DON REEVE

SOMETHING LACKING IN a lot of hard-to-classify-hybrid- hey-let's-call-it-New-Age-music is an emotional center, an evolved sensibility that moves the listener. Not so with the music of Tucson's Don Reeve--virtuoso guitarist, flute and mandolin player.

His two recordings have one market niche under New Age, but both Nature's Way (Soundings of the Planet), and Spirit Wild (Crash Landing), defy being stuck within the narrow confines of many of New Age's low-content efforts.

A long-time valued player in a number of local bands--Neon Prophet, Rhythm Method, Sruti, Fine Stream Gamelan, Jones Brothers, and the Kevin Bowman Band, Reeve can tear up bluegrass, rock, Top 40s, pop, folk, acoustic country and music from India and Indonesia.

His two releases of original music draw from the variety of styles he can play so well, but the reviews of Nature's Way and Spirit Wild overwhelmingly appreciate that he has found and effectively expresses his own voice.

The reviews recognize both Reeves' impressive technical abilities and his "emotional presence." A master of one-takes, he is more than well rehearsed--as one reviewer stated, Reeves is in "complete resonance with his guitar." And his rapid fire accuracy playing long and complex melodic runs is so smooth, it sounds deceptively easy. His ability to simultaneously play bass and lead parts on his guitar makes you think there are several tracks on some cuts. Nope, no overdubs.

To get to this enviable balance between technique and heart takes a steadfast commitment. Reeve fully appreciates the challenge even though when he first started playing he "never realized what it would involve. I did have a period of time when I turned around and found out I did more of this than I intended to do. Basically I came to the conclusion that I had come to the point of no return."

Like all quality artists, Reeve is always trying to reach those elusive goals of progress.

"I get the abstract feeling of being on the verge of something really amazing and never quite get there," he says. With this type of dedication, though, he's bound to get closer. His next CD is almost completed, and will no doubt represent another welcome plateau in Reeves' artistic evolution.
--Janice Jarrett

STY

FOR FIVE GUYS who believe heavily in the musical benefits of spontaneous combustion, a simple thing like a name change is no big deal. That's why when two members decide to leave Cosmic Boogie Tribe the three remaining members--singer Martin Lewis, guitarist Chris Mihina and bass player Mike Mihina--had no problem moving on. They scored drummer Matt Faulk from another band, recruited Mihina's cousin Darren Mussatto to play guitar, and called themselves Sty.

"It just didn't seem right to continue calling ourselves CBT when two of the original members weren't playing with us anymore," explains Martin.

That's a pretty casual attitude to take considering all of the members of Sly have been playing around Tucson for several years and have established a reputation with the CBT name. Nonetheless, they make a point of asking clubs not to list them as, "the band previously known as...."

"We're a different group now and we'd really like to stand on our own as Sty," Martin says.

Reputation and massive marketing aren't what these guys are about; they make no secret of the fact that their overall objective is to play "huge" music and have fun.

"We'll play with anyone, anywhere. We'll open, close, whatever. That doesn't matter to us at all," Mihina says, adding without a trace of regret or disappointment, "we just got back from playing for three people in El Paso and four people in Phoenix."

While Sty isn't the type of band to sit around trying to define their sound, one definition they most definitely don't like, is "funky."

"Call us anything you want...we kind of like 'phat' (that's with a "ph," Chris informs me), but just don't call us funky. We hate that."

Writing all their own music as a group, Sty's influences range from jazz to artists like 24-7 Spyz, Bad Brains, King's X, Jimi Hendrix and yes, ABBA. The music they create now has taken a turn with the addition of two new members, but overall it remains the outcome of five guys with a variety of tastes and an "anything goes" approach. This may also explain why both CBT and Sty seem to fade in and out of public view.

"We all have our own lives and it's kind of hard to get all of us motivated and together at the same time," Martin explains.

They're currently slaving away at day jobs to support their music habit by getting some cash together to do their own recording.

"It's just a little four track thing and we'll just sell it at shows for 75 cents," Mihina dictates off the top of his head. With some afterthought he ups the price tag, "well, maybe 79 if it's really good."
--Diana Bernard

Cantrell

TWENTY-FOUR YEARS ago on that hallowed Tucson Fourth Avenue spot once known as Choo-Choo's, later known as the Night Train, and more recently known as Berky's, a 16 year old girl took the stage for the first time.

I wasn't there, but I'm positive that people looked up from their drink and drug induced hazes to hear just where that voice--daring, belting and full of soul--was coming from. I imagine their amazement when they learned this truly big noise filling the bar and sneaking into their hearts was being expressed by a petite teenager known as Cantrell.

Since that distant night in the early '70s the music world has, in a sense, owned Cantrell. The fates have played a large part in that, perhaps. Her very name means "little singer."

"I never planned on being a singer" she muses. "For the first fifteen years of my career people came to me."

Asked to be in band after band, Cantrell didn't say no. That first performance with Mint Julep set the stage for later involvement in groups such as the Air Brothers, Swingshift, 360, Visionary Blues Band, and Regular Girls. Cantrell has also worked with Carlos Nakai, Howe Gelb, and Mitzi Cowell as well as performing solo. Despite these unplanned relationships, she has managed to explore countless genres and experience thousands of life lessons through music.

So what's she doing now? Long time fans are wondering just that. You won't find Cantrell on the regular list of local venues, she's not singing the blues, she's not playing at the folk festival--she's not even listening to music very much these days. Except for an occasional appearance with the band Mother's Little Helper or a rare solo performance, the only places you'll find Cantrell are with art and performance groups like the Bad Girl's Story Telling Brigade.

"I don't choose to be a jukebox," she says. "When I was in a lot of bands I was drinking a lot, doing a whole lot of drugs."

Those days are gone for Cantrell.

"It was a lifestyle. The first ten years I played music I didn't think about it. It was a party."

Cantrell is thinking a lot about music now. She's finding out what her current relationship to it and its surrounding lifestyle is, rather than letting its potent and often devious aspects command her. Whether this important and very personal process will come back to us in the form of song is still unknown.

"I wanna say things with music. And that's the thing--I'm not sure what I want to say."

Perhaps when she knows, we'll be fortunate enough to hear her tell us in a song.
--Molly Who

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