

Johnny often reflects that the greatest gift his father gave him wasn't simply access to instruments—it was permission to explore.
While others might have seen a child making noise, his father recognized the curiosity of someone searching for the language of vibration itself.
That curiosity never left.
His father later brought home a guitar and a drum set, allowing Johnny to experiment freely. But it wasn't until a visit to his best friend's house that everything changed. His friend plugged into a small practice amplifier and filled the room with sounds Johnny had never heard before. He was captivated.
"I have to learn how to do that."
His friend suggested Johnny play bass so they could start a band together. There was only one problem: Johnny didn't own a bass.
A local bass player reluctantly agreed to teach him one lesson—with one condition. Johnny would be shown a single pentatonic scale. If he remembered it perfectly the next day, the lessons would continue. If not, there would be no second chance.
Johnny borrowed a bass overnight and went home.
He practiced until sunrise.
Hour after hour he repeated the scale, not mechanically, but listening to every vibration. At one point he rested his cheek against the horn of the bass, feeling the notes resonate through the instrument and into himself, just as he had years earlier with the backyard clothesline.
The next morning he was pounding on his teacher's front door before breakfast.
Still eating cereal in his underwear, his teacher reluctantly answered.
Johnny played the scale perfectly.
Then he played it again—ten times faster.
His teacher laughed, called him a little troublemaker, and agreed to teach him. From that day on, John E. Barnhart III became Johnny's bass teacher and mentor.
Music quickly became more than a hobby. Johnny also studied trumpet throughout school while continuing to immerse himself in bass, spending countless hours learning songs, writing music, and jamming with friends. He wasn't interested in simply memorizing parts. He wanted to understand why music worked, how sounds fit together, and how emotion could live inside a single note.
As a young adult he joined the band One Voice, later renamed Dust to Dust, beginning years of touring, recording, and performing. He formed close creative relationships with musicians whose discipline and passion challenged him to grow, including guitarist Dominic Casale, whose dedication to the craft left a lasting impression.
Johnny has always valued loyalty as much as musicianship. Throughout the years he has been fortunate to write and perform alongside remarkable artists whose friendships continue to shape his work, including lyricist and vocalist Greg Lamar Dorman, keyboardist and producer John Bechdel, drummer Anthony Macias, artist and drummer Alex Higgins, Todd Fogle, John David Skalburg, Eddie Taylor, Jason Yoder, and many others whose contributions have become part of his musical journey.
Following the loss of his father, Johnny moved to Chicago, where he continued writing and performing before eventually meeting his partner, Lesley. Together they built a life centered around family, creativity, and the freedom to pursue meaningful work. During that chapter he also completed a European session tour, filling in on bass and vocals for a friend, while continuing to develop his own artistic voice.
Today that voice is expressed most fully through his solo albums, Lanterns to Hear By and Clothes Lines.
Neither record was created to chase trends or commercial expectations. In fact, they were created as a deliberate response against them.
Johnny believes that modern music often sacrifices humanity in favor of precision, repetition, and formulas designed for marketability. As technology continues to reshape the music industry, he felt an even stronger desire to create recordings that celebrate the opposite—music that breathes, stumbles, stretches, and feels unmistakably human.
On Lanterns to Hear By, Johnny performs nearly every instrument himself, allowing the songs to unfold naturally without correcting every imperfection. Every note serves the emotion rather than the metronome.
Clothes Lines expands on that philosophy while placing the bass guitar squarely at the center of the conversation. Rather than treating bass as merely the instrument that supports everyone else, Johnny explores its ability to carry melody, atmosphere, texture, rhythm, and emotion. The album also features collaborations with musicians he deeply admires, each adding their own voice while preserving the honesty of the recordings.
For Johnny, these albums are not simply collections of songs.
They are experiments.
Experiments in vibration.
Experiments in feeling.
Experiments in asking what happens when music is allowed to exist without polishing away the fingerprints of the person who made it.
His hope isn't that listeners hear technical brilliance.
His hope is that they feel something.
He often encourages people to lie down, listen to the albums uninterrupted, and allow the music to carry them somewhere familiar yet difficult to describe—a place inside themselves that modern life rarely gives them time to visit.
Looking back, everything seems to point to that afternoon in the backyard.
The clothesline.
The vibration.
The sound traveling through a curious little boy who didn't yet know he was becoming a musician.
More than anything else, that moment continues to define Johnny Sandler's work. He has never been interested in simply playing notes.
He has always been interested in discovering what sound can do.
And after a lifetime of listening, he is still following that vibration wherever it leads.
Instagram
Youtube