When I first heard the music of Tom Johnson at a concert in Basel in 2013, I was immediately struck by its humor and unassuming simplicity. In contrast to the weighty works of the late 20th-century European avant-garde, Johnson’s music was a breath of fresh air. There were no hidden layers. It was transparent and legible. It was what it appeared to be on its surface—nothing more, nothing less.
I was surprised to learn that Johnson, an American composer, had been living and working in Paris for over three decades. I knew that French institutions were generally unsupportive of music made with such minimal materials—just ask Éliane Radigue. The more I learned, the more I was inspired by the rich creative life that Johnson carved out for himself, despite these obstacles, and by what his story meant for me as a young American composer looking to Europe for possibility.
I visited Tom Johnson at his apartment, a short walk from Place de la Bastille, in May 2023. We spoke about musical humor, the minimalist takeover of New York, and our mutual admiration of Scarlatti.
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