We had the good fortune of connecting with Jefferson Thomas and we’ve shared our conversation below.
Hi Jefferson, how do you think about risk?
I can honestly say that every time in my life I’ve ever taken a risk and gone with my gut on something, it turned out to be a great move. And I can also say that the few times I went against my gut and played it safe, the results were regrettable. So I will ALWAYS go with my gut, on anything.
Alright, so let’s move onto what keeps you busy professionally?
Both my parents were musicians, so there was pretty much no escape. I got started real early, playing bass when I was eleven, and I actually ended up taking over my dad’s guitar spot in a backing band and doing road dates and sessions when I was fifteen. I’m only realizing now how much I learned from both of my folks, not in the sense of melodies and chords and songs or whatever, but commitment, professionalism, devotion to the craft, and respect and regard for your audience.
I was brought up almost entirely on music that was made before I was born; I was exposed early on to vintage country, bluegrass, big band, crooner stuff…you name it. My dad had this incredible vinyl collection – over 3500 pieces, which I’ve now inherited. He would play out at night and then listen to music at home during the day. I never even heard any rock or pop until I was about ten or eleven.
Eventually I heard stuff my friends were listening to, and to this day I am a total pop whore. I mean, like anything from (these days) Dua Lipa to Doja Cat. So then I’ll start trying to make music that sounds like that, which of course is preposterous, because I can’t possibly pull that off. Then I’ll freak out and over-compensate by trying to do something that pulls from my vintage upbringing. Eventually I just chill out and find something halfway between, sort of the middle ground. It’s a fairly haphazard “process” if you can even call it that.
I’m doing about a hundred or so dates a year now, and one thing I like to do is use a bunch of different instruments onstage. I often get asked why I bother, and yeah, I could probably get away with just cracking a beer and doing the whole show on one guitar, but man, that would bore me. Depending on the material, I’ll bounce around between a few electrics (in various tunings), an acoustic 12-string, then a resonator, then the baritone and maybe the mandolin. But it’s all idiomatic; I play each of those instruments very differently, so my approach to the song is different. I think that kind of tonal variety and change-up in playing style keeps things moving, keeps things fresh.
So I guess the reason I’ve been able to continue making a living at this, is that I never go on “autopilot.” Every night is a fresh opportunity to create a unique experience for the audience in front of you, and I guess (I hope!) they pick up on that.
If you had a friend visiting you, what are some of the local spots you’d want to take them around to?
You know what’s funny – I’m on the road right now, in a hotel room, and I’ve been out for a few weeks now, so when you said “the “area”, I had to stop and think – WHAT area? It’s easy to get disoriented when you’re out for weeks or months at a time. I’m assuming you’re talking about the greater Atlanta area.
I’m still fairly partial to midtown, even with all the changes over the years. In fact, I did have some friends visit Atlanta recently. I drove them around through Virginia Highlands, took them to Ponce Market, then we headed uptown and just walked around Piedmont Park for a few hours. They wanted a “taste of Atlanta” before seeing me play there one night, but they only had one day, and you can’t possibly do that in a few hours.
There are so many compelling parts of the city – and outlying areas. One of my favorite haunts just outside of Atlanta is Old South Barbecue on Windy Hill Road in Smyrna. I used to live close by. I also used to be thirty pound heavier!
Who else deserves some credit and recognition?
I’m going to go with David Budries, Professor Emeritus/Chair of Sound Design at the David Geffen School of Drama at Yale University.
When I met David, he was running the recording studio at the Hartt School of Music, where I landed when I was just seventeen. I had been playing out in clubs and fairs and festivals for a few years, and had just started writing songs. I wanted to learn how to record and produce those songs. I got into the school on a music scholarship and got a paid internship at the school’s recording studio, gradually taking over shifts from other interns (who were worried about more trivial matters – like going to classes and getting good grades!) David saw my passion and let me run wild in that little studio.
This was at a point where I had very little self-esteem; I had been a non-conformist all during high school. I had been out on the weekends playing music for money with guys in their twenties and thirties, experiencing all sorts of adult fare like expense budgets, itineraries, bar tabs, fights, cops, divorces, you name it. How could I come back on Monday mornings and relate to high school – being popular or making the National Honor Society or whatever? So when I got to college, I was really socially awkward, and not at all prepared for the discipline, decorum, and lofty expectations of being a student at a music conservatory.
David was a total mentor, in every sense of the word. He taught me so much about the technical aspects of recording and production, but he always approached it from a musical – and ultimately human – perspective. All these electrons running around in all this cool equipment must serve the music. And the music must serve people. I always marveled at his ability to combine his technical expertise with being musically conversant to serve the client, and then, to be able to relate to people. That was truly three-dimensional, and I still try to approach any creative endeavor that way.
I think he also sensed that I was just an awkward kid trying to find my way, and taking refuge in music and production. He bolstered my confidence by giving me assignments I might not be ready for (miking, recording, and editing a string quartet or an entire orchestra), and sometimes when I got overconfident and lazy, he’d have to lower the boom on me. Just knowing that I’d somehow disappointed him was the worst punishment of all.
I am still in touch with David, and to this day, I refer to him as “Most Venerable Sensei.” I would not be the musician – or the person – I am today had it not been for him.
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