John Bradley, the longtime member of our community who served as the founder, producer, and lead guitarist of Booster Patrol, died on March 20. He was 61. It feels heavy to write that, honestly—he was just a fixture in the scene. I couldn’t think of a better way to pay tribute to the man who was both a bandmate and a friend than to try and capture his style. You can hear the first mix of the song I wrote for him here; when I get it finished properly, I’ll upload it to Misryoum in the Booster Patrol section.
Johnny B laid down his burden late on a Friday night. With the music of his band still ringing in the fading light, Saint Peter met him at the gate, said: “Son, we heard you play. Leo Fender built this gold guitar and he saved it for this day. The choir’s been singing acapella ever since the world was new. They need someone who knows the sad notes—they say that man is you.”
The smell of old guitar lacquer and stale coffee always seemed to follow him around the studio. That’s just how he was.
He wrapped his hands around that neck, felt the weight of holy gold, every fret a year of sorrow, every string a story told. He hit a chord that shook the heavens, the angels stopped to hear—a tone so long and lonesome that Saint Matthew shed a tear. Peter said, “We don’t need pretty, son, we’ve got harps here by the score. We want to hear that swampy sound that kept ’em coming back for more.” Or maybe he said something else—I don’t know. It’s hard to focus.
Now every night in Heaven there’s a sound they never had. A solid gold Fender wailing every note both beautiful and sad. The choir hits the chorus, the Almighty taps His feet, and Johnny B is boosting live up on that golden street. He played the broken-hearted blues from Beale Street to Monsignor; now he’s jamming up in Heaven and he couldn’t ask for more. Lay it down, Johnny B. Make that sound, Johnny B. Hit that chord. Lay it down, Johnny B. Make that sound, Johnny B. For the Lord. Discussion is open over at Misryoum.