Who's Your Buddy?

John Jennings Goes Solo

by Craig Shelburne

"Small crowd, little place and it was a hoot," he says of his gig the night before. "It was a complete and utter hoot. The club owner said it was really one of the best shows they've had. I think it had as much to do with the people that were there as it did with me. There were dedicated people."

Jennings, 44, is most recognized as Mary Chapin Carpenter's dedicated co-producer, sometime co-writer, and long-time best buddy. Unlike Carpenter, he now lives in Nashville, though he keeps a home in Luray, Virginia, where he grew up. In fact, on the cover of his first album, buddy, a 5-year-old Jennings smiles at you from Luray, all decked out as a ringbearer.

Mom gets the photo credit.

And his ex-wife gets the credit for inspiring the project.

In 1990, he was married and taking time off from touring with Carpenter. "I think for the first month off, I sat at home going, 'I'll never work again, I'll never work again, I'll never work again.' And Christine said, ' You know John, you really need to do something. You need to get out of the house. You need to get out of my hair. You've got the songs. Why don't you start working on a project?'"

About three years later, he had it completed. Vanguard Records released it this year, and he's starting (and probably solo producing) the second one soon.

Twelve songs deep, buddy is not unlike Carpenter's 1989 album, State of the Heart. He's getting some airplay on radio and CMT for the wry "Everybody Loves Me," as well as good notices from critics. In addition, the attentive listener immediately recognizes the talent in buddy, although Jennings readily admits there is room for improvement.

"I listen to my record now and know that there's very little I wouldn't change. I like the songs, I'm happy with all the songs, so that's step one. If I could change things, I certainly would, but I can't. At some point, you have to say, 'Enough already.' I could work on this record for the next 20 years and still not be happy with it."

Still, there's no denying the songs. Populated with characters from a Houston cook with AIDS ("Willie Short") to a messed-up guy stumbling along a highway ("Walking to China"), the stories remain challenging in the midst of inviting melodies. It's not unlike a Freedy Johnston record -- consistent.

When that all-important word comes up, Jennings rises to the occasion. "The thing that puzzles me about Nashville is that with all the songwriters that are around here, and all the material available, you get a record that has three or four, maybe two or three, good solid songs, and everything else is kind of filler."

Then he asks hopefully, "We'll get to the state of country radio, won't we?"

Indeed, the touch-and-go topic comes up later, after a long discussion of his relationship with five-time Grammy winner Mary Chapin Carpenter.

In the mid-1980s in Washington, D.C., both Carpenter and Jennings were musicians on the local club scene. Initially, they hooked up romantically, but it fell apart. Jennings wanted to help heal the wounds, and Mary Chapin blurted, "Then help me make a record." From his basement came 1987's Hometown Girl. As a follow-up, musicians J.T. Brown, Jon Carroll and Robbie Magruder (all of whom Jennings met while doing shingling work) holed up with Carpenter and Jennings at Bias Studios in Springfield, Virginia.

With radio hits from the acclaimed albums State of the Heart, Shooting Straight in the Dark (1990), and the triple-platinum Come On Come On (1993), Carpenter had become a superstar. The nay-sayers followed.

"People say a lot of things about my relationship with Chapin," explains Jennings, "and one of the things I hear is, 'Oh, she couldn't have done it without you,' and my reaction is, 'Oh, ye of little faith."

"Certainly things would have been different, but I've always thought she was good. It's probably like saying the Beatles wouldn't have made it without George Martin. Well, yeah they would've. They just would've been different."

"Actually, I'm not trying to compare myself to George Martin, or her to the Beatles. It's like saying that Paul Simon could not be himself without Ray Hallee. I disagree. They have a good partnership. It works. And it certainly works artistically."

But he'd rather discuss contemporary country music.

"It's my Pyramid Theory," he explains. "The bottom of the pyramid is completely saturated with people, and they're bad. They're not very good at what they do. The closer you get to the top, the better people are at what they do. Once you get to the top, there's no room. It makes perfect sense to me."

He readies to sip his cooling drink, but another thought strikes, and he sets the big black cup back on the marble counter.

He talks intelligently for 20 minutes about what's wrong in Nashville, and for the most part, he's right on the money. But he has a 5 p.m. appointment, so he wraps up the bagel (and the conversation) quickly but neatly. His tour with Carpenter starts soon, and rehearsals are imminent. Eventually, there will be more intimate venues like the one in Kentucky last night for solo performances, but this summer will be filled mostly with arenas, festivals and concert halls in Carpenter's road band. Coffeehouse chats will be fewer, for sure.

But those are the things you'll do for a buddy.