Remembering John Lemire, a beloved fixture of Phoenix’s music scene

John Lemire’s name may not be immediately recognizable to many people in Phoenix’s music scene.

But that was never a measure of his impact.

He wasn’t a musician, aside from playing piano as a kid. He didn’t promote concerts or play in bands. In the ’90s and 2000s, the closest he got to a local stage was working the door at iconic Tempe rock bars like Nita’s Hideaway, Long Wong’s and Yucca Tap Room.

But after Lemire died on July 11 in Vũng Tàu, Vietnam, at age 53 from complications related to alcohol use, friends and musicians half a world away were heartbroken. Tributes began appearing across social media from past and present members of Phoenix’s music scene who knew him.

Liar’s Handshake frontman Jared Christy called Lemire “a true original.” Former Eastside Records clerk Bob Schriner described him as “a champion of his friends.” Singer-songwriter Tremayne Ford said Lemire felt like a father figure who encouraged his music.

Lemire’s name never appeared on marquees or flyers. But Christy says he was an integral part of the Tempe music scene.

“Johnny was always around,” Christy says. “He was usually the first person you saw when you showed up, and that mattered.”

Lemire’s ties to Phoenix’s music scene are reflected in the lineup for his memorial show Saturday, Feb. 7, at Yucca Tap Room, benefiting nonprofit Paz de Cristo. Many of his friends will perform, including singer-songwriter Rob Campbell and Christy’s band Liar’s Handshake. Minibosses and Tucson hardcore act Got Bit! share the bill.

Arizona concert promoter Charlie Levy, who booked Nita’s from 1998 through the early 2000s, says Lemire was a familiar face to musicians, DJs and showgoers alike.

“He was a really good guy and everybody liked Johnny,” Levy says. “He knew everyone.”

‘(He) always marched to his own drummer’

Lemire was born at Eglin Air Force Base in Florida and moved frequently as a child. His family lived in Colorado, the Philippines and Hawaii before settling in Arizona in 1982, when Lemire was 11.

His mother, Catherine Alford, says Lemire was exceptionally bright and deeply curious from a young age. He was a voracious reader, often devouring several books at once.

“He was extremely smart and very well read,” Alford says. “Even right before he died, we were talking about politics, music and what each other was reading.”

Music was always present at home. Lemire took piano lessons as a child and picked it up quickly, though never pursuing it seriously. Instead, he gravitated toward ideas, language and long conversations.

After Lemire’s father was killed in a 1988 plane crash at Mesa’s Williams Air Force Base (now Mesa Gateway Airport), Alford says her son was deeply affected.

“He always had an underlying depression for a long time” Alford says. “He’d been through counseling, but I don’t think he’d ever got over his father’s sudden death.”

Alford says Lemire “always marched to his own drummer” and despite taking classes at Arizona community colleges, decided college wasn’t for him.

“He never did what we wanted or expected him to do,” Alford says. “Everyone in my entire family went to college and graduated, but John was smarter than all of us and he just wasn’t interested in that. He could’ve done anything he wanted, but had a mind of his own.”

At one point, Lemire summed himself up in an email to his mother.

“When my drummer starts drumming, I start marching,” Lemire wrote. “It’s the only explanation for my character and actions.”

Life in the Tempe scene

Lemire gravitated toward Tempe’s thriving late-’90s music scene, showing up to gigs and spending long hours with bands at venues and coffeehouses. Aaron Wendt, a former member of Tempe bands Source Victoria and Ticker Tape Parade, first met Lemire during that stretch.

“He didn’t play music, but all of his friends were musicians,” Wendt says. “He was totally in the mix.”

Lemire and Wendt also lived in communal Tempe houses that became gathering spots for local musicians, as well as makeshift practice spaces and recording studios.

“He was always around, listening to stuff during practices and giving us feedback,” Wendt says. “He was a constant source of support.”

Charlie Levy, who shared one such house with Lemire, recalls a rotating cast of then-local musicians passing through, including Emily Curtis, Jamal Ruhe and multi-instrumentalist Shahzad Ismaily.

“It was a big house with like 10 people living there, including Johnny,” Levy says. “We’d sit around having deeper conversations than most 20-year-olds, and he was always reading these huge, thick books.”

Wendt remembers spending entire afternoons having similar chats with Lemire at now-defunct Tempe coffeehouse Higher Ground.

“He was one of those people you could just listen to for hours,” Wendt says. “We’d be talking about World War II history one minute and SpongeBob the next.”

Christy says Lemire’s intelligence could be intimidating at first, especially to younger musicians.

“He was usually the smartest guy in the room,” Christy says. “But once he warmed up to you, he was the biggest teddy bear.””

Working at iconic Tempe venues

Lemire began working security at Tempe bars in the late 1990s. Levy recalls tapping him to join the staff at Nita’s Hideaway after he began booking shows there in 1998.

Though Lemire was short and stocky (Christy jokes he was “built like a bowling ball”), he wasn’t the most intimidating of bouncers.

“He became the opposite of what you’d expect from security,” Levy says. “He’d sit at the front, smoke cigarettes and say hi to people. It felt like a friend hanging out at the door.”

Lemire worked the door at Nita’s until its original location closed in 2002, later moving to Long Wong’s on Mill Avenue until it shut down in 2004 and later at Yucca Tap Room.

Patrick Sedillo, frontman of Tempe band The Piersons, remembers Lemire as calm and fair during those years.

“I’ve seen some awful bouncers,” Sedillo says. “John was not one of them.”

Vincent Ramirez, drummer for Flathead, says Lemire stood out during a chaotic era when Tempe music venues were packed with live music fans.

“He was always kind and gracious,” Ramirez says. “That was rare back then.”

For younger concertgoers, Lemire also shaped early experiences in the scene. Phoenix resident Jennie Rice met Lemire at Nita’s when she was 19 and admits he let her in despite being underage.

“He was chill and welcoming,” Rice says. “He made you feel comfortable right away.”

It wasn’t the only time Lemire flouted the rules while working security. Levy recalls when members of the local Hell’s Angels began “giving us trouble” at Nita’s.

“I remember saying, ‘John, you can’t let the Hell’s Angels in unless they pay a cover.’ They threatened him, and he goes ‘I let ’em in. What would you do?’” Levy says. “I was like, ‘All right, I would’ve done that, too.”

Levy laughs at the memory.

“Johnny was a character,” he says.

Lifelong struggle with alcohol

Despite the friendships and goodwill around him, Lemire struggled privately. Alford says her son dealt with alcohol abuse throughout his life beginning when he was 18, followed by periods of sobriety and relapse.

In the 2010s, Alford says Lemire worked a series of short-term jobs, including teaching English in Thailand. while trying to deal with his addiction. Rice says Lemire was also homeless for a time during that period.

“He needed a place to stay,” Rice says. “He really didn’t seem to be in a great spot.”

After spending two years in a sober living house, Lemire moved to Vietnam in 2018 to teach English, hoping for a reset. Friends say he took naturally to the classroom, even if teaching was not his original ambition.

“In terms of vocabulary and the use of the English language, he was one of those people that it was fun to just listen to him talk,” Aaron Wendt says.

While living in Vietnam, Lemire met his fiancée, Tăng Thị Ngọc Hiền, a deaf woman friends say he cared for deeply.

“He really took care of her and they understood and loved each other,” Rice says. “He always wanted to help care for people and not just himself.”

When the pandemic hit in 2020, it took its toll on Lemire.

“It kind of destroyed everything for him mentally and financially,” Rice says. “It hit him really hard. He was isolated in this tiny Vietnamese town by himself and couldn’t teach.”

Alford says visa issues also kept Lemire from finding steady work, and his struggles with alcohol resurfaced, resulting in his death.

“His demons followed him to Vietnam,” Alford says.

Friends were devastated by his death. Rice, who helped organize Saturday’s memorial show at Yucca Tap Room, says the gigs is focused on the friendships Lemire made and the music he loved.

“I wanted to have a gathering where we could remember him,” Rice says. “Music meant so much to him.”

Memorial Show and Celebration for John Lemire. 7 p.m., Saturday, Feb. 7, at Yucca Tap Room, 29 W. Southern Ave., Tempe. Admission is $10 at the door.