Why I wrote “Skeletons in My Closet.” Skeletons in My Closet,” is a collection of thirteen original songs infused with venues of country, rock and roll, blues and ballads. I wanted to produce a country album but my mixed background didn’t lend itself to a pure country style. Consequently, I developed one I call “Pseudo Country.” It explores what I call “guy humor,” things I don’t understand about being a cowboy and ballads showing the softer side of Bobby Reed. It was truly a fun album to write, record and produce. My good friend, Don Wilbert, helped me with the arrangements of the music and recorded many excellent guitar tracks on this album. Steve Corneliussen gave me free rein to be creative with a song he wrote a few years ago called “Margarita Madness.” I hope I didn’t take it over the edge. Tom Doering performed a great guitar track on “Cryin’ In My Beer” and Angelo Pagliocco added a stellar accordion part on a tune called “Sometines.” Bruce Leonard took the photographs for the cover and his wife, Debbie, produced the final artwork. Thanks guys! You may think that this is an unusual title for an album but if you wind back the clock in your mind, you’ll probably remember a few things you wish you had not said or done. Things that you are ashamed of, things that embarrassed you or words you wished you hadn’t blurted out. Perhaps there were things you locked away and hoped no one would ever unearth. Let’s face it, we all have them and for me, they are skeletons. I got the idea for a song one day as my stylist was cutting my hair. She worked in the movie industry as a hair stylist and told me a story about a crazy series of events that humiliated her to near death. I said to myself, “there’s a song in this story.” As the song evolved, I called it “Skeletons in Our Closet.” This laid the foundation for every song I wrote for this album. Maybe a few of my secrets will fly free as you listen to these tunes. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a cowboy. On Saturday afternoons my friends and I headed for the local movie theatre and watched the latest western on the big screen. Then we headed home, strapped on our six shooters, tighten our vests, lashed on our chaps and reenacted every scene we saw that day. One of the sceneries that lassoed my fascination was the preverbal covered wagon chase scene. Normally, there were at least a dozen covered wagons charging down a rut encrusted desert road. Indians riding on painted ponies pursued this cavalcade and launched flaming arrows into their protective coverings. Invariably, one of the wagons flipped over and rolled down into a deep canyon. There was no doubt; I was riding in one of those wagons. I felt the dust in my face, the reins in my hands and the heat of the burning canvas behind me as I guided my condemned wagon into eternity. What an adventure! Those wonderful afternoons conjured up a lot of crazy ideas and they are alive even to this day. One day I decided to make my own covered wagon. I took my red, Radio Flyer wagon and fashioned a “U” shaped structure over the back half. Then I attached an old, tattered sheet over the structure and I was ready to give her a test run. My brother became the driver and I pulled him all over the adjacent farm land. Naturally, I had to roll the wagon just for effect. Then I remembered that the wagons in the movies had brakes. It didn’t take long until my wagon had a set of its own. At that point my mechanical skills were not as good as they should have been and my braking mechanism didn’t perform exactly as planned. There was a hilly road that ran past our home and I pulled my brother to the top. I handed the steering rod to him and gave him a push. About half way down the hill I said, “Pull the brake level and see what happens.” It was ugly. One brake pad engaged and one didn’t. Oh yeah, he flipped and there was a lot of blood. That ended my career as a Wagoner. In rural Pennsylvania, where I grew up, it was farm country. Most farmers grew corn, wheat and oats. Of course there were dairy farms but none compared to the huge ranches that Hollywood depicted in those alluring cowboy flicks. How I wanted to ride herd on a thousand head of cattle. Since there was not much roping and riding taking place in my area, I knew I had to find a new avocation. It came down to – either learn how to plow fields driving John Deer tractors or go to college. I decided to become an engineer but my dream of riding with Roy Rogers and his sidekicks played incessantly in the back of my mind. After solving far too many equations, I decided I needed some adventure in my life; something to get my adrenaline pumping and challenge me beyond my capabilities. I decided to become a Missile Technician aboard a nuclear submarine. What a good decision that was. Talk about secrets? It was here I met, Bob Devitt and Joe Harris. Both were excellent guitar players. At the time I only played the five string banjo but they taught me how to play the six string. Together we learned to write songs; especially about crazy events that occurred while we were underway or in port. We performed these tunes for the crew while on patrol during the cold war and had a blast. After six years of playing war games with the Russians, I decided it was time to enter the civilian high tech world. My new career took some adaptation but I loved it. I was fortunate enough to design equipment for the space shuttle, military intelligence (yes, that’s an oxymoron) and lots of computer related equipment. I worked in many aspect of the computer business, had fun but eventually, all thing come to an end or at least change. After falling off my high tech horse for the last time, I decided to move to the Southwest and get a taste of what I missed over all these years. As soon as I could, I attended my first of many rodeos. I fell in love with the dust and the drama. By this time, it was a little too late to climb up on a bull named “ball buster” so I settled for letting the younger bucks take the bruises. But there is still so much I don’t understand about real cowboys; the lifestyle, the mystic of these men, why wranglers do what they do and their closed culture. I suppose I never will but I can always climb aboard that saddle in my mind. When I lived in the Boston area, I owned a recording studio with another good friend, Jerry Seeco, who is a professor at Berklee College of Music. We produced commercials / jingles for radio and TV, sound tracks for documentaries plus a countless number of albums and demos for regional artists. We started the business to produce our own songs but equipment payments and the business took control. Eventually, we decided to close the business and focus on our own music. In the last twelve years, I’ve release eight albums of my own music. Three were produced primarily for the United States Submarine Service. The first was recorded with my good friend and co writer, Tommy Cox. It was Called “Brothers of the Dolphin.” The other two are: “Proud to Be an American Veteran” and “Where’s My Crew.” After moving to Albuquerque, NM, I recorded a Christmas CD, and a folk album – songs I used to perform years ago. I also produced a Classics CD for my favorite guitar player and good friend, Don Wilbert. I am now producing a CD for my new friend, Angelo Pagliocco called “Songs I Love.” A lot of notes have flowed out of my Martin D28V – some bad and some that made me smile. I remember the ones that made dimples. I hope they never stop flowing. Thanks for dropping by - enjoy, Bobby Reed