Jack Johnson

It’s 2:15 on a Sunday afternoon in Atlanta, and Jack Johnson seems to have just woken up. But when you’re talking to a guy who probably wears a T-shirt and flip-flops 365 days a year, it’s pretty hard to tell. Though Johnson is scheduled to take Music Midtown’s main stage in a little over two hours, he seems as loose as his breezy brand of Frisbee-folk. He’s channel surfing inside his tour bus, talking about his second record, On and On, which hit stores in May, and his summer amphitheatre tour with friend and mentor Ben Harper.

With an easygoing sound that falls lazily between Cat Stevens and Sublime, Johnson’s music sounds better with a tequila and twist of lime in hand, a salty breeze, and sand under your feet. Sedate, minor-chord melodies carry lyrics about snowboarding, bubbly toes and mud football over Rasta-tinged barre chords. A modern-day Jimmy Buffett sans the Margaritaville cheese, Johnson has made his mark with a seemingly effortless vibe that neither overwhelms nor disappoints—and that’s just fine with him.

“I’m not trying to do something dissonant that people don’t get,” Johnson explains, without a hint of defensiveness. “I’m just playing music for people who want to have a good time. I mean, I’m not trying to kid myself—it’s simple stuff. It’s easy to sing along to. I want people to hear my songs and feel like they could have written them.”

Fans connect with his mellow stage persona, which provides the perfect complement to his music. And since his crowds are more apt to party than hang on every note, Johnson says he and his band put very little pressure on themselves. “It has to be a really bad show for us to get bummed,” he says. “If we have a sloppy set but the crowd seems to be having fun, we don’t really worry about it.”

Following a solid year-and-a-half of touring to support his platinum-selling debut, Brushfire Fairytales, the band retreated in August 2002 to Johnson’s hometown of Oahu, Hawaii, to lay down tracks for On and On. Longtime Beastie Boys producer Mario Caldato Jr. (aka Mario C.) signed on to produce the project after convincing Johnson to convert his garage into a studio. They surfed in the morning and barbecued at night, maintaining a loose, familial atmosphere that comes through soft and clear in the recordings.

“When you’re not paying for the studio space, it makes a huge difference,” Johnson notes. “You can take your time, and you’re not forced to compromise your lifestyle. The sessions basically felt like afternoon jams with friends.”