then, as an even ganglier teenager, I discovered I had some natural talent in music. Then, girls. Those two epiphanies led to an adventure my wild imagination could not have predicted.
Memoir · Paperback · Audiobook, read by me · E-book: Kindle, Nook, Kobo
Roll the tape
I also recorded
the title track.
“Blow the Man Down” is a sea shanty older than most of the places in this book. I cut my own version of it, because if you are going to name a memoir after a song, you had probably better be able to play it.
About the book
Nashville, St. Croix,
and a lot of bar tabs.
Follow along as I navigate a heart-pounding and often hilarious odyssey through the 1980s and 90s music industry as a songwriter and club musician, first in fickle Nashville and later on the mysterious Caribbean island of ill repute, St. Croix.
It is an honest account of both the seductions of life in the entertainment business and the hard truths it eventually hands you. Mostly it is about being young, broke, occasionally convinced you are about to make it, and playing four sets a night either way.
A page from the book
The Buffett
interrogation.
A man dropped into the chair next to me. “I’m Frank Foley,” he said, offering me a thick, hairy hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m the ‘Norm’ of this bar.”
I didn’t say it, but he did kind of remind me of Norm, of Cheers fame. Mid- to late-30s, thick glasses, on the overweight side of stocky, a thick head of wiry black hair with a spray of gray in the front. He had an upper-Midwest accent and friendly look about him.
“I’m Mark. I’m the musician of this bar. Well, starting tomorrow, anyway.”
We made some small talk, and he told me he worked at Hess Oil Co. as a harbormaster, directing boats from a tower that overlooks the water like an air-traffic controller directs airplanes on a tarmac. But I could tell something else was on his mind and it didn’t take him long to get around to it.
“So, let’s get down to business,” Frank said, watching me carefully. “The guy who just left didn’t play any Buffett and was an asshole. I come here nearly every night just to keep myself sane, but I can’t handle another season of crappy music. So… can you do any Buffett?”
He stared at me through his Harry Caray glasses.
I drained Jäger No. 2 and smiled. “Sure, I do some.”
“Like what?” he asked, clearly not satisfied yet. “Give me some details.”
“Let’s go at it this way. Why don’t you name a Buffett song you like, and I’ll tell you if I do it.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer.
“Okay. ‘Changes in Latitudes.’”
“Yep.”
“‘A Pirate Looks at 40.’”
“Yep.”
“‘Son of a Son of a Sailor.’”
“Don’t waste my time.” I met Frank’s glare without blinking.
He leaned back and grinned.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “Let’s dig a little deeper.”
“Bring it.”
“‘One Particular Harbor.’”
“Yep.”
“‘Tin Cup Chalice.’”
“Yessir.”
“‘Cheeseburger in Paradise.’”
“Please.” I yawned and stretched. Hootie was in the background, annoying me.
“How about ‘Nautical Wheelers,’ and ‘Havana Daydreaming’?” Frank asked, his eyes now wide.
“In my sleep,” I replied.
He was starting to sweat. “Yeah, but I bet you can’t do ‘Honey Do,’” he whispered. “Nobody does ‘Honey Do.’”
I gently placed my glass on the wooden bar and turned to face Frank square on.
“I’ll see your ‘Honey Do,’ and raise you a ‘Dreamsicle,’ ‘Door Number Three,’ ‘Death of an Unpopular Poet,’ and ‘Chanson pour Les Petite Enfants.’ Care to continue?”
“Holy shit!” Frank shouted, leaping off the stool. “We got us a winner here! Hot damn! Josh! Lilly! Chris! Get over here and meet this guy!”
The crowd around me grew. Blam, went the shot glass. Glug, glug, glug. Blam! Glug, glug, glug.
Early reviews
Two musicians and a pilot
walk into a memoir.
“Add the wine, women, and song, and you’ve got the makings of one hell of an adventure. Johnson rides it for all it’s worth.”
Doug Holmquist
Longtime Nashville producer & engineer
“What about the experience most of us musicians, who aren’t household names, have? Johnson has delivered that book, and it’s both funny and touching.”
Michael Patrick St. Clair
Founder, Pocket Sounds band
“You finish a chapter, put the book down, and then pick it back up, further procrastinating whatever it was you were about to move onto.”
Michael Strauss
Airline pilot & Himalayan trekker
Where to get it
Read it, or
let me read it to you.
Paperback and e-book — Kindle, Nook, Kobo. There is also an audiobook, which I narrated myself, so you get to hear a former club musician attempt every accent in the story.