John Fizer
Treasure Man
SCISSOR TAIL
As far as stoner, loner, space-cadet, vintage-before-its-time, earnestly folky cosmic country music of the 1960s and ’70s goes, Berkeley’s John Fizer holds a worthwhile patent. But while his creaky epic “Trainsong” was a handsome centerpiece of the 1986 Smithsonian Folkways collection of various artists Original Folk, Fizer’s sole solo disc (or homemade cassette, rather) 1977’s Treasure Man was thought to be lost, if never found at all. Until now—released as it is with its full band’s studio tracks on one side and a live Berkeley performance recorded in 1992 on the other.
A lyrical country troubadour in the best Guy Clark/John Prine/John Hartford sense (or Commander Cody without His Lost Planet Airmen), Fizer’s weary songs are beautifully plainspoken and warmly character-driven. There’s no noir shadows to be found on Treasure Man—every line and chord is bright, bold-faced, and out in the open. I don’t know if the romance behind “Lady Lying Lovely” or the person just out of reach on “I Call for You” were real circumstances, but they each feel as lived-in and as palpable as your eyelashes.
Reaching for more lofty existential planes than earthen ones on the trippy poetic likes of “Tibetan Bells” and “The Web,” you can tell that Fizer had struck up a friendship with Jerry Garcia to the point of opening solo shows for the Grateful Dead guitarist, as there’s a gauzy purple haze to these tunes. Mostly, though, Treasure Man is filled with honest, hurt, and lonely recollections and gentle romanticism the likes of which make you yearn for more. Somebody find this guy.
