Johnny Coley - Mister Sweet Whisper
PREORDER - shipping on or around November 15, 2024
(Note: If you order this record alongside other items, your whole package will ship together on November 15. If you want the rest of your package to ship sooner, please make two separate orders).
“You’re living in a dream, Coley…”
Surreal, layered, Lynchian landscapes by Birmingham, Alabama’s reclusive septuagenarian poet, Johnny Coley.
On his Mississippi Records debut, Coley takes a completely improvised and semi-hallucinatory journey down decrepit southern trucking routes, gaslit Victorian alleys, past “a small frame house / transparent with fire,” and by women arguing on the cobblestones outside a dark club in Rome (“you could only see their lips”). It’s a world of flesh vehicles, supernatural waiters, and a poet trying to hitch a ride from a Chattanooga Dunkin’ at 2 am, headed south.
There’s humor and sadness in Johnny’s thick drawling voice and laconic style - warped front porch yarns made up on the spot, whispered close to the mic. Always on the outside, even when he’s the one telling the story, Coley melds the hyper-specifics of a life lived on the road with a deep, dark pool of American collective imagery. These are dreams within dreams, waves of darkness, wisdom, and plain spoken Southern humor from a brilliant, overlooked artist. “When the God of Fire / comes looking for fire / that’s a bad sign.”
It’s even more remarkable that these dense, continually unfolding stories are improvised from within Johnny’s apartment in Highland Towers, Birmingham, where health issues have kept him mostly homebound. There, a crew of young musicians around the Sweat Wreath label have lifted him up as their poet laureate, visiting him regularly and putting his poems to music. On Mister Sweet Whisper, they back him on guitar, upright bass, vibraphone, and wobbly saxes and organs. But Johnny is the star of this multi-generational cosmic lounge act, building entire universes within a song. We’ve listened over and over, and these pieces continue to reveal themselves.
“Exquisitely haunting, sublime, hilarious, stunningly beautiful reflections, one after another.” -Jen Powers, Aural Thicket, WCRS 92.7FM, Columbus, OH
Deluxe LP jacket with artwork by Johnny, includes 4-page booklet with additional poetry and art, pressed on heavy black vinyl at Smashed Plastic in Chicago. Edition of 500, co-release with Sweat Wreath.
PREORDER - shipping on or around November 15, 2024
(Note: If you order this record alongside other items, your whole package will ship together on November 15. If you want the rest of your package to ship sooner, please make two separate orders).
“You’re living in a dream, Coley…”
Surreal, layered, Lynchian landscapes by Birmingham, Alabama’s reclusive septuagenarian poet, Johnny Coley.
On his Mississippi Records debut, Coley takes a completely improvised and semi-hallucinatory journey down decrepit southern trucking routes, gaslit Victorian alleys, past “a small frame house / transparent with fire,” and by women arguing on the cobblestones outside a dark club in Rome (“you could only see their lips”). It’s a world of flesh vehicles, supernatural waiters, and a poet trying to hitch a ride from a Chattanooga Dunkin’ at 2 am, headed south.
There’s humor and sadness in Johnny’s thick drawling voice and laconic style - warped front porch yarns made up on the spot, whispered close to the mic. Always on the outside, even when he’s the one telling the story, Coley melds the hyper-specifics of a life lived on the road with a deep, dark pool of American collective imagery. These are dreams within dreams, waves of darkness, wisdom, and plain spoken Southern humor from a brilliant, overlooked artist. “When the God of Fire / comes looking for fire / that’s a bad sign.”
It’s even more remarkable that these dense, continually unfolding stories are improvised from within Johnny’s apartment in Highland Towers, Birmingham, where health issues have kept him mostly homebound. There, a crew of young musicians around the Sweat Wreath label have lifted him up as their poet laureate, visiting him regularly and putting his poems to music. On Mister Sweet Whisper, they back him on guitar, upright bass, vibraphone, and wobbly saxes and organs. But Johnny is the star of this multi-generational cosmic lounge act, building entire universes within a song. We’ve listened over and over, and these pieces continue to reveal themselves.
“Exquisitely haunting, sublime, hilarious, stunningly beautiful reflections, one after another.” -Jen Powers, Aural Thicket, WCRS 92.7FM, Columbus, OH
Deluxe LP jacket with artwork by Johnny, includes 4-page booklet with additional poetry and art, pressed on heavy black vinyl at Smashed Plastic in Chicago. Edition of 500, co-release with Sweat Wreath.
PREORDER - shipping on or around November 15, 2024
(Note: If you order this record alongside other items, your whole package will ship together on November 15. If you want the rest of your package to ship sooner, please make two separate orders).
“You’re living in a dream, Coley…”
Surreal, layered, Lynchian landscapes by Birmingham, Alabama’s reclusive septuagenarian poet, Johnny Coley.
On his Mississippi Records debut, Coley takes a completely improvised and semi-hallucinatory journey down decrepit southern trucking routes, gaslit Victorian alleys, past “a small frame house / transparent with fire,” and by women arguing on the cobblestones outside a dark club in Rome (“you could only see their lips”). It’s a world of flesh vehicles, supernatural waiters, and a poet trying to hitch a ride from a Chattanooga Dunkin’ at 2 am, headed south.
There’s humor and sadness in Johnny’s thick drawling voice and laconic style - warped front porch yarns made up on the spot, whispered close to the mic. Always on the outside, even when he’s the one telling the story, Coley melds the hyper-specifics of a life lived on the road with a deep, dark pool of American collective imagery. These are dreams within dreams, waves of darkness, wisdom, and plain spoken Southern humor from a brilliant, overlooked artist. “When the God of Fire / comes looking for fire / that’s a bad sign.”
It’s even more remarkable that these dense, continually unfolding stories are improvised from within Johnny’s apartment in Highland Towers, Birmingham, where health issues have kept him mostly homebound. There, a crew of young musicians around the Sweat Wreath label have lifted him up as their poet laureate, visiting him regularly and putting his poems to music. On Mister Sweet Whisper, they back him on guitar, upright bass, vibraphone, and wobbly saxes and organs. But Johnny is the star of this multi-generational cosmic lounge act, building entire universes within a song. We’ve listened over and over, and these pieces continue to reveal themselves.
“Exquisitely haunting, sublime, hilarious, stunningly beautiful reflections, one after another.” -Jen Powers, Aural Thicket, WCRS 92.7FM, Columbus, OH
Deluxe LP jacket with artwork by Johnny, includes 4-page booklet with additional poetry and art, pressed on heavy black vinyl at Smashed Plastic in Chicago. Edition of 500, co-release with Sweat Wreath.
