Review: TREY JOHNSON at MAD House 101 Restaurant & Bar

Article written by Guest Writer OWEN DODD from Ouachita Baptist University

Upon being asked what kind of music he performs, Trey Johnson said something to the effect of, “That’s the question, isn’t it?” And, of course, it certainly is. Although we could have discussed his music extensively, I only began to understand him when he sat down with his guitar and his accompanist, Jason Willmon. Many readers will find the answer to the aforementioned “question” upon uttering the term “bluegrass,” but this was not the case for me. Although I heard of this style of music and noticed the warm experience to which its devotees attributed it, I had never heard a lick of it for myself. And this lick makes a world of difference.  

See, you’d find it easier to explain how to ride a bike than to explain exactly the effect of music like this. You could make a step-by-step formula as specific and descriptive as possible, explaining how to swing your foot over the seat, how to simultaneously steer and pedal, how to anticipate the bike’s movements and abilities and constraints, but it never seems to encapsulate the actual experience. Indeed, you could make a perfect guide to riding a bike, and it would be entirely useless: your student would still fall off the bike many times, and they’d be quite better off throwing your manual in the trash and picking up the bike which they know nothing about. In other words, you have to ride this bike for yourself, as I did at Mad House, 101 E Locust St, in El Dorado on July 19th. 

Interestingly enough, the feel of the music is also like riding a bike in that you’ll never forget it. Trey got the night started well with a quick juke, of which there were many throughout his performance. Within the first measure of Trey’s introduction, he had shown me what he was all about. He wore a funny looking hat and slick dressy shoes. He told us that his daughter knew what those shoes meant: he was off “guitaring.” As all the other performers I’ve seen at the Murphy Arts District this summer, Trey’s disposition was loose and comfortable onstage. He talked with the crowd as if we were old friends. His dialect and tone were improper and slangy at best, and all the better for it. Rarely do you find someone so refreshingly unconcerned with protests against their image. His foot acted as a syncopated metronome, striking the ground with the same arc of a gun hammer. The most impressive feature of Trey’s performance, however, was his focus. Although he seemed to be enjoying the crowd, he was hardly watching anything at all. Again, he was not concerned with appearances or perceptions; no, nothing so superficial, but something more important to him, and perhaps to him only. Those times when he closed his eyes, looked through, beyond the crowd, he was communing with something tacitly connected with the strum of the guitar, the flair of the harmonica. Here he was one moment, and the next he was somewhere else, all for him to come back in matters of seconds. As a train gains momentum and its motoric rhythms find traction, Trey similarly found his stride and lost it not once. 

Of notable intrigue was the effect of the harmonica, often overlooked by many in other settings, myself included. However, upon hearing Jason Willmon’s skills, I began to understand the import he brought as a musician. Harmonicas are given as trinkets to millions of kids, and while it may be charming or novel to hear a kid blow thoughtlessly through the inexpensive instrument, this tendency conditions us to neglect the time required to learn this instrument, and in turn, the potential effect such an instrument can have on an audience. I have difficulty understanding how Jason so effortlessly controlled his intervals, dynamics, and articulations down to the most intricate details. His hands seemed to flex in ways unknown to me, even as a pianist. His index finger would assume an independence distinct from the rest of his fingers, and I still question whether this was a technical intention or an enigmatic expression of the flow state he was experiencing at that particular moment. This is just one of the many variants of hand position he used, all of which were fascinating and engrossing. When I heard Jason play, the lines of harmony seemed to be as exact and graceful as the movements of a school of fish, huddling together to create one mass. Like these fish, the harmonies were united by articulation which made them seem covalent in mind and body. As mathematic functions are naturally inclined to their predestined plots, these tones seemed to move with intention, direction, and brazen youth. They moved in unison, and thereby created a completely new, literally breathing entity: far more than the components’ sum. After hearing Jason, I recognize and underline the virtuosity of the harmonica in the right hands.  

The most constant effect of the entire night, constant and sweet, was Trey’s smile. Almost every picture I took of Trey was accompanied by a smile; as for those that weren’t, he was simply making his way from word to word, chord to chord, smile to smile. The expressive variety the duo presented was staggering. Trey could have chopped a forest of firewood with his axing foot, up and down. At particularly savory chords and cadences, Jason’s face seemed to grimace and furrow, a sure sign of a full surrender to the “sovereign nastiness” of the beat. Since Trey was busy holding the melodies with Jason, I wouldn’t blame him if he couldn’t recall the various instances of the crowd’s entertainment. Before he got too far into his set, he announced to the crowd that there was a “young man taking pictures”—obviously, he was talking of me. While I hope I didn’t, “Coldplay” anyone as Johnson called it, I can never be sure. Regardless, I’ve selected my favorite moments from the night, Coldplay or not. 

Of particular interest to me was the setting within Mad House, which hit me full force about halfway through the night. With the sun setting, mead-gold light poured through the northern wall, which was completely glass. I could hardly find a place to stand where I was not in the way of a waiter, all of whom were too kind to tell me to move out of their way! Flavorful steam streaked behind hot food on the way to the mahogany tables, at which hungry customers sat drinking every kind of draft beer you could ever want. The bartenders seemed a zipping blur from station to station, not simply working on a long list of orders but thriving in the mist of their limes. Laughter and gossip was inseparable from Trey’s singing, and my only regret was that I could not take a picture of every expression I deemed article-worthy. 

Much can be said about the environment in which Trey performed; Mad House is a venue and restaurant I am lucky to frequent. But I’d also say that those who manage the space also recognize that good music pushes it to heights of enjoyment previously unattainable. With performers like Trey and Jason, the music gilds the walls with humanity and emotion that was previously absent. Furthermore, the striking effect of the music seems to be inseparable from the interactions we have in its presence. Expressive music renders an infinitely exact—infinitely intricate—perception of the present moment, and thereby makes it completely indescribable. I would be at a loss for words had I needed to explain the essence of Trey’s performance, but I sure as hell will never forget it. Indeed, it would be no easier to exactly describe “bluegrass” than it would be to describe the color blue itself. These are analogs in that they are completely untouched by the human translation, but completely inseparable from human experience. We cannot help but experience the entirety of blue, but we also cannot expect to completely delineate all—or any— of its characteristics. Philosophers and musicians alike have found these restrictions completely confounding and infuriating, and I can relate. How do we allow something so essential to our experience to completely evade our language and communication? How can we so fully understand the nature of bluegrass, and yet we cannot describe it any more clearly than that single essential referent, “bluegrass?” The frustration is often unbearable, but musicians like Trey Johnson and and Jason Willmon remind us that it is all worth it. I could imagine life without the color blue and thanks to these amazing musicians, now I can’t imagine it with out bluegrass either. 

Like my photography and creative expression? Check out my Instagram at owen_dodd_, where I experiment with photography and my personal music taste. Be sure to check out my other articles submitted to Broadway World by my internship supervisor, Theresa Bertram! To find out more about the amazing world of Trey Johnson, visit his website at https://treyjohnsonmusic.net/. He has upcoming performances posted all throughout August and September and will be returning to MAD House on October 16th, 2025. If you’re interested in upcoming events for El Dorado’s Murphy Arts District, be sure to check out their Calendar. Upcoming events to check out consist of The Avett Brothers with Black Berry Smoke, and Train with Edwin McCain on August 23rd and August 27th respectively.  

Signing off for now, 

Owen Dodd 

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