If you grew up before the digital age made packaging obsolete, you’ve probably seen the name Glyn Johns on the back of some of your favorite records. He’s recorded, mixed, or produced The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Dylan, Led Zeppelin, and The Eagles, to name a few giants from his fifty-year career behind the boards. Based on his accomplishments and the characters he’s crossed paths with Johns’ autobiography should be an indispensable treasure trove of great stories and anecdotes from rock’s most vital period. Instead, I find it dull. Yes, he was there, and yes, he played an important role in shaping the sound of classic rock; but his writing voice is so dry and emotionless that it’s hard to care. Johns wrote Sound Man – the title perhaps a play on his “normalcy” in a field dominated by insane characters – by himself, which was probably a mistake. A co-author could have added some crucial spice to an otherwise bland read, and they also could have recommended a normal-sized font instead of the squint-inducing one we’re stuck with. Johns also errs by condensing the last thirty-five years of his career down to just 40 pages. True, his output from that time doesn’t compare to the albums he worked on in the ’60s and ’70s, but this is supposed to be a biography, not a ‘greatest hits’. It might have been interesting to hear what it was like for him, given his extraordinary resume, to work on albums by forgotten C-level bands like Summerhill, Jackopierce and The Warm Jets. Unfortunately, he doesn’t let us in on that…or much else.
Midnight To Six 