As I ascend the stairs to Dean Johnson’s home near Seattle’s Ballard neighborhood on a sunny Sunday afternoon a random thought crosses my mind.
I bet he’s gonna offer me some tea.
If you’ve spent any time listening to the folk singer-songwriter’s warmly spun tunes, you understand that just seems like a very Dean Johnson thing to do. Usually sporting a fisherman beanie with wisps of his graying hair jutting out the sides and a walrus mustache guarding his upper lip, he sings almost everything with the familiar comfort of a good friend. His style and soft-spoken nature would somehow feel equally at home as a regular sitting at the end of a seaport dive bar or as a Wes Anderson character delivering pearls of homespun wisdom…