September 6, 2023
September 6, 2023
Paul McCartney tells a story about the first time he saw John Lennon playing on stage in his band. Lennon apparently had forgotten the words to the song and sang words to another song, also making up lyrics on the spot to get through. This ad-libbing on Lennon’s part impressed McCartney and in his telling of the story he remembers Lennon with a phrase something like “That’s clever. He’s a clever one.”
I met Edward (Ed) Reynolds in art school at Auburn. It was late one night, probably around 2 or 3 in the morning, and we were both working in the art classroom. We had never met, but I noticed Ed had on a watch, so I asked him “Do you know what time it is?” Ed simply replied “Yes.” I waited expectantly, Ed kept working and I realized he wasn’t going to actually tell me the time. And I thought to myself, this is an interesting guy, “He’s a clever one.”
We became fast friends. I was new to the art world. I guess Ed was, too. Sometime soon he was working on his own pastel portrait of “Shug” Jordan, the Auburn head coach. It was impressive. On completion he presented it to various venues for display. And suddenly Ed is in the Selma newspaper (I recall it as being on the front page) in a photograph posing next to his portrait of “Shug” Jordan.
And I remember being caught somewhat mentally flatfooted thinking “Huh, so that’s how it’s done!”
We stayed close friends in college. After graduation he moved to Birmingham and along with former fellow Auburn art student and friend Martin Buchanan and later Mark Reynolds, we started a band - The Invaders. We enjoyed a good measure of success playing a variety of venues and ultimately were written up in a national magazine dedicated to the up-and-coming music scenes around the country.
Playing on stage requires a certain level of cohesiveness. Martin was usually center stage with Ed and I on opposite ends. There was always a hard-to-describe close bond knowing Ed would have my back on stage and I had his back relative to our swapping out playing lead and rhythm. Largely, our style was such that we could switch these guitar duties depending on how we felt that night. And I think Martin would express similar thoughts in regard to Ed and this feeling of comraderie, too.
We were never a juke box band. To my mind, our approach to playing was very much seat-of-the-pants. Because of this we had a close and intuitive feel for what the other(s) were doing on stage. Very much a feeling of brotherhood.
In the studio and making our EP record, I remember Edward laboring over the words to his song “Rita.” In it, there was initially a line mentioning a diamond or a ruby by name. But at the last minute Ed changed the reference to “secondhand stone.” It was a small, subtle change and only one line but it transformed completely the character of the song. Edward pushed it from a more formal straight lyric to a more offhanded even backhanded feel.
Edward knew the subtle strength of words and this impressed me.
When Edward left The Invaders we stayed close, though our lives’ paths diverged in various ways. He continued his music with other bands and also embarked on his writing career.
And he was an excellent writer. His position and growing reputation allowed him to explore areas of personal interest on a diverse range of topics and people. Recently, I’ve seen online lists of his articles and interviews that are much longer than I was aware of - from city hall scuttlebutt, celebrity interviews, human interest tales, to NASA and space-related stories. He was brave enough to admit to me how scared he was when he drove a round-track race car at over 100 mph when investigating for a story.
It was fun to get with Edward over lunch and hear some of the behind-the-scene stories he could tell, stuff he couldn’t include in his articles. He had lots of great stories, most told in confidence, of course. Often our discussions evolved into the subjects of politics, religion, spirituality, and correlating thoughts on topics within the realm of physics, and as granular as the likes of entanglement, even the elusive “God” particle, and other quantum subjects. As might be expected, it delved into philosophical and moral considerations, too.
Having thought a lot about Edward recently, I would say he exhibited a certain “enigmatic charisma.” He wasn’t the kind to walk into a gathering of people and immediately command the room, BMOC style, so to speak. But it would be evident as time progressed, that Edward was the most interesting and unique person there. I’ve been with him when more than half the room knew him and wanted to say hello to him.
There are a number of songs and written passages that come to mind and seem pertinent to Edward and his passing. For me, he was in many ways one that pushed towards Pareto’s higher tier. Harrison’s song, “Long Long Long,” rings nicely with my thoughts of Edward.
To the readers of this remembrance, accept my apologies for this annotated edition of my memories of my friend, Edward Reynolds.
There was so much more. There is so much more.
To Edward, I wish you peace and rest in your new elusive firmament.
I met Edward (Ed) Reynolds in art school at Auburn. It was late one night, probably around 2 or 3 in the morning, and we were both working in the art classroom. We had never met, but I noticed Ed had on a watch, so I asked him “Do you know what time it is?” Ed simply replied “Yes.” I waited expectantly, Ed kept working and I realized he wasn’t going to actually tell me the time. And I thought to myself, this is an interesting guy, “He’s a clever one.”
We became fast friends. I was new to the art world. I guess Ed was, too. Sometime soon he was working on his own pastel portrait of “Shug” Jordan, the Auburn head coach. It was impressive. On completion he presented it to various venues for display. And suddenly Ed is in the Selma newspaper (I recall it as being on the front page) in a photograph posing next to his portrait of “Shug” Jordan.
And I remember being caught somewhat mentally flatfooted thinking “Huh, so that’s how it’s done!”
We stayed close friends in college. After graduation he moved to Birmingham and along with former fellow Auburn art student and friend Martin Buchanan and later Mark Reynolds, we started a band - The Invaders. We enjoyed a good measure of success playing a variety of venues and ultimately were written up in a national magazine dedicated to the up-and-coming music scenes around the country.
Playing on stage requires a certain level of cohesiveness. Martin was usually center stage with Ed and I on opposite ends. There was always a hard-to-describe close bond knowing Ed would have my back on stage and I had his back relative to our swapping out playing lead and rhythm. Largely, our style was such that we could switch these guitar duties depending on how we felt that night. And I think Martin would express similar thoughts in regard to Ed and this feeling of comraderie, too.
We were never a juke box band. To my mind, our approach to playing was very much seat-of-the-pants. Because of this we had a close and intuitive feel for what the other(s) were doing on stage. Very much a feeling of brotherhood.
In the studio and making our EP record, I remember Edward laboring over the words to his song “Rita.” In it, there was initially a line mentioning a diamond or a ruby by name. But at the last minute Ed changed the reference to “secondhand stone.” It was a small, subtle change and only one line but it transformed completely the character of the song. Edward pushed it from a more formal straight lyric to a more offhanded even backhanded feel.
Edward knew the subtle strength of words and this impressed me.
When Edward left The Invaders we stayed close, though our lives’ paths diverged in various ways. He continued his music with other bands and also embarked on his writing career.
And he was an excellent writer. His position and growing reputation allowed him to explore areas of personal interest on a diverse range of topics and people. Recently, I’ve seen online lists of his articles and interviews that are much longer than I was aware of - from city hall scuttlebutt, celebrity interviews, human interest tales, to NASA and space-related stories. He was brave enough to admit to me how scared he was when he drove a round-track race car at over 100 mph when investigating for a story.
It was fun to get with Edward over lunch and hear some of the behind-the-scene stories he could tell, stuff he couldn’t include in his articles. He had lots of great stories, most told in confidence, of course. Often our discussions evolved into the subjects of politics, religion, spirituality, and correlating thoughts on topics within the realm of physics, and as granular as the likes of entanglement, even the elusive “God” particle, and other quantum subjects. As might be expected, it delved into philosophical and moral considerations, too.
Having thought a lot about Edward recently, I would say he exhibited a certain “enigmatic charisma.” He wasn’t the kind to walk into a gathering of people and immediately command the room, BMOC style, so to speak. But it would be evident as time progressed, that Edward was the most interesting and unique person there. I’ve been with him when more than half the room knew him and wanted to say hello to him.
There are a number of songs and written passages that come to mind and seem pertinent to Edward and his passing. For me, he was in many ways one that pushed towards Pareto’s higher tier. Harrison’s song, “Long Long Long,” rings nicely with my thoughts of Edward.
To the readers of this remembrance, accept my apologies for this annotated edition of my memories of my friend, Edward Reynolds.
There was so much more. There is so much more.
To Edward, I wish you peace and rest in your new elusive firmament.
