Jon Dee Graham
By Don Henry Ford Jr.
I’d first heard of Jon Dee Graham not so very long ago while listening
to a Ray Wylie
Hubbard song called Name Droppin where his
name was evoked. For me, there’s not a better reference than the
patriarch of the Texas/Americana movement. Then when I went to see
James McMurtry perform for a previous piece I was writing, I got to see
the man for myself and instantly became a fan.
I interviewed Jon Dee Graham in Austin on a Wednesday night, right
before he did his regular gig at the Continental Club. It soon became
evident that we have a lot in common.
Some people hide what they are and the things they have done from the
world. Jon Dee Graham isn’t one of these. No, he opens his heart, mind
and soul for all daring to peer inside. What you see won’t be the
prettiest picture in the world, but it’ll be the truth. Unvarnished,
raw and gritty.
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Jon Dee bears scars—the scars of a warrior caught in a world gone
mad—the scars of a man that took a deep drink of life on the rough side
of town and survived. He’s made of stern stuff. At his core lives a
pure heart and a clean spirit. You’ll find few in the world of music
with greater empathy for the people.
Jon Dee is currently 46 years old, born in Levelland, the second son of
a high plains cotton farmer. His dad was forced off of his panhandle
farm when the price of cotton fell drastically alongside lots of other
small farmers so he relocated his family to the town of Quemado near
the Mexican border. Jon Dee was six years old. There his dad continued
to farm, utilizing irrigation water from the Rio Grande. Then he got
squeezed off of that farm also when megafarms bought up the limited
amount of irrigated land. Around Quemado you don’t grow anything but
rocks, thorns, and biting and stinging creatures absent water. His dad
then worked a variety of jobs, among them drilling wells, fixing cars
and finally a job measuring the flow of water in the Rio Grande for the
government, a job he held until his journey to the lonesome valley at
48 years old, (making Jon Dee 17 when his father died).
Jon Dee describes his mother as an intelligent woman with a PhD in
elementary education who battled depression most of her life. She did
her best to instill a measure of culture in her children, an act that
went against the grain for most that grew up in his childhood world.
Jon Dee said his mother felt like they had moved to a foreign land when
they settled on the border and in a way they had. Whites were a
minority there; those that didn’t speak Spanish were rejected. So Jon
Dee learned Spanish. Marijuana was as common as perhaps beer would be
in a German community—part of the local culture. So he picked that up
as well. But his mother enrolled him in piano lessons and unlike his
siblings and his peers he took to it. He played the piano in the local
Methodist church from the time he was 10 until he was 13. Jon Dee
decided he wanted to be musician at an early age—something I think his
father found difficult to understand. After he graduated from high
school he ventured to Austin to continue his education at the
University of Texas when he picked up a guitar. For
quite a few years he played in an assortment of bands. He made his
first solo album in his mid-thirties.
Graham is married to a woman that teaches college and he’s the father
of two sons. He’ll tell you that involvement in his children’s lives is
important to him. When he says that, he really means it. I’ve seen the
evidence.
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Jon Dee can sing soft introspective songs or he can blow you out of
your seat with pounding rock and roll. Whatever the medium, he is sure
to put his all into the effort. He blends hard-earned lessons and a
dose of spirituality into his work—the spirituality that saved his
life. Because at one time Jon Dee routinely risked losing it. In one
song he speaks of the irony he now faces—how he never envisioned living
this long—but days go by and he keeps breathing and the sun also rises
and he rises with it to face another day and then the days become years
and the years decades.
One of my favorite Jon Dee tunes is Laredo, where
Graham captures the force that drives the addicted like no other before
him—that small dark something.
Well, I drove to Laredo; I had the big eyes in my head…
They were looking for a small dark something… There’s a stain in the
trunk, man that will never ever come out… And it’s shaped like a small
dark something… I was living at a motel called motel out on refinery
road… Now the Sandman’s dead so we walk the floor, the Sandman’s dead,
we don’t sleep no more. We shot dope til the money run out, we shot
dope til the money run out, we shot dope til the money run out—the
money ran out… Well, I drove home from Laredo; I had the fireflies in
my head… They were lighting up a small dark something, they were
circled round a small dark something, they were looking for a small
dark something, there was nothin but a… (Goddamned
fireflies. Don’t know what that says about me and where I’ve been, but
it’s nice to know I am not the only one.)
He’s not glorifying what he did—just painting a picture—an ugly,
trembling, shaking, shouting, screaming picture—delivered with
ferocity, but oh so real for those that have been there. And the fact
that he has put this behind him but can still shine light into those
dark crevices and face them without flinching gives hope to those of us
who share in the struggle.
If he can overcome, then so can I, we say.
He’s been clean for over eight years now.
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Jon Dee loves. Really loves. And not just those that look like him or
talk like him or walk like him. He told me when he votes, he tries to
find someone with similar beliefs, but the tide in our times pulls
against him and lots of times there is no one. He votes nonetheless, to
provide friction for those who would otherwise do what they do
uncontested—for a woman, or someone of a minority race or social group.
Rare is the white male in this land willing to share power, but that’s
exactly what Jon Dee Graham wants to do—he has a strong sense of
fairness and justice.
In one of his songs he speaks of the anguish involved in watching a
woman cry. You’ll know the pain; the confusion, the desperation and the
powerlessness an otherwise powerful man feels while witnessing such a
thing and being unable to do anything about it.
He champions underdogs and is himself in a struggle with those that
control the music industry—those that own the airwaves and the
recording studios and the record labels that promote their own product
to the exclusion of all the rest. But he thinks he and his kind will
someday win. Simply because they produce a better product.
He tells me he rarely listens to contemporary musicians because he
can’t resist comparing himself to them. So around his house it’s
classical music or jazz that’ll be playing.
Jon Dee Graham has made four cds. Hooray for the
Moon and The Great Battle are my
favorites. Do yourself a favor. Buy one or both and listen. You’ll
discover some great music and life lessons worth learning. And if you
get the chance to see this man at one of his live shows, do so. You’ll
enjoy meeting him and he’ll enjoy meeting you.
Jon Dee Graham is a warrior. If I were to guess I think he’d tell you
the great battle he describes involves a choice between love and hate.
He may not know it, but from my perspective, he’s winning.
Here’s a link to his
website. And here at the
Lonestar music site you will find links to his cds and a more
in-depth biography.
Aside from his solo career, Jon Dee also performs with The Resentments,
regarded as one of the best bar bands in America. Other members include
Jud Newcombe, Stephen Bruton, Bruce Hughes, and John Chipman, all of
which have stories and musical careers of their own.
——————–
About the Author – Don Henry Ford, Jr.
When
Don’s not writing books he lends out his talent to Americana Roots to
put together great articles like this. If you’ve enjoyed what you read, then pick up Don’s latest
book Contrabando: Confessions of a Drug Smuggling Cowboy at your local
bookstore or online at Cinco Puntos Press.
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