‘You’re loved and we’ll never forget you’: Tribute to Denise Johnson

‘ONE-WOMAN GOSPEL CHOIR’: Denise Johnson, with members of Hull band Oceaneers. From left, David Stead, Russ Litten, and John Parkinson

When singer Denise Johnson died less than two weeks ago aged 56, she left behind a rich musical legacy.

Perhaps best known for her vocals on Primal Scream’s 1991 album Screamadelica, she also worked with Michael Hutchence; Ian Brown; Pet Shop Boys; Bernard Butler; Bernard Sumner and Johnny Marr’s duo Electronic; and was a long-time collaborator with A Certain Ratio, with whom she sang live until recently. She was due to release her debut solo album next month.

Last autumn Denise also sang on the debut album by Hull band Oceaneers.

Here, Oceaneers bassist and lyricist Russ Litten pays tribute to Denise Johnson, and describes working with her and how that came about

I only met Denise Johnson once, but by the time we met she already felt like an old friend.

I’d been chatting with her on Twitter since 2017 when she gave the thumbs up to a track from the Boothferry spoken word / electronica album I’d made in collaboration with Fila Brazillia musician and producer Steve Cobby.

Denise had been the backing singer with Steve’s band Ashley and Jackson back in the early 90s, so there was a connection there. We swapped messages back and forth and I was immediately struck by how warm, friendly and approachable she was in her dealings with people in cyberspace.

When the time came for my new band, Oceaneers, to record their debut album I knew I wanted Denise’s vocals to feature. I sent her the track I thought would suit her and to my elation she got back in touch right away. She loved the song and would be delighted to come and record.

Denise Johnson’s voice soundtracked my 20s, through a thousand ecstatic club nights and all the early morning come-downs that followed. Her contribution to the seminal Screamadelica album, and it’s follow-up Give Out But Don’t Give Up, elevated those records from left-field lysergic soundscapes to solid gold-plated classics. She graced every record she featured on afterwards with that same touch of magic. If Denise’s name was on the credits, you knew it was worth your time and money.

I still couldn’t believe she was going to sing on our album, even when the train rolled up at Paragon Station and she greeted myself and John and Dave Stead with that familiar shy smile from beneath a mop of curls.

We headed off to Louth, to the Sweet Factory recording studio. Our album was being produced by another Mancunian, Dave Formula of Magazine fame, and he and Denise quickly bonded over their mutual acquaintance network and love of Manchester City.

When it came to lay her vocals down, we were spellbound. That voice we’d heard a thousand times on dance floors, concert halls and festivals, singing words I’d written in a shed in Hull. It was like burnt honey pouring from the speakers. She sounded amazing, like a bruised angel fallen to earth.

“OK, that’s the warm up done,” she said. “Shall we go for a take?”

It was a Saturday, and Manchester City were hammering Aston Villa. The score kept mounting up on my phone text notifications. In-between each take I informed her of another goal flying in. She nailed the entire track in less than an hour - verses, chorus, harmonies, overdubs, the lot. At one point John asked her if she could sing a fifth above the main vocal line in the outro.

“Do you mean higher or lower?” came the response over the intercom. “I don’t really know all that technical stuff.”

She didn’t need to. It came from the heart and soul, and it was as natural as breathing. When she’d finished Alibis, the track we’d sent her, I chanced my arm.

“Er, Denise … there is one more track that I think you’d sound great on …”

She gave me a deadpan look.

“Oh aye, there’s always one more track.”

We played her Camouflage and she sat and listened to it twice.

“OK, I’ve got something …”

She went back down into the studio and proceeded to lay down a one-woman gospel choir, track by track, until a hundred Denise Johnsons were powering out of the speakers. Up in the studio control room, we just looked at each other in delighted disbelief. Denise Johnson, on our record! It sounded like a million dollars.

When we all listened back, Dave Formula pointed out that each of her vocal takes were identical sound waves on the computer monitor. They look like a shoal of fishes, swimming across the screen. Not only could she deliver the goods, she delivered them time and time again, to the same stratospheric standards.

Session wrapped, we repaired to Pave down Princes Avenue for a few rum and cokes where we talked about music, football, life in general and mutual friends. Denise did her impression of Michael Hutchence.

“I didn’t know Michael Hutchence was from Wales”

I got a slap on the arm for my cheek.

“So you gonna have a launch party in Hull, then?” she asked.

 “Yeah, you gonna come and sing with us?”

 “Course I am. Be rude not to!”

We toasted our health and the healing power of music, and then we took her back to the station, hugged her goodbye and waved her off back to Manchester.

Russ Litten and Denise Johnson

That was last October. By the time the album was ready to be released, Covid-19 had slammed the brakes on everything. There were no gigs, no launch party, no celebratory get-togethers. We had a low-key release of the album with minimal promotion. I kept in touch with Denise on text and social media.

On July 25th I received a message from her saying that she’d seen Dave Stead on an old Top of The Pops and that prompted her to give our album a mention on Twitter. I thanked her. She didn’t have to do that. We chatted back and forth. She was as funny, warm and bright as ever.

On the Monday I got a text message from Dave Formula with the news that Denise had suddenly passed away. To this day, I find it hard to comprehend. She was so full of vitality and positive energy.

I only met Denise Johnson once, but I listen to her voice everyday. Music holds the gift of bringing people closer together and I am so grateful myself and my friends got to meet such a beautiful soul and spend that golden autumn Saturday making music together.

Goodnight, God bless, Denise. You are loved, you are missed, and we will never forget you.