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All was fine. People lived outside the system and experienced the experiences they needed. Like many I bounced and floated my way along from the 24 hour Technicolour Dream banana smoke to the stadium stick figures, Close To The Edge in the distance. In between, there were squats and South London group rehearsals, friends who didn't make it, mods to flower power, to on down to oblivion. Meanwhile bank clerks got long hair and Wayfarer's managers bought them a Melotron and after that group crumpled, Chris Reeves travelled up and down the A roads of Great Britain in a Transit van, rythmn guitar and harmony for Rock Candy. More squats, five skins instead of three, then into finessing the songwriting. All was fine-------untill, the revenge of the critical parent. The envy of the "I've got to go to work, so, so can you" monster from the swamp--------The Thatchet. It came crashing and cleaving, it's soul purpose---to hurt. And hurt it would, anything with pretentions to beauty, taste, or any otherv lascivious nonsense. It was gonna hack up the hippy drippy tree and chuck it in a cold bath. The Thatchet hacked and slashed, at every branch, it knew that those vermin who don't get up in the morning were in there somewhere. Eventualy the tree lay dying, the garden never to be the same again. As of course is known with all mad dogs, they become somewhat of an enbarassment. The camp guard who went too far. All this is now known of course. In a palace coup a new sleeker user friendly bully was found-------Tone. Meanwhile, I Chris Reeves wrote, recorded and wrote, recorded and wrote, tried to survive. Some I knew adapted well to the ash and rotting meat of the 1980's. Prospered, even got turned on by the challenges they saw of the white line pin-stripe tripe. Sold hamburgers to folks who sold hamburgers. Meanwhile I Chris Reeves wrote and recorded, wrote and recorded. And in the end after the wounds had healed enough to walk, took the acoustic six string and the acoustic twelve string, closed the front door behind me and I went went out and sung it like I see it, of lifes lived, loves loved and lies told.


Listening to others can get you pushed down a channel with very high walls.........but, I'm close to all the beat groups and all those who turn off the main road of fashion. All those individuals who walk on past trends as if they ain't there. All the composers who have stunned themselves howling at the moon and then got us flying higher than the sun. And as for the phonies . . . . . . . . However, I bow to the inevitable because keywords mean that someone checks my pidgeon hole, so . . . .this stuff blew my mind and got my left leg hummin' . . . . . 'Ogdens', 'Salty Dog', 'Whiter Shade' 'Homburg' 'Conquistador' 'Shine On Brightly' 'I See The Rain' 'Heroes' 'Hurdy Gurdy Man' 'All Over The World' 'Close To The Edge' 'Walk Away Renee' 'Burning Of The Midnight Lamp' 'I Can Fly' 'On Love' 'London Conversation' 'Dear Elaine' 'Please' 'Down River' 'Road To Cairo' 'No Regrets' 'Hold On' 'Roger The Engineer' All Or Nothing' Pink Floyd, Syd Barrett, Tomorrow, Steve Howe, Spooky Tooth, Bob Dylan, The Gods, The Moody Blues, Crosby Stills and Nash, Niel Young, Buffalo Springfield, The Who, The Nice (4 piece), Lovin' Spoonful, John Sebastian, Joni Michell, Moby Grape, Country Joe and The Fish,Traffic, Bert Jansch, Leonard Cohen, Tim Rose, The Byrds, The Birds, The Move, The Action, The Roulettes, The Hollies, The Kinks, The Searchers, The Merseybeats,The Pretty Things, The Yardbirds, The Fleur De Lys, The Creation, Woodstock, Monteray Pop, Flowers, Painted faces, freedom, The Fab Four and ............oh yes......E. Elgar.