Melissa Reaves is another one of those magical wonders that, in this craven modern era of the celebrity musician, is known more on the road than on the television – and I celebrate that fact. There are pop stars and there are musicians, folks, and while there’s definitely some overlap in the venn diagram, I have met in my thirty-four years so many astoundingly talented people, miles ahead of some of the nonsense we see on television. The club, the concert hall, the local pub – that’s where some of the greatest music in the world is being cultivated, and I think it’s important to go out and see what’s out there, to support these artists, and remember that there are beautiful things out there beyond what your television or smart phone is going to beam into your consciousness.
Reaves is experimental, kind and humble, avant-garde, and weaves her sonic concoctions with white-hot flame. She improvises, inventing on the spot, and deconstructs blues and jazz riffs, blending classic licks with modern rock.
She lived seasonally in Bisbee with her partner and probably still does; let’s face it – when Bisbee, Arizona gets into your veins, it never really leaves. I was fortunate enough to get some serious up-close and personal viewings of Reaves at the local bars and clubs, and was proud when her “New Rock Song” was placed on the 55th Grammy Awards nomination ballot for Best Rock Performance. Just like Stanhope, this is a seriously committed and talented person who is, without question, humble and kind, whose talents and status haven’t separated them from the rest of us mere mortals.