Instrumentally, during my very early years, it would have to be listening to my Uncle Bob Fulton playing “Moonlight Sonata” on piano that really bonded me with music. Then, there are Duane Eddy, Lonnie Mack, Les Paul, Chet Atkins, Muddy Water, Elmor James, and Eric Clapton.

     From a composition standpoint, my influences most certainly include Beethoven and Brahms, Richard Rodgers’ and Oscar Hammerstein’s “The King and I,” and Leonard Bernstein’s “West Side Story,” with lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. I love the music just before the rumble scene, where multiple songs-- “Tonight” and “We’re Gonna Rock It Tonight”--come together.

     I like music that is audience-friendly. Really-great music captivates and soothes the audience rather than bullies the audience’s ear. It is not intrusive or invasive.

     I’ve written some songs in five minutes. Other songs come in pieces over the years. Sometimes, I think, “Oh, that was a good part,” and I marry it with other pieces. Eventually a complete song emerges out of the process.

     When I come up with a melody, if it’s truly catchy and memorable, I’ll remember it. I don’t have to write down or record a good melody to recall it. And some songs are written in stages, maybe music first, then the lyrics–perhaps days, weeks, months, or even years later. And sometimes I borrow from an earlier song I’ve already composed to complete a new one. Other times, earlier songs get altered and improved, and evolve into entirely new ones.

     To write good lyrics, the trick is always having a pencil handy. Whenever I get a great idea for lyrics, I have to write it down, wherever I happen to be at the moment. I’ve been known to jot down a few lines on the wall, on a receipt from a gas station, and even on a table cloth, whatever happens to be available. I don’t let good lyrics escape. I never know when an idea for a melody or lyric are going to come to me. Often, they arrive at the most unexpected times, like while I’m driving, mowing the lawn, eating dinner, or even in the shower. I don’t even have to be near the piano or guitar at the time. I’ve never set aside a specific block of time to compose with paper and pencil in hand.

     Working with Penny Kailing my wife, Rick Wozniak my friend and faculty member at NIU, and Carlos Barragan IT Project Designer, I realized that I had an archive of unheard music that I composed earlier while working with other groups (such as the Grass Roots and Player) or co-composed with other artists (such as Don Johnson and KiKi Dee). These songs were either never used or never recorded as finished products. Until recently, most of them only existed in demo form.

     Research data documented the fact that since August 2005, my demos have been on the top-ten countdown of Broadjam.com, which is based in Madison, Wisconsin. My demos, while still in rough form, had been thoroughly market tested and were receiving hits and downloads from all over the world, including Australia, Japan, the U.K., Russia and many places where I have never been. Audience data showed these hits and downloads crossed demographic categories. The tunes appealed to Generation X and Y, as well as Baby Boomers. Hence, my goal is to create a hub where a broad spectrum of music lovers can congregate, a virtual clearing house for all kinds of music-related downloads. The concept is to provide a dynamic and interactive website that hosts music, biographies, interviews, photos and more.

     I decided to return to Nashville in order to record these songs as well as some newer original material in finished form. These songs will soon be available, both the demos and final mixes, to music listeners globally.

     I recall hearing once during an interview with David Essex, the 1970s pop star, that when you were introduced to Linda through Paul, you were “in.” We got along famously, had a great evening, and everybody who was anybody was there. We met around 9:00 that evening. I walked out of that party at sunrise. A line of people were exiting and saying goodbye to Paul and Linda. When I approached Paul to shake his hand, he said, “Reed, pleasure meeting you.”

      In the New York cast, the Lennon character was Joe Pecorino, the McCartney character was Mitch Weissman, the Harrison character was Leslie Fradkin, and the Ringo character was Justin McNeill. The Los Angeles cast consisted of Joe Pecorino as Lennon, Mitch Weissman as McCartney, Leslie Fradkin as Harrison, and Justin McNeill as Ringo. We became known as Bunks 1 and 2 respectively.

      As things happened, on the evening prior to hosting a major sponsor, Mitch and Joe literally blew out their voices from overextending their vocal capacities. When Steve Leber (of the management team Leber and Krebs) and Abe Jacob, the sound designer, scrambled to find a solution. I offered a suggestion and wound up singing for Mitch, who lip-synched his part on stage. I came to replace Mitch on an ongoing basis.

      I sensed some resentment from both the New York and L.A. cast members over appearing on the Broadway; but there’s also another important point. When I went on to perform with the New York cast, I had to sing Mitch’s parts, which were the low Harrison parts. Joe would sing the Lennon parts, and Leslie would sing the high McCartney parts. On the other hand, when I performed with the L.A. or Bunk 2 cast, I sang the McCartney part, P.M. Howard sang the Harrison part, and Randy Clark sang the Lennon part. You know what? I had to know multiple roles, and I really got tired of it.

      Once when asked to fill in for Mitch, I came to realize that I was saving the show from going dark. I simply got tired of it. I was doing the job of two people. I called a meeting with Joe Pecorino, Leslie Fradkin, and Justin McNeill and said, “Look, if you won’t allow the L.A. cast to go on, but you want me to sub for Mitch, I have no problem with that. But I’m going to sing the McCartney part. Leslie, you’re going to sing the Harrison part. Joe, do what you do.” The cast agreed, and we did some great work together. Of course, all of this created animosity with the other members of the L.A. cast.

      Later, the New York cast opened up in Los Angeles at Century City. After a brief hiatus, I resumed my Beatlemania role at the Pantagas theater in L.A.

      He asked if I had any interest. Being a Badfinger fan, I said, “Absolutely.” Then things came to a screeching halt with the following question, “Do you play slide guitar?” I replied, “No, I just play lead; but I know a guy in California who plays incredible slide guitar.” The guys from Badfinger wanted to keep expenses down. I told them the guy I had in mind was Donnie Dacus, the lead guitar player for Chicago and other groups. The conversation then shifted to “Do you think you can get him?” I gave it my best shot, and it all came together.

     I can’t recall how long it was thereafter, but I do remember where I was when I received the horrific phone call. A mutual friend of Tommy and myself found me at my guest home in Mequon. He said, “Reed you may want to sit down. I have some terrible news.” I inquired, “What’s the problem?” He said, “Tommy’s gone. He hung himself yesterday.” It took me along time to shake that day off.

      The second incident was worse. I had another pair of the same-style, tight-fitting slacks. At the time, we were performing the second song of a show. Standing next to me on stage was Donnie Dacus. We were feeling quite exuberant. I did a karate-like kick with my right leg. Wouldn’t you know it, once again my pants split from stem to stern. I turned my back to look at Donnie. He cracked up so loudly, I could hear him over the music. I proceeded to play an hour-and-a-half show with a very low-hung guitar. I didn’t dare turn my back to the audience.

     There seemed to have been some confusion, and I was not paying 100 percent attention at the moment. As things turned out, at the airport, there was only one aircraft available for hire and one station wagon for rent. We were exhausted from the rigors of touring. The same was true for the folks traveling with Jim. We wanted the plane to travel about 80 miles north. Croce’s people were headed south.

     Joking back and forth, Rob Grill told Jim something like, “I think we should get the plane because we have more hits than you; ha, ha, ha.” Jim replied in typically Croce fashion, “Yea, but I’ve got the bigger record out right now.” Our road managers attended to working out the details.

      There were two agents aboard the flights, both out of the Variety Theater located in Minneapolis. The gentleman who was traveling with Jim happened to be our agent; and the guy traveling with us was the agent for Croce. Croce’s agent, I believe, was once part of the local Chicago group known as the Mauds. In any case, while at the airport, the agents decided to switch and travel with their own parties. My recollection of everything else seemed to melt away in the heat of the day.

     I still have the touring jacket that I wore that day. There was some change in one pocket. Things came down to flipping a coin over the plane ride. I recall reaching into my pocket and tossing a quarter to our road manager, Richard Grodee. The next thing I knew, we had lost the flip and had hit the road in our rental car. Later on, we heard the horrific news of the plane crash that claimed the life of Jim Croce.

     I came to know Spike O’Dell through Bob. At the time, Spike had the late afternoon slot at WGN; Bob had the early morning slot. After years of listening to Bob regularly but not seeing him, I took a trip to Chicago, calling Bob ahead of time about meeting with him. Bob graciously replied, “Absolutely.” That same day, he introduced me to Spike O’Dell.

      The Robbs consisted of three brothers--Dee Robb on vocals and guitar, Bruce Robb on keyboards, and Joe Robb on guitar, as well as their cousin Craig Robb on drums. Dee Donaldson of the Robbs, a band that was also managed by Con Merton, came on board as producer when the Destinations recorded “Hello Girl” at Chess Studios on South Michigan Avenue in Chicago for the Destination label.