Jam Unit Nine

JAM UNIT NINE A Fish Swimming Until It Gets There: A Glimpse into the Mindset of a Local Musician by Joseph A. Rosso, b.a.----------------A strong aroma of coffee bean hits me in the face as I open the door to the Starbucks coffee shop. I stand near the register line and survey the bustling interior of the store for moment. I’ve found him; he is sitting at a table near the exit door on the other side of the room. He has a faraway look in his eyes. I walk over to him, 27-year-old Justin Roman, and we exchange a handshake. We both sit down at the table under a rectangular piece of artwork hanging on pea-green wall. The piece of artwork depicts different colored cups of coffee against a background of yellow, purple, green, and orange. Justin Roman, a resident of New Milford, Conn., is a veteran musician. He has played many venues in and around the Fairfield County area—including Widow Brown’s café, The City Ale House, The Pizza House, to name a few. He has five self-produced CDs of his own music and a live-concert DVD of a show he played at the City Ale House in Danbury, Conn. (also available for viewing on Youtube). His live performances are, perhaps, the most notable and exciting aspect of his musical talent. **** I first saw Justin Roman at a Sunday night open-mic at Widow Brown’s café in Danbury, Conn. about a year and a half ago. Opening the door to the café revealed an atmosphere teeming with people—both young and old, regulars and newcomers. In the midst of the room’s din, an acoustic guitar rang out, accompanied by the rhythmic pops, bops, splashes, crashes, slaps, taps and booms emitting from a hand drummer’s percussion instruments—more specifically, two crash cymbals, a Djembe (an African hand drum), conga, and bongos. Anybody with an instrument handy that night could go onstage and play music along with the house’s percussionist—a young, athletic white man in a sleeveless shirt who the M.C. simply called “Q.” One-after-one, guitarists came onstage and played their sets, which usually were a combination of original creations and renditions of classics that had long since made their mark. The musicians, proficient players, lacked the charisma necessary to be interesting performers, and slowly I began to lose interest in the open-mic’s proceedings. A new musician took the stage, and I took a glance at the television. “What’s my name?” the new musician’s voice rang out from the P.A. system inside the bar. Nobody answered. I and a few others turned around. “I said, what’s my mother-fucking name?” Like a caricature of a hip-hop artist in concert, the musician his arms around as he spoke. His tone was somehow both serious and non-serious at the same time, his words seemingly subtle mixture of jest and sincerity. I smiled and chuckled to myself; finally somebody worth watching had taken the stage. “I’m Jam Unit Nine, and this song is about getting the fuck out of town.” he said and began playing his guitar and singing with a seeming energy, passion and confidence that showed he stood steadfast behind every word that left his mouth and every note that rang from his guitar strings. His vocals were versatile—ranging from whispered, delicate, lullaby coos to piercing, dynamic, blaring laments. His song concepts were even raw and interesting—one told a story of a lovesick man’s overzealous pursuit of a girl who did not respond kindly to his stalker-like advances, in another song he explained to the audience, “I am going out of my mind. You’re welcome to come along for the ride.” Overall, his musical aura was infectious and highly entertaining, and he maintained his initial level of enthusiasm and musicianship throughout his whole set. Even after his set, when I met him, his onstage persona did not subside. This man was a force of pure energy and confidence; his every gesture and quip burst with vigor. Later on in the night, I discussed Justin’s performance with Jimmy Curran, a resident of Rockville, M.D. “I think he’s pretty good. He has a good sense of humor onstage” Jimmy said. “He seems like he’s a really dedicated musician, passionate about his work.” **** Justin spoons the remains of a Starbucks peach raspberry yogurt parfait into his mouth and places it down next to his green-tea. He rests his well-built shoulders on the back of his chair, hoists his legs and rests his feet on a nearby chair. The black boots on his feet are a noticeable contrast to the manila colored wood of the chair. “I love Starbucks,” Justin says from his seat in the chic coffee shop. “Been coming here for almost 10 years… It’s where I do a lot of my studying, reading and writing.” In the center of the chest-area on his white t-shirt, the word “truth” is written in black Konji—an Asian language—symbols. “Words to live by,” he says, pulling the neck of his shirt down slightly to reveal a tattoo on his chest. It’s almost an exact replica of the symbol on his shirt. “I believe in reality, which is all around us—which is awesome and miraculous enough. Any fairytale [that] people tell beyond that is hearsay.” Justin is a former member of the Jehovah’s Witness religion. “For 22 years, I was part of a group that controlled every aspect of my life and thoughts,” he says with a solemn look in his brown eyes. “I never had birthdays. So, every birthday I have is magnificent—Christmas too.” With a budding smile, he leans in my direction slightly, emphatically points a finger at me. “Don’t take that for granted.” Justin said that his former religion, a group which he refers to as “The Fundamental Extremists,” encouraged him not to go to college. “[They think] you should be knocking on doors, telling people their religion is wrong and yours is right,” he said. “I’ve studied all religions, and what makes a cult a cult. Factually speaking, there are cult-like characteristics of their organization.” He says similarities between the characteristics of cults and his experiences in the Jehovah’s Witness religion are social isolation and a system of behavioral controls. “It chokes you of your humanity,” he says and pauses for a moment. He lets out a thoughtful sigh. “I feel like music defines me, and this [portion of my life] is just a chapter of my past. I’m now doing what I’m naturally supposed to be doing: Music.” Justin asks if I want anything to eat or drink. I decline any food or coffee, but he convinces me to have some tea with him. He comes walking back with two large mugs of coffee—enormous in the realm of conventional household coffee mugs, nearly the size of hollowed-out honeydew melon halves. He puts one of the mugs in front of me. Submerged in the steaming water inside the mug, two tea bags—one labeled “Passion Fruit” and the other “African Red Bush”—emit curling, blood-red tentacles surrounded by pinkish haloes. The tentacles drift lethargically and hover in the water for a few moments before slowly dispersing into clouds of dark maroon and pink. Soon after, the activity within the mug dies down, and the water inside is a uniform apple-red. Justin squirts three packets worth of honey into my tea along with one packet’s worth of lemon juice. He sips his tea and taps his left hand on the glossy wooden table. The gold wedding band on his left hand reflects light from the track lighting above. He met his wife Becky when he was a young teenager. They have been married for nearly 8 years now. Justin mentions that he wants to have children somewhere around the age of 30. He is 27-years-old at present. Today, Justin is not nearly as boisterous and super-energetic as he is during the nights of his performances. He is more subdued, serene, reserved on this occasion. He explains to me that the Justin you will see on the nights of one of his performances is not the same Justin you might see during the week, and points out that during the week he tends to take it a little easier than he does on the weekends. Justin began playing guitar in August of 1998. His best friend was learning how to play guitar, and he was drumming “banging on pots and pans and Tupperware” at the time. He said he started taking it more seriously when his friend’s mother told him that his playing sounded good. “10 years later,” he says, “it defines who I am. Every picture of me ever has me with a guitar in it. And, if I have a far-away look in my eyes, it’s because I’m thinking about music… Something I do often.” Justin’s zeal for music started some time before he started playing guitar seriously, though. He recalls being fascinated by music as a young child, an attraction which he likens to “a moth being drawn to a flame.” “I’m a little kid with his ear against the speaker, in complete awe of it. For years and years, I thought it was the best thing ever,” he says. “And, as a musician, I feel you can’t lose that: Being a fan and listener of music.” The conversation veers, and Jack Kerouac, one of Justin’s favorite authors, becomes the topic of discussion. A voice addresses us from the condiments area, but the words are unintelligible in the noisy, animated atmosphere in the coffee shop. “Excuse me?” I say, my head cocked over my shoulder. I am looking at a silver-haired woman pouring sugar into a large cup of coffee. “I said, it sounds like you’re discussing an art project that I’ve already studied for,” she jokes with a smile on her face. Justin laughs. “You don’t even know what kind of stuff is going on right here,” he says playfully. “It’s not an art project?” she asks, her face tinged with curiosity. “No,” I reply. “It’s some sort of interview about this man’s view on life.” “Oh,” she says. “It sounded like you were studying for an art history test.” “No,” I answer. “I took an art history course two semesters ago, and now it disgusts me.” “Art?” she asks, her face twisted in surprise. “No,” I say, “just art classes.” She chuckles and smiles. “Don’t let an institution try to tell you what art is or isn’t,” Justin says. “That is true,” she says, her face radiant. “Nobody can tell you what art is except you.” After those words, she says goodbye and walks away. Justin points out that a very integral part of playing music well live is confidence, and says that “a lack of confidence is like a wrench in the machinery: It will prevent you from doing what you can do.” He says that he tries to encourage other people in order to give them the “gift of confidence.” “Don’t let your brain trip you up,” he warns. Justin says that he finds playing music live in front of an audience to be a lot easier than performing the mundane activities of everyday life. “I get nervous depositing a check at the bank, get nervous and awkward. It’s easy for me to play music, and people tell me I’m doing pretty well,” he says. “A lot of musicians complain about being nervous onstage. Music is easy [for me].” All hardships aside, Justin is doing well for himself. He shares an apartment with his wife in New Milford, Conn., and is also employed full-time as an electrician, a trade he’s been doing since he began learning its rudiments when we was a 10th grader attending Henry Abbott Technical School in Danbury, Conn. If you ask Justin what his profession is, however, he will not say electrician. “I define myself by what I do out of work,” he says, motioning his hand to illustrate and emphasize his point. “People get hung up on their 9-5. That’s not who you are. What you do to put food on the table is not who you are, usually.” He points out the exception to the situation are the people who do what they love for a living. “I’m not in that situation,” he says. Musicians like Dave Matthews and Nirvana inspire Justin musically. “I agree with everything they play,” he says. “The Beatles, the most ultimate band ever, have a religious quality for me. It’s like their music is a gift from God. It’s not to say that they’re my favorite band—Dave Matthews is, but even they can’t top the Beatles. It’s like the [Beatle’s music is the] voice of God.” In the near future, Justin plans to go back into the studio to record his second album. “This time…as a grown-ass man,” he says and guffaws. The working title for the CD is “Jam Unit Nine: Don’t Know When to Stop.” You can listen to Justin’s music on his personalized Myspace page (Www.Myspace.com/JamUnitNine) or watch his life performances on Youtube.com. “My music is free,” he says. “I love to give away music. It’s like spreading the love around.” On the table, our teas are empty, and outside the afternoon sun is making it’s descent from the pinnacle of the azure sky. Justin scratches his short hair for a moment then looks at me with an earnest look and expression on his face. “You’re talking to a musician about music, using words. It doesn’t make sense,” he says and ponders for a second. “If you really want to know me, go and listen diligently to the sounds coming out of my guitar and the [words] coming out of my mouth [when I’m playing music]. You know someone so much more when you watch them perform. “Art is entirely about communication, communication to the audience,” he adds. “The motto of your art will come across in anything you do.”