This Guy Named Frank

It was a cold Sunday in November 2017, and I was at The Blue Lamp, waiting for the final show of the Fuck Cancer benefit show weekend, put on by Danny Secretion. I was pretty excited, but admittedly a little out of my element. I think this was, maybe, the second hip hop show I had ever been to in my 29 years on Earth.

Anyway, before the show kicks off, I find myself outside chatting away with people, when a familiar face comes up and stands next to me. I recognized this guy with curly hair and a faded windbreaker as Hobo Johnson. I had seen him once before at First Festival 2017, but I was kind of all over the place that day anyway.

He shook my hand with a simple,

                “Hi, I’m Frank.”

He lit up a smoke, and we just chit chatted about the show tonight, and other various things I can’t really pinpoint the details of, but overall he seemed super chill.

                I head back into the venue to work on my beer and check out the acts for the night. Leaning against the bar, I could see Frank’s curls meandering through the crowd. Talking to people, hanging out with other artists between sets, and taking moments to watch whoever was on stage. He was all over the place. He was part of the crowd, and that same crowd was happy he was with them.

                Myself included. And all I did was stand back and watch, like some kind of weirdo.

                The time comes in the night when he hops up on stage. He immediately gets off said stage, gets the lights lowered, and gets us in the crowd to sit on the floor. Before I know it, Frank is running through the crowd, shoes mysteriously gone as he hits us with his blistering prose.

                His energy is unabated, his dynamic speaking is startling, and his words are sincere.

                The crowd seated in the dark, on the concrete floor, ate it up. Yours truly included. It was a night that framed what you get when you see Hobo Johnson live.

                It’s an experience I have yet to replicate. It’s something that is uniquely Frank.

                Fast forward to Mid-March of this year, and I see that Hobo Johnson has put out a new music video. 

                These videos are always my favorite, since they not only give us live video of Hobo Johnson and The Lovemakers, but they give an idea of where he is coming from and what he has experienced. They are always shot in his backyard, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of lawn furniture, art, and other various knick-knacks. This new one is “Peach Scone”, is no different. It’s Frank, mic in hand and rapping to the camera, while the rest of the band plays, nestled into said lawn furniture. I listen to it all the way through, and enjoy it just the same. Being an NPR Tiny Desk submission, I'm sure he has a chance at getting picked to play. Frank’s lyrics, mixed with his oddly piercing stare draw you in, while the band ties the whole picture together. You can’t help but re-watch it.

                But I noticed something different after my 3^rd time through it. I found the video through the Facebook video feed. Only this time it was shared by UNILAD Sound.

                Oh man, I thought.

                It was at 1.2 million views at this point.

                Whoa, buddy, I thought again.

                I checked his other videos, all of which were now in 6-figure view range.

                Oh, snap, I thought some more. 

                He’s going viral.

                I hate that term sometimes, but it's true. His videos are circulating, across multiple websites, with comment sections that are blowing up. How could I not use the v-word?

                Sure enough, he sold out Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco, then a couple days later his May 12th show at Ace of Spades was sold out.

                Just watching this unfold made my head spin. With “Peach Scone” views settling in around the 8 million, along with an upcoming tour of Canada alongside The Front Bottoms, one can only imagine what Hobo Johnson and The Lovemakers must be feeling. I would hope it’s something good, since people’s responses to these videos and events on his Facebook page are more positive than negative.

                But the negatives are there. As they are in any comment section of anything.

                The vitriol that people bring to the forefront in tearing down Hobo Johnson and The Lovemakers’ songs is nothing short of astounding. Everything gets picked apart. From their sound, to Frank’s dynamics, to the sincerity of the lyrics, it all gets raked over the metaphorical coals. I tried to figure out where the raging was coming from, but I couldn’t pinpoint one thing. I should have known better than to wade into video comments, but I couldn’t help myself, I guess.

    Like with any abyss, though, when there is light, it shines brighter than anywhere else.

                For every one dig online, there are 10 more people who are filing in with compliments, heart emoji’s, and digital hugs. Frank’s words speak volumes for everyone, and the people who they touch make sure he knows that.

And, let’s face it, that smile gets a lot of those heart emoji’s going. I call it like I see it, I’m just saying.

All in all, his rise to the forefront may be perplexing to some, but he and his crew have managed to accomplish great things as a unit.

                In a scene like Sacramento, hard work is the name of the game. Hell, that’s the name of the game everywhere for musicians, but every now and then, something gets popular that not 100% of people understand. Hobo Johnson and the Lovemakers are that thing, now, whether you like it or not.

All I know is that Frank and his crew have worked just as hard as everyone else to get to where they are. I know I’m a fan, and I am excited as hell to see what that future holds. The good impression I got back on that cold Sunday night continues to this day.

Bring it on, Frank. Sacramento loves you, and the world awaits. Good luck.