Germany, 1978, Jonathan Richman and the Splinter
“If you wish to avoid being a charlatan you must shun platforms. Once upon them, a charlatan you must be. Otherwise, the crowd will throw stones.” – Chamfort
I was young and green as a Christmas tree when Jonathan Richman plucked me from the minor leagues and took me out on the first European tour of his career. “Roadrunner” was solid gold in England! I was working in a health food store at the time and Jonathan, who I did not know from Adam, would occasionally come in to the place for a fruit frappe or some vegetarian chili.
Robert Burden pointed him out to me one day and told me he was a famous local rock star. Burden was the brother of Chris Burden, a well known conceptual artist, and that meant that I had every respect for his taste in music and art. Somehow, I made it known to Jonathan that I was a guitar player and he came to The Club in Cambridge to see me and my band, Mickey Clean and The Mezz. I had an audition with The Modern Lovers shortly after as the bass player, trying mightily to fill the shoes of Curly Keranen. We rehearsed relentlessly, maybe four hours a day. When I was told a month later that I was an official member of the group, my heart soared like an eagle! I felt like I’d stepped at least one rung up on the ladder of rock-star success.
When we finally got across the pond, I was too shocked to be nervous because we were playing 3,000-seat venues all over England, Holland, Germany and France. Before then, I was just getting used to the 12 people who stood impassively in front of The Mezz at the Rat; moshing had yet to be invented. Nick Lowe came backstage in Manchester. The Sex Pistols came to see us at the iconic Hammersmith Odeon in London. The Stones came to see us. All shows were sold out. Jonathan, if nothing else, was the flavor of the week.
Once, while I was sitting in London’s Hyde Park, I saw Sid Vicious (wearing his now-famous swastika t-shirt) being followed by a journalist who was furiously scribbling notes. Sid paused periodically to primp his trademark spiky hair in every rearview mirror that he passed. I thought these “punk rockers” had risen above such vanity; I stood corrected. I found out later that Elvis Costello had tried to get on the tour as the opening act but Jonathan had opted for a juggler instead. While with the Lovers, I was blissfully unaware of most of these now-interesting facts. I was young and just trying to keep up. We did three European tours in a single year, and looking back at all of the events that comprised them, they blend together as if they were one. That said, one show does stand out.
We were, I believe, in Hamburg in a big amphitheater that held maybe 1,200 very expectant German rock fans. The place had the lighting of a medical theatre; it was very sterile. We played through tiny amps that would in all fairness had given the promoters credibility if they had billed us as “unplugged.” That fact made us totally naked and microcosmic and only added tenfold to the starkness of that particular venue. We played our opening number and the audience was totally unimpressed; there was only a smattering of applause in the sweaty, tension-charged moment. Really, you could have heard a pin drop. It was all on us. I remembered, at the time, when Jonathan had a milkshake thrown at him at the Mogodor Theatre in Paris. I didn’t think there was much to throw at us at the Hamburg gig except for all the aluminum chairs that were aligned in perfect symmetry, cooling the butts of our could-be executioners.
Before starting the second song, Jonathan sat down on the edge of the stage and took off his shoes and socks. He made a cursory explanation to the audience that he had a splinter and began digging at a toe in the pregnant silence. Finally, after what seemed like a month to the rest of the band, some outraged Teutonic macho yelled, much louder than we were physically equipped to be, “THIS IS BULLSHIT!”
I didn’t disagree. Jonathan asked the guy if he would like his money back. As if this had been scripted, our road manager went up through the seats to give the disgruntled dude his cash. We started to play songs again. This incident had somehow kickstarted the audience to our side. It wasn’t conceptual art they were watching. This was real. By the time we finished our set, the audience was clapping and shouting enthusiastically. We brought the house down. It had gone from the possibility of a public lynching to its polar opposite. We were suddenly gods who had changed people’s lives. Ouch.
I remained friends with Jonathan through later decades. He’s certainly a guy who’s “done it his way” and I can’t think of anybody who can match his amazing onstage confidence. He doesn’t play huge shows any more but tours constantly in smaller venues. He makes audiences listen instead of bombarding them with sheer volume (though anyone who he’s ever backed into a corner while holding an acoustic guitar might disagree). But I think he’s given the musical community a lot. If you take the time, he really does make you listen.
And I think that’s Jonathan’s big secret: The audience has to participate by being receptive. He makes all of us, if we are willing, Modern Lovers.
(by Asa Brebner)
Asa Brebner played with Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers in 1977, 1978 and 1985. He died in March 2019.
