Bram Johnson was born deep in the woods of New Hampshire, where the mountains meet the flowing rivers of the Kearsarge region, in the quaint town of Bradford. He spent his early years running wild but when Bradford proved too small for his taste he decided to try other things. Throughout his youth he moved from house to house, town to town, throughout New Hampshire, until it became clear that he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for in any of them. Not knowing what he was really looking for he decided to scour the world for his purpose and, thus, he set off on horseback towards the great promise of the west. It was not to be, though, for as he approached the frozen northlands of Michigan, long before he reached the west, he was waylaid by the scholarly life. He began studying as a writer at the Interlochen Arts Academy where he learned the finer points of writing and layering clothes against winter. Though he learned much, in a year he was ready to set out again and soon found himself at the city limits of Chicago. Finally having an idea of his purpose, to make music, he found lodgings and played his guitar. It was here where he began to learn how far a New Hampshire dollar doesn’t go and where he got his first taste of city life. Although his time there passed with few events, still, he was sad to leave. From there he explored the wasteland that he came to know as Dekalb, Illinois, and those were dark times. Finally after another year had passed he managed to free himself from the bondage of the Midwest and headed back east. Finally, he found himself in the city of New York, on the island of Manhattan and home at last! Throughout the years he further learned how far the New Hampshire dollar doesn’t go and turned his attention more fully to music. Through the hard times and good times he worked hard to make his way in the city, from working 60 hour weeks to late night show’s playing songs only for himself, he worked harder and harder. His reward, of course, was finding a place for himself at Bowler Wine, where he remains to this very day. Though the adventures had there are far too numerous to mention, if you listen closely on a clear day you can still hear the gentle breeze of a New Hampshire day blowing through the trees of remembrance, and taste the crisp mountain air of the north!

Bram’s crazy for German wines, but who isn’t!