I was not expecting to have my heart broken at the Jonathan Richman show at Ojai Valley Woman’s Club this past December 9th, 2025.
Jonathan Richman is arguably the kindest soul in punk, except I’ve never actually heard anyone argue this. On the surface he comes off as simplistic, idealistic and perhaps even naive. Not everybody “gets” Jonathan Richman and by all accounts this seems perfectly fine with him. He’s never bent himself to appear any differently than exactly who he is.
When he led the highly influential proto-punk band The Modern Lovers, their fast, energetic hit “Roadrunner” sort of blew up in its own way and turned them into a household name…if your household was hip enough at least. Following this success, The Modern Lovers responded by opening their very next show with silly, cute and quaint “I’m a Little Airplane,” complete with stretched out airplane arms by Richman and, yes, airplane noises from the entire band (nnnyyoww nnnyyoww!). Audience members constructed paper airplanes and floated them towards the stage, to the delight of The Modern Lovers. The scene made the concert look more like a children’s show and was not at all what the audience was expecting following a song like “Roadrunner.” This has got to be the most “punk” thing I could imagine.
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Jonathan Richman’s insistence on doing whatever the hell they wanted to do was unshakable. Unfortunately, what he wanted to do and what the rest of the band wanted to do didn’t align and The Modern Lovers dissolved. I very much dislike thinking about what those conversations were like and find myself fantasizing about “what could have been” but none of that really matters because their impact was already a runaway train, shaping the direction of what we know as “punk” forever. And really, what more could we ask for?
With Richman on his own, he was free to define himself however he pleased. He brought sophisticated and romantic flares from his travels into his musicianship, while keeping the spirit of his punk roots alive with stripped down creations. He dabbled in country with sincerity. He has recorded songs in English, Spanish, Italian and French and released an album entirely in Spanish. Richman quickly developed his own authentic sound as a starry-eyed purist. He is always watching and writing. I find him so inspirational in this way. He sings what he sees, and he sees everything. But because his lyrics are so straightforward, he leans on his unbridled emotional delivery and loose, fluid guitar playing to express his thoughts in a much deeper way.
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I arrived early to the sold out Ojai Valley Woman’s Club, my camera bag dangling from my shoulder. This 300-person venue was a cozy setting for a sweetly intimate evening with Jonathan Richman and very different than the last time I saw him, at the Palace Theatre between Skid Row and Downtown LA, back in 2023. Built in 1911, the Ojai Valley Woman’s Club is a historical clubhouse that serves afternoon tea every Thursday. On this night the clubhouse was selling sandwiches from their kitchen. Every ingredient was house-made, from the pretzel bread to the cheese. It was a delightful sandwich.
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As we waited for Richman to take the stage, I noticed people grabbing cushions and throw pillows from the entryway benches, setting them on the wooden floor to sit on. Soon, all three hundred attendees were sitting crossed-legged, resembling kindergartners eagerly glued to their teacher as she reads from a comically oversized copy of Three Billy Goats Gruff. This felt so correct, sitting on the floor with new friends and daydreaming, the taste of homemade cheese on my tongue, while waiting for one of my favorite human beings. Scanning the room revealed that roughly every fourth person proudly wore an off-white and blue stripe shirt, a nod to the cover of Richman’s most revered and critically acclaimed album I, Jonathan. There were fans of all ages, including pajama-clad children and chubby-cheeked, smiling toddlers.
Richman is touring following the release of his 18th studio album, Only Frozen Sky Anyway. On my first run through the album I found it incredibly enjoyable, feeling the heartbeat of the music more than dissecting it. I slipped in the CD in my car’s stereo and tapped along on my steering wheel, my shoulders bumping to the beat for all 12 tracks. It was pleasant and wildly easy to listen to. There was even a Bee Gees cover which can only equal joy squared. I felt good. And then I gave it another spin, this time paying closer attention to his words.
Without warning, I felt like I was hit with ton of bricks. A gigantic lump formed in my throat and my brain vehemently rejected the thoughts that attempted to invade its space. Contrary to Richman’s typical youthful lightheartedness, the subject of mortality wove in and out of the album as its common thread, with a few songs even sounding a little too much like goodbyes (“When I make my change, I want everyone to know it’s not a big change, only frozen sky, just a piece of frozen sky anyway”). Goodbyes with a heavy dose of reassurance, but goodbyes nonetheless. This scared the shit out of me. Unacceptable, I thought, and pushed this idea out of my head before the lump could turn into vomit. Thankfully, as much as I adore his new work very much, this isn’t an album review. I don’t think I could stomach one, despite keeping the album on regular rotation ever since. Back to the clubhouse.
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Richman and Tommy Larkins, Richman’s faithful, soft-touched drummer of 32 years, quietly stepped out from the curtains while making zero fuss. Working their way through the 18-song setlist it was clear that this audience “got” him. We were completely spellbound. We erupted in laughter at every little quip. Shook our hips with him as he spun his guitar and let loose. Sighed with him when it was necessary. I’m fairly sure that if he were to offer us Kool-Aid we would guzzle it down happily and without question.
Together, Richman and Larkins delivered a set that spanned his entire 60+ year career, including reimagined beloved hits from both his solo work and his time with The Modern Lovers. After he gave a quick glance around the room, Pablo Picasso wasn’t called an asshole in New York nor in Ojai as Richman traded out the explicative for family-friendly lines. We danced in a more modern lesbian bar. And of course there were plenty of his new, completely lovely but personally nerve-wracking songs which he sang with such forceful emotion that I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I paid close attention to the audience during these songs, hoping to discover that I’ve just been overreacting and overthinking, but it was clear we were all on the same terribly sad page as I saw deepened worry lines appear on still-smiling faces.
Richman encouraged us to sing along and if you didn’t know the words, that’s okay – he would teach you. He’ll even interrupt the flow of the song and start the chorus over if he thinks you’re catching on and would like more practice. This is what makes Richman remarkable. He’s always teaching. Whether it’s explicitly or just by example, there is always something to learn from Jonathan Richman.
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Prior to the duo blessing us with an encore, Richman whispered a wavering, barely audible “goodnight” into the mic. He and Larkins abruptly took three large steps backwards and stood motionless in each of the far corners on the stage, absorbing the room that had been swallowed by applause. I took note of Richman’s quivering lips as his tear-filled, overwhelmed eyes moved from person to person, as though to individually acknowledge each life shared tonight. The lump is back in my throat but this time I allow it. I am shattered but reassured.
The amount of appreciation exuded in that moment, from all directions, made me realize just how lucky we are to experience this world through Jonathan Richman’s eyes. Jonathan Richman values the small, seemingly mundane things usually ignored. He is fully present with you and takes nothing for granted. His influence creeps into corners we might not even notice – for the entire evening, no one held a phone up, not even during his most popular songs. It would be easy to brush this off as trying to be cool in front of the coolest guy you’ll ever be in the same room with. Even I felt a bit foolish with my digital camera when film would have been far more appropriate. But I think this is far too shallow. More likely, we didn’t want to waste a single second with this beautiful soul.
Thank you for teaching us how to be present, Jonathan.
Words and Photos by Michelle Evans
