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Ed Reed ;
Singing for Keeps
About three years ago, when trumpeter/multireedist
Peck Allmond taught at Jazz Camp West
in La Honda, Calif., he heard singer Ed Reed for
the first time. Then in his mid-70s, Reed sang in
such a sweet baritone and deep appreciation of
the classic American songbook that Allmond
assumed he was a seasoned veteran.
“I couldn’t believe what I was hearing,”
Allmond said. “I approached him and asked him
why I didn’t have all his CDs. He said he never
recorded and went into his life story and how
circumstances got in the way.”
That changed a couple years later, when
Reed found himself fronting Allmond’s sextet in
a Berkeley, Calif., studio for his debut CD, Ed
Reed Sings Love Stories, which he released himself
in 2007. For the follow-up, Reed and
Allmond’s group raised the stakes and recorded
at the more sophisticated Bennett Studios in
New Jersy for the recent The Song Is You, which
the singer released this year on his own Blue
Shorts label. Both discs show how much new
life can be drawn from “Bye Bye Blackbird”
and “Where Or When.”
“I always hoped that it would be Duke
Ellington knocking on the door,” Reed said from
his home in the San Francisco Bay Area. “But
then he died and it couldn’t happen, so it was
Peck. He knocked on my head and said, ‘Hey,
you.’ I’m just having a great time.”
Reed’s open about those circumstances that
took him more than three-quarters of a century
to record his debut: For much of his life, a heroin
addiction consumed him and led to imprisonment
for drug-related crimes. Clean for more
than 20 years, Reed has been busy counselling
addicts and other offenders. He also speaks frequently
about how these experiences inspire his
performances.
“I can express the pain,” Reed said. “The
songs are there to teach us how to grieve. How
do you separate present from past, deal with
things that didn’t last I’m working on bringing
the music and lecturing together. If I can do that
before I go away from here, I’ll be happy.”
Growing up in Los Angeles, Reed’s early
experiences in music seem like they were more
than happy. He attended Jordan High School,
where he became friendly with other alums,
including Charles Mingus and Buddy Collette.
He sang at open mikes and Pigmeat Markham’s
talent show and over the phone to various
women (some girlfriends, some not), adding that
he wanted to be Billy Eckstine but wound up
sounding like Nat King Cole. Still, he hated the
classroom and quit school to join the army.
When Reed was stationed at a base near
Oakland, incoming ships came through loaded
with morphine. That addiction combined with
alcohol turned into shooting heroin.
“You get to be so uncomfortable with who
you think you are,” Reed said. “I thought I was
stupid, I thought that nobody liked me, I thought
I was inferior to everybody and the drug fixed
that. It took the discomfort away from being me.
That’s what addiction’s about—people take
drugs because they can’t stand who they think
they are. Then, you say, ‘I’m not going to be like
those folks.’ But you can’t stop.”
A late-’50s arrest led to imprisonment in San
Quentin, where he read voraciously and sang
alongside Art Pepper. During other sentences,
Reed and some other inmates used their time to
learn more songs, many of which appear on the
new discs.
“We had one half hour every week for jazz,”
Reed said. “It took me six months to learn ‘A
Sleepin’ Bee.’ Ten of us trying to figure out the
lyrics. It was an interesting time, it wasn’t all
bad.”
Life back on the streets was often difficult,
even while Reed continued pursuing music.
During the early ’60s, he went from working in
the fields to singing on a radio station in Fresno,
where he found ways to sabotage his gift.
“I discovered Frank Sinatra was part owner
of the station and I started getting fan mail,” he
said. “People were calling in asking who I was
and Sinatra wanted to meet me. I was shooting
dope then. He had a coat in the cloakroom, and I
stole his coat and left town. It was ridiculous. I
honestly thought that if I had been successful, it
would kill me.”
In 1986, Reed began his recovery, which he
said is an ongoing process.
“You have to have the intention of living
well,” he said. “After going through 25 programs,
I get to know quite a bit.”
While working at a Bay Area adolescent
treatment facility about 10 years ago, Reed met
guitarist Alex Markels. They began collaborating,
although he said that his traditional jazz
background and Markels’ blues and r&b inclinations
caused them to split. But three years ago,
he was invited to sing at the Cheeseboard Pizza
Collective in Berkeley and Reed’s small group
continues to hold this gig every Tuesday night.
“I get $60, tips and all the pizza we can eat,”
Reed said. “I love it—they don’t tell us what to
play.”
The crowds at the restaurant led Reed’s wife
Diane to convince him to attend Jazz Camp
West, which sparked his new career as a recording
artist. If financing his own productions carriers
what may seem like obvious risks, Reed has
been though so much already, it’s not all that
much of a gamble.
“My health has been good, I’ve got interesting
work, I’ve got a lot of reward in my life and
I’m just thinking, ‘Wow, how could it get this
wonderful’”
—Aaron Cohen
SCOTT CHERNIS
24 DOWNBEAT September 2008