John Mayer
John Mayer
John Clayton Mayeris an American singer-songwriter, guitarist and producer. He was born in Bridgeport, Connecticut, and raised in nearby Fairfield. He attended Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts, but disenrolled and moved to Atlanta, Georgia, in 1997 with Clay Cook. Together, they formed a short-lived, two-man band called Lo-Fi Masters. After their split, Mayer continued to play local clubs—refining his skills and gaining a following. After his appearance at the 2001 South by Southwest Festival, he was signed to...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionMusician
Date of Birth16 October 1977
CountryUnited States of America
My life's a sequel to a movie where the actors' names have changed.
Numb is the new deep, done with the old me, and talk is the same cheap it's been.
The minute hand moves faster than you think it does.
I was smart enough to know it would probably make me a salable item for the paparazzi. I knew I'd have to move to a home that had a gate. But that pearl of possibility that lives in your heart when you meet somebody you want to know more about has such a different molecular density than everything else that you have to pursue it.
I am not in Us Weekly . I'd have to be going out with someone who is in there to be in there myself.
Who I am as a guitarist is defined by my failure to become Jimi Hendrix.
There's a real self-serving element to hip-hop that threatens its life span.
Everybody enjoys arguing about the current state of music because it feels as if you are talking about something incredibly important, yet it requires little understanding of the subject matter at hand. It's like world politics meets the pink questions in Trivial Pursuit. Points are made but nothing gets accomplished.
I'm not really good at keeping my own secrets. I can keep other people's secrets pretty well. Unless they're really good and people deserve to hear them. And I'll disseminate the information accordingly.
Waiting on the World to Change,
I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation... so when I meet someone who's an 8-color type... I'm like, 'hey girl, magenta!' and she's like, 'oh, you mean purple!' and she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, 'no — I want magenta!'
They read all the books, but they can't find the answers.
I wanna run through the halls of my high school, I wanna scream at the top of my lungs. I just found out there's no such thing as the real world, just a lie you've got to rise above.
The outcome of a still veracitless life. Am I livin' it right?