Photo provided by Andrew Manko.
Narrated by: Shae Strong, MJ Lu, Ted Miller, Chad Fox, Matt Davies, James Cheatham
Everyone who knew him can tell you that John Reed was a two-named man. Never just John and certainly never just “Reed”. It was always John Reed.
We will share stories from people that knew John Reed — from those that knew his heart, his passion for many things, his incredible laugh, and his lasting imprint. May these stories be a blessing for those that loved him and are missing him.
"There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defense or reserve." —William S. Burroughs
Stories
John Reed was a guardian angel who believed in my musical abilities and kept me from going too far astray during the tender, vulnerable years of my early twenties.
Fate led me to meet him in 2004 while I was toughing it out as an aspiring singer-songwriter in Portland. I was visiting my hometown of Pendleton on a lark, when a musician friend there asked if I would be willing to open solo on last-minute notice for a Blue Is Cold gig in Yakima. In addition to paying me, the band offered to let me ride with them from the Tri-Cities and would provide me a place to sleep that night.
I drove to Richland to meet the band, and the four of us rode up to the microbrewery together, crammed into John’s extended cab Tacoma. The gig was a bit of a flop; there had been no promotion of the show, and the few customers in attendance were definitely not there for the music. Blue Is Cold and myself performed for each other that night. We shared rounds of drinks, traded stories, and philosophized about music. Afterwards, we made it back to the Tri-Cities and capped the night off with a drink at Lee’s Tahitian before I retired on John’s couch.
The next morning, John Reed, along with the rest of Blue Is Cold, asked me to join as a second guitarist and keyboardist. They also wanted me to contribute a few of my own songs to the repertoire. Being pretty aimless at the time — and Portland not working out well for me — I immediately agreed and headed east. John took me under his wing, setting me up as a roommate with his girlfriend and integrating me into the Tri-Cities scene. It wasn’t long before he introduced me to the late Tom Gnoza and convinced Tom to incorporate me into Uncle Dirt Nap, as well.
Being in both Blue Is Cold and Uncle Dirt Nap was like being in a rock band boot camp. We had an incredible run of shows playing the Dax’s, Ray’s Golden Lion, pool parties, the Pendleton Round-Up, the Eastern Oregon Correctional Institute, and, of course, Lee’s Tahitian. Both groups provided me with invaluable experience in the dos and don’ts regarding band leadership and professional conduct, while also teaching me how to properly play as sideman, and exposing me to great songwriting.
Although my tenure in the Tri-Cities was brief, those band experiences with John left an indelible impact on my musical development. Even after I left, he was a supporter of all my endeavors — be it by connecting me with gigs, buying my albums, or coming down to Pendleton for shows.
A budding musician should thank their lucky stars to have someone like that looking out for them and cheerleading them along. God bless John Reed.
—James Dean Kindle
On October 1st, 2005, Blue is Cold drove to Idaho to play a music festival hosted by the members of Hot Dog Sandwich. The festival was set up on BLM land east of town, and the plan was to just camp at the location. We set up the tents and played the show and it was very cold and raining. I went to sleep in the tent and woke up to the sound of gunfire, because apparently, the organizer set up right next to an established shooting range.
I got out of the tent, looked around, and everyone was gone. I guess the festival was too cold for all the Eastern Washington softies. I found John Reed at the nicest hotel in downtown Boise. He was happy with the decision to leave me in the desert by myself. Surprisingly, we remained friends.
—Joe Horn
I met John in 1985, most likely at the Skate King in Kennewick at one of their weekend-night dances, where the DJ would occasionally play some non-Top 40 music. All the folks into new wave, punk, and goth would gather in a single area as we waited for a decent song to be played. That's how many of us initially met. It was like a social mixer for those into alternative music from different high schools.
We all knew John for his warmth and approachable demeanor, but I think we became friends mainly because of our mutual passion for music. It’s hard to recall a single conversation with John that didn’t immediately dive into sharing what new bands were exciting us.
Some of John’s most distinguishing features were his big, blue eyes and long lashes. My partner at the time one day marveled aloud about John’s eyes in an adoring tone, and I recall in paranoia wondering to myself, “Do I need to worry about John around my girlfriend?”
—Andrew Monko
Our 16-year-old daughter, Hattie, made her stage debut at her dad's wake. No one had ever seen her play guitar in front of a crowd, and surely no one expected Hattie to get onstage and shred “Driver 8” by R.E.M. with JD Kindle and his band (also band mates of John's). It was the most perfect tribute and the best way I could think of that she could honor him.
Absolutely everyone has remarked to me that they'll never forget it. It illustrates John's influence coming full circle.
—Jennifer Reed
I met John back in the Spring of ‘92. We both worked at an ill-fated, short-lived record store in downtown Kennewick. He immediately struck me as kind and thoughtful. Quick to share his (well-informed) thoughts on obscure bands, and even go so far as to make me a tape to check out what he was talking about. Always appreciated that generosity.
Years later I also ran into him in IKEA. So you know he had excellent taste in fancy and affordable furniture too.
—Pete Greenberg, Founder of Latent Print Records
Compiled by Tumbleweird Staff
