Remembering Jimmy Boyer, Legend of Tomorrow

• Greg Homolka

I moved to Portland on New Year’s Eve 1988, so maybe that means I have a decent claim in knowing some of what is referred to as “old Portland.” Some of these things are near legendary, even to those who hear about them secondhand… such as Satyricon with its smack-copping-friendly bathrooms, or a one-bedroom apartment in a good neighborhood for less than $400.

But the real parts of “old Portland” that deserve to be remembered are those who made it what it was—the people. On Thursday, January 21, Portland lost a giant of old Portland: Jimmy Boyer.

If you go out to see live music in this city, you most likely saw Boyer. His band, the Freak Mountain Ramblers, played more than 500 times at McMenamins properties. Or maybe you caught him at his regular haunt, the LaurelThirst Public House. He played there more than 1,000 times. That’s the equivalent of playing a show every day in a row for over three years.

Boyer was scheduled to play the day he passed.

But more impressive than the superhuman number of times he performed or the scope of people he played with was the quality of the man—and his music. Boyer was a brilliant writer and performer, but he was a man with a spirit of inclusiveness and giving that knew no bounds, no matter if he was on or off stage. Someone should chart out the musical lineage that connects to and through Jimmy. It would look like the “Tree of Rock” poster on steroids.

He was only 47, and was loved by literally hundreds of people. I know this as fact, because when I was working on this piece, I was contacted by and referred to many more people than I was able to speak with, or include their stories here.

So here are just a few of the remembrances I collected. Additionally, a celebration of Boyer’s life will take place at the Kennedy School on Wednesday, March 16, and we’ll provide more details as that gets closer. Godspeed, Jimmy.

CHRISTOPHER WEBSTER: I was living in Flagstaff, Arizona, in 1989, and one night I went to an open mic, and as I entered, I could hear an old man belting out “In My Time of Dying.” Only it wasn’t an old man, it was a young, skinny white kid from Cleveland via New York City named Jimmy Boyer. He was only 20, as I have a memory of him not being able to stay after his set.

Over the next couple weeks I saw him play three or four more times, each time telling him how good I thought he was, having recognized him as someone who was channeling music in a way I hadn’t seen before. I thought he was probably gonna be one of the best songwriters alive in America.

He formed a folk duo called Cold Turkey with current Oregonian Scotty Brownwood, then formed an electric band called Rain.

I had been going back and forth from Portland, and after checking out some open mics, I realized that some guy named Billy Kennedy seemed to be connected to many of them, so I spent a good deal of time trying to convince Jimmy that he had a mission: go to Portland and find Billy Kennedy. Eventually he did, hitchhiking there first with Kenny McLain (of Portland band the Exbats), staying for a month, and then finally moving there to call it home.

Living in the woods on Freak Mountain gave Jimmy the best of both worlds: He lived in gorgeous, jaw-dropping nature, and constant gigging gave him the sound he loved, his boot heels on city streets. I had no idea that the Billy Kennedy tip would lead to the astonishing talents of the Holy Modal Rounders, Michael Hurley, and Jeffrey Fredericks, or the world-class musicianship of people like Tim Acott, Dan Hailey, Lynn Conover, Neil Gilpin, and David Reisch, but it turned out to be the right one because it was with these players that he was able to flourish and turn, as he said, “these silly songs written on an acoustic guitar” into some of the best songs I’ve ever heard in my life.

• Greg Homolka

ROGER NORTH: I have known Jimmy since 1997, when he, Dave Reisch (bass/vocals), Bingo Richey (guitar/vocals), Forest Bloodgood (fiddle), and Paul Bassett (washboard) were already holding forth every Sunday night for happy hour at the LaurelThirst. They had a small but very nice following—I don’t know how long they had been doing it, but I think it was not brand new. It seemed that the group was mostly based around Jimmy and his songs, and Bingo and his songs, with occasional songs sung by Dave. The Holy Modal Rounders (Dave’s and my former band) were planning a big reunion in NYC, and I had not been playing much, and thought I had better get some drumming time in, so I asked Dave if I could bring a small set and play with them a few times, since they didn’t have a drummer.

I didn’t have a strong impression of Jimmy at first, as he was not one to push himself to the forefront, even though he was a lead singer. (It seems kind of unusual for a lead singer, although introverts are surprisingly common in band players.) So it took a while to notice Jimmy’s contribution to the group—which eventually morphed into the Freak Mountain Ramblers—but it was pretty early on that I realized his songs were starting to actually give me chills while we were playing them. That was something that had seldom happened to me, and it continued to happen. Even more strongly when I realized that the growing audience was learning his songs and singing along with them. So that is what Jimmy brought to the stage: the ability to connect with people with his weird, wavery voice and beautiful songs. And there are quite a lot of them.

I think that Jimmy’s gentleness (and “gentlemanliness”) were his defining characteristics—I only once saw him get mad and that lasted about five seconds. I had made a smart-aleck remark onstage into the mic when he broke a string and he nailed me, no words but with fire in his eyes. I decided never ever to do that again! But he was a very sweet person. And gentle with others, though not always to himself. I know he found some refuge in drinking, but even though that eventually severely damaged his body, and eventually killed him, I always felt he did it not for fun but for release from things I didn’t know or understand that he was unable to get away from otherwise. And when he did need to stop drinking, I know that for several years he felt terrible physically, but he was extremely strong—he played every show that he could physically get to. Being a lead singer/songwriter/stage performer is not something that you can just show up and do. It requires effort, concentration, and intensity. And I was always in awe of Jimmy’s strength that he could do that over and over again, when I know that he was feeling physically, and probably mentally, really terrible. A really tough guy. I expect that the songs Jimmy created will continue to be played and sung by numerous musicians and friends for a long time.

• Lewi Longmire

LEWI LONGMIRE: He was the most inclusive guy, always bringing new musicians into the fold, and always had biggest heart ever. On plenty of occasions, he would play with the Freak Mountain Ramblers at the LaurelThirst on a Sunday, go drinking after, and end up talking with a homeless guy and giving him all the money he had just made! He gave whatever he had to whomever he felt had less, without a second thought. He had such a passion for life and music and if he had something—music, physical possessions—then he shared it all until everyone had what they needed.

I took him to see Tom Waits in Seattle at the Paramount in 2004. Tickets were expensive, but we ended up in the 12th row. He stood up during the show, which annoyed those around us—“Please, sir, sit down.” Between songs, he went off on the shushers, asking if they were “dead inside.” We were close enough for Tom Waits to hear us, because he looked straight at Jimmy once the next song ended and tipped his hat to him! It was pouring when the show ended, and Jimmy stopped and talked with a homeless guy, to whom he gave his cowboy hat, one of his favorites.

But it was a hard world for Jim to live in. He felt for everyone; he felt the pain on this world. He literally played 1,200 shows at the LaurelThirst, including 850 Freak Mountain Ramblers shows on Sundays. [He had] ways of bringing folks together, center of the wheel.

(LITTLE) SUE WEAVER: I have so much to say (too much, he would say) about Jimmy Boyer. Marilee Hord told me once that she often was uncomfortable playing my songs on stage because they felt so personal. So many important, really pivotal changes in my life, in every way, happened when I met Jim. He was a far more private person than I have been. I want to honor him in all ways, but not get too personal. Not easy for me.

He was a mentor, a dear friend, a lover, and he inspired me in so many ways. His simple, concise, and honky-punk elegant way with lyrics and style… No one I had ever met wrote songs as good, or delivered them with as understated grace and humility as Jimmy. Granted, I was only 22 and hadn’t really met anyone yet, but it holds true to this day. He introduced me to musicians and music that fundamentally changed my life. Especially his own music and person.

His philosophy about how one should carry themselves through this life was evident in everything he said, if not everything he did: kindness, or at least civility, always, boldness in all matters. Being outside of society was always very important to him.

We broke each other’s hearts more than a handful of times. The first time he was the breaker, and he said to me, me crumpled on the hood of Reisch’s car parked outside the ‘Thirst, “You’re heartbroken, Lily. Now go write some songs about it.”

I took his advice.

My first songs were about Jim (and/or my interpretation of events, feelings, what have you), my style of playing is ever so heavily influenced by Jim, and of course, at first, was meant to impress only him.

I am heartbroken over our loss. Every woman who has ever been with Jimmy can attest to his forever-gentle caring nature, every friend can attest to his undying loyalty, and no one can deny the comfort that simply talking with him brought.

Jimmy gave me the keys to the car. I love him always.

• Greg Homolka

FERNANDO VICICONTE: Jim Boyer was my good friend and I am beyond heartbroken by the news of his death. Honestly, l don’t know if Portland will ever feel quite the same to me without him. I loved him like a brother and I respected him more than words can say as a singer, songwriter and musician. I’ll just say this: I don’t care how good any of you think you are, none of you will ever be as soulful as Jimmy Boyer was in his prime!

MIKE McMENAMIN: I saw him play many, many times. He developed such an awesome power just from his soul which he brought to the Freak Mountain Ramblers. He had great restraint but was very powerful in his songs, this amazing tension created by restraint and simplicity, not just filling holes with empty notes. I hired him to play my daughter’s wedding.

He was such a fragile being, having had a hard time early on in his life. He lived on the edge. I’m going to miss him.

• Greg Homolka