We wanted to post some remembrances of our dear friend and bandmate John Erhardt.

From Chuck Cleaver

There’s no easy way to say this but our friend and band mate John Erhardt has left us. He died this past Monday. The details aren’t ours to know or share so as a courtesy please don’t inquire.

John and I have been in and out of bands together for the last thirty years or better. We started Ass Ponys without ever discussing what we wanted to be or do. We just came up with stuff, played it the best we could and eventually made records. We put the first two out and then by some minor miracle got signed to a major label in that weird mid 90s Afghan Whigs feeding frenzy.

Because we had some problems with the band name before, we debated changing it to something more commercially palatable. I remember getting home from a practice one night where we’d discussed it and getting a call from John, who let me know that “we’re not changing our name...it’s chicken shit” so we kept Ass Ponys and drifted through major label land for a couple of albums.

Flash forward a few years. John had been out of and back in Ass Ponys and I was starting a new band called Wussy. AP was dissolving and I got another call from John. “Wussy huh? You picked another winner”. A few more years went by and through some sort of osmosis John joined Wussy. He just showed up at a practice one night and never left.

John gave us a beauty that we’ll never see again. A combination of love, friendship, stability and that amazing swirling sound. Truly a wonder. A backdrop to everything that we are, in the band and in life.

To say we’ll miss him is an understatement. It’s not gonna be the same from here on out nor should it be. Death’s like that. We’ll continue to keep making up stuff, play it to the best of our abilities and make more records. There will be a hole and we’ll likely leave it that way. You can’t replace some things.

Those of you who knew John know that he held certain things ever close to his heart. His friends and his passion for his work in music and film would all be high on that list. But most of all, it was his family, especially his wife Denise and daughter Ivy...his great loves.
He would misplace items constantly on the road, but he would never permit himself to be more than a few inches away from his most beloved tour accessory - a keychain holding a photo of him and his daughter from a vacation years ago. It was his good luck charm. It brought him home.

Safe travels, bud. We love you.

- Chuck Cleaver

From Mark Messerly

I wanted to write a little (a lot ) about the music John made and try to put some thoughts down on the impact he had in Wussy. These are just my ramblings and if I got something wrong I apologize.

Part I

The public face of grief versus the private one feels weird to navigate. I guess grief in general is tricky,* but it occured to me that it bears a similarity to how we experience music. The promise of The Who and Bruce Springsteen to my great delight vastly undersold the unifying power of being in a band and playing shows. One of the tropes that I trot out at the drop of a hat is that by being a part of a great song by a band you love at a show, surrounded by a collection of misfits unified by that love, it connects us in a way that is deeply, movingly powerful. Catharsis. Community. Connection. It’s all there.

But music equally has the unique ability to express emotions that literally have no words. Sitting alone in your room at night, maybe with headphones on, a certain instrument playing a certain melody or rhythm in a certain way will suddenly resonate with something intensely personal, unique, and private inside of you. It could be a kind of exultation or a sadness you forgot you had, but if you tried to describe it you would end up with something like a 5 year-old’s watercolor painting of the Grand Canyon at sunset. Nice try sport… but no. Go back to picking your nose and wiping it on your brother until you get some years under your belt.

I cannot speak to the personal, private, form of grief we are experiencing in our own internal worlds at the passing of John Erhardt. What I can attempt to do is celebrate what it was like to be in a band and make music with that weird, wonderful man.

I remember clearly us talking in our very first conversation as a band, (more the idea of a band at that point) that what we wanted to sound like was some form of noise and melody. We threw around names like, The Jesus and Mary Chain and The Vaselines as a jumping off point. Somehow, even though we were acoustic by necessity for the first year, we kept moving towards this sound we had in our heads. Chuck would wave his hands in the air in a chaotic circular motion and describe what he wanted as a kind of swirling sound. Simple songs rendered as a symphony of living, beautiful, chaotic, noise. Every once in a while we’d skirt the edges of it. I remember the only time Wussy opened up for our heroes Yo La Tengo, and for a moment in “Rigor Mortis” something happened and the sound coalesced into something bigger. It was lovely but ephemeral. And then Joe joined and brought a whole new box of crayons with not only his deep skills as a drummer, but as a bonus he is also really adept at using keyboards to create cool sonic backgrounds. Closer, but still a will-o-wisp flickering in the distance. And so we kept moving forward.

For me, moments like the aforementioned yet sporadic “Rigor Mortis” glory started to happen more frequently on the Strawberry tour. And of course that was because John had joined the band. “Pizza King” started to regularly “swirl” and we looked forward to it every show. We never even really considered whether people liked “Pizza King.” We play that one for us. It was finally happening. The sound in our heads was becoming a living thing. And when it was time to go into the studio with John for the first time (excepting of course Chuck who had made all those Ass Ponys records with him) listen to how he introduces himself with exquisite timing after everyone else has come in on “Teenage Wasteland.” As the song builds, listen after the vocals cut out around the three minute mark where the song begins to soar completely on the back of John’s steel guitar. It’s a chill inducing moment. “To the Lightning” is a John riff as well in case it wasn’t obvious.

John filled the holes in songs. John completed the puzzle we had been blindly trying to put together for years. I never asked him because I took it for granted, but I feel like John looked at music differently than most. Chuck for instance likely thinks of music in terms of chords, melody and how it affects the words, and whether stepping on the Rat pedal and the flanger at the same time will be more annoying than just the Rat alone. I tend to fixate, to Joe’s eternal consternation, on melodies and where the song could use a little bit more of it. John seemed to think in almost pure sound. Textures, waves, curlicues, and sheets of sound. His playing almost requires adjectives drawn from the world of the visual arts to describe it. The key though was that it was always in the service of the song. In a way that echoed his personality offstage he seemed to have little desire to draw attention to himself. It was like he would go inside a song, inhabit it, and then add something that was essential but also difficult to pin down.

I’ve always felt that “Forever Sounds” was a kind of defining moment in John’s time as a Wussy. The first thing you hear on the record is John’s amp and guitar building to feedback like a call to arms and most definitely providing a statement of purpose. Listen to the beginning of “She’s Killed Hundreds.” Everything in the previous paragraph might have sounded like he practiced a kind of soft art, but the fucker could tear your face off if he wanted to. The band might disagree but I feel like “Forever Sounds” is the record we heard in our heads when we first got together. With John we became the band we wanted to be. And now we’re going to have to figure out how to become something new. A band with and without John Erhardt. He changed the band and we will always possess those gifts he left us. They are now who we are and I am forever grateful.

Part II

Don’t worry - this section will be much shorter because I’m not really ready for the human side of the story yet. John deserves to be recognized for his brilliant playing but talking about the music is also a way to keep the hurt at a little bit of a remove. All I really want to write about here is a little bit about what it was like to be in a band with him offstage. A lot of the remembrances people have written mentioned his sly sense of humor. He seemed to take joy in the absurd and didn’t mind bringing that silliness to everyday moments. Here’s an example of a small moment that completely made a long driving day on tour. We were at some burger place where you place your order at one end and then they call your name when it’s ready. So he told the young lady behind the counter that his name was Squirrel. She kind of woke up and said something like, “Squirrel? Are you sure?” “Yep - Squirrel.” And he did it just so he could have the pleasure of hearing over the intercom, “Squirrel - your order is ready.” It killed me. He had a tendency to disappear. Just vanish. But he was always on time for soundcheck and the show. He would talk to just about any stranger in any situation. One night in some European city that I don’t recall we woke up in the morning and he said right off, “Listen to this.” He hit play on his phone and we heard some live sounding music that felt like it was probably some form of traditional music from India. The night before he’d been unable to sleep so he went for a walk. We’re talking around two in the morning or so. He heard some amazing music coming from an upstairs apartment window and stopped to listen. A man smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk said something like, “You like the music? Do you want to come up and listen?” So John sat with a group of strangers in their apartment in the middle of the night listening to heart-rendingly beautiful music, and I remember thinking it was the most perfectly John style adventure possible.

And somehow, without a lot of talking, he brought a calmness and stability to the band. This was a huge deal. We’re all I think fairly nice people in the band, but we’re all also complete pains in the ass. Just by being present our fighting and fussiness became if not negligible, at least way more tolerable. He would by silent agreement be forced to room with whomever was melting down that day. It was probably exhausting but he did it anyway. I seriously don’t know how he did it. He wasn’t one for lots of advice giving or hand holding. He would just listen while we ranted about whatever bug had crawled up whichever one of our butts that day until we felt better. Plus, he was always willing to drive first the morning after a show. That right there is all you need to know.

He was a kind, generous, talented, and silly man. I cannot believe he’s gone.

P.S. Please check out John’s amazing work in the Ass Ponys and as a solo performer as well.

*Scientifically harder than rockin’ a rhyme right on time. Just ask Dr. Dre.**
** He’s a Doctor that’s why. I know it’s a Run D.M.C. song.

- Mark Messerly

John Erhardt Memorial Fund

The untimely and sudden passing of our friend John Erhardt has us all asking, “What can we do to honor his memory?  How can we continue John’s legacy to have a positive and lasting impact on others?”

As John’s wife, Denise, and his daughter, Elizabeth, experience their grief, they are determined to channel what they are feeling into a way to help those who struggle with mental health, as John did.

To support the cause, a fund is being established to assist organizations whose focus is advocating for and helping individuals and their families who contend with the disease of mental illness. 

Anyone wishing to donate can do so by visiting the John Erhardt Memorial Fund.

Radio Tribute to John

This episode aired May 09, 2020 on Trash Flow Radio, WAIF 88.3 FM (Cincinnati, OH). It includes a tribute to the late John Erhardt (1961 - May 4, 2020), who was a member of The Ass Ponys, Wussy, and Eleven:Eleven. The recording of the original broadcast was lost, so this stream reconstructs that broadcast as closely as possible. It includes remembrances of John Erhardt from Lisa Walker and Mark Messerly (Wussy), Randy Cheek (The Ass Ponys), Sam Womelsdorf (Culture Queer, Throneberry), and Peter Aaron (Cincinnati underground music historian / archivist).