I first heard Jon Reid’s new album in the early morning hours of an unseasonably warm February day. The windows of my old ’55 were down as I drove across the Smoky Park Bridge. The balmy air met clean sound, reminding me that whatever regrets the night – or really the whole winter – had harbored could now be released. Without denying that there are plenty of opportunities for regret or bitterness, Reid seems determined with this record to drive for the sunrise rather than the sunset.
Part of that sunshine is Reid’s dropping of the nom de musique “Jar-e.” There is no question now if he is playing a role or singing from the heart. The stories and characters Reid delivers up present a humbling honesty. Rather than being raw, however, their expression comes across with a delicacy that Reid’s voice is well suited to deliver. The music matches this presentation, being the most pared down recording Reid has yet put together. He plays most of the instruments himself – including guitar, bass, keys, some horns, and his debut on drums. Local all-stars like Jonathan Scales, Jacob Rodriguez, and Justin Ray lend their talents where steel pans or a horn solo can bring a rosy tint to the dawn.
Mostly, however, the curtains of Reid’s voice open onto scenes of love and lessons learned. Many of these songs were penned during a series of group writing sessions including The Mad Tea’s Ami Worthen and Stephanie Morgan of Stpehaniesid. “Virgos” is a product of the collaboration between Reid’s music and Morgan’s lyrics. “Cadiz” on Stephaniesid’s Starfruit is the result these roles reversed. Other tracks – Bright Girl and Come Back Heart for example – kindly but clearly expose the fallacy of our collective obsession with “closure.” The never-ending nature of our experiences does, however, provide the opportunity for learning, living, and growing, as “Nevertheless,” “Moccasins,” and “Ladies” seem to show.
In the end, Reid tells us “this is what you’ve got; this is what you’re given. You can blame yourself when you’re not living.” And “this” you can hear “now.” Maybe not in the Buddhist “be here now” sense, but certainly in the magical realist world where a poet like Pablo Neruda would find mystical power in common things. Jon Reid finds that too, as his “Ode to Common Things” attests. Tambourines and reverb are common things. Common in the lexicon of pop music anyway. But in Jon Reid’s hands they become a vessel for something greater. They’re an opening to a fresh breeze, and a chance to breathe in the light.