The music made by local 80’s-era
Portland heroes The Dan Reed Network
would never have been on my radar,
aesthetically speaking, as a 21 year-old
budding new wave musician.
And yet, I carry with me a tremendous
debt of gratitude to these players
and their management at the time
for inviting my wacky band,
Here Comes Everybody, to open for
them on several local shows over a
period of a few years between 1986
and 1989. It was our first opportunity
as musicians to play in relatively large
rooms for large numbers of people
and it was exceedingly rewarding and
thrilling. They were local rock
stars, even before their tours opening
up for the likes of The Rolling Stones
and David Bowie, and yet they were
gracious and supportive, claimed even
to be fans of the band. All monster
musicians, they played a kind of Prince
adjacent power funk pop music, music
to shake your ass to, and while some
of the lyrics were thought-provoking,
most of them were love/lust tunes about
relationship and romantic conquest.
But Dan Reed was a great singer and
intoxicatingly good looking, a total
magnet for the womenfolk. So through
charm and good looks, stellar musicianship,
and a knack for writing killer hooks,
they climbed their way to a very short
but intense level of rock stardom.
This, their debut album on a major
label, is a pretty killer record,
big, funky, sexy, and loud. Somehow
fitting that, on the morning of the
last of a series of 40th anniversary
Here Comes Everybody shows, I am
listening to the Dan Reed Network,
the band that gave us our first little
break as young musicians.
Notes on the vinyl edition: The Dan Reed Network, Polygram Records, 1988, black vinyl, possibly a first pressing.
In case you don’t already know: I’m listening to almost everything in my vinyl collection, A to Z, and writing at least one, sometimes two or three long skinny poem-like-things in response for each artist, and on a few occasions, writing a long skinny poem-like-thing in response to more than one artist. As a poet and a student of poetry, I understand that these things look like poems, but they don’t really sound much like poetry, hence, I call them “poem-like-things.” I’ll admit that they’re just long, skinny essays that veer every now and then into the poetic or lyric.
