I wish I had reached out one more time to J.D. Moore, not so much to say goodbye but to thank him for the good times, for being intentional about musical fellowship, and for being intentional about bringing joy to others through his bass playing.
One of my favorite shows I played with JD was when we provided entertainment during middle school lunch, thanks to Mr. Rummans, who brought live music to the cafeteria for the kids on occasion. They loved it! It’s the only time I’ve been tipped a bag of Wheat Thins. How did that little girl know I loved Wheat Thins?
We played Tab Benoit’s “Don’t Make No Sense” and got the kids groovin’ to New Orleans blues. Dr. Moore seemed to be enjoying it more than anyone. He had that bright smile, and that nod of approval. Musicians have been commenting on it already. Usually that smile would come with a “yeah” that he probably didn’t even realize was audible. He was in the groove. It was his favorite place to be.
J.D. was a force, collecting musicians and creating ensembles, mixing and matching members of the community and making it work. He always found a way to get people to say “yes,” too. Years ago J.D. kept inviting me and fellow Lewistown musician Chris Hildebrant to his weekend patio jam. Months passed and we hadn’t shown up for it, so he booked us a gig, creating a group we came to call Groove Creek. Terry Ernst was in that band. He hadn’t really played with a group before, and wouldn’t have if not for J.D. “I’d just be playing at home,” he said. That was nearly eight years ago now, and Terry’s been playing with groups ever since.
Groove Creek took on many shapes during our few years of entertaining, including an Irish phase that J.D. took all the way. We’d show up to practice and he’d have CDs with Irish songs for the set list, and he’d always have a new instrument. One time we found a penny whistle buried in his couch! “I wondered where that went,” he’d say with a wry laugh.
He’d surprise us with new musicians, too, like Pi, the young man from Myanmar, who joined us on fiddle for our Irish pub gigs, bringing the house down with “Toss the Feathers.”
Where’d he find Pi? We didn’t even ask. Of course J.D. found him. It was in his nature.
No matter the show, J.D. would get after it. He even talked me into joining the back-up band at the Southern Baptist tent revival. We might as well have been the Soggy Bottom Boys that day. J.D. was having the time of his life doing that, too. I could hear him laughing behind me as we watched a baptism in a horse trough.
J.D. played his bass until he couldn’t anymore. Until he had no energy left. He pushed himself to complete exhaustion. Back then it was concerning, but now it’s admirable. Why not lay it all on the line? If you love something, you should bleed for it. You should give everything – you shouldn’t let anything get in its way.
When you have a passion for music like J.D. did, you don’t say “no” to an opportunity to play.
The last time I played with J.D. was an open mic night at Central Feed Brewing. We got the band back together post-COVID and played some of our favorites, reminiscing through the rhythm.
We had a feeling that might be the last time, as I left Lewistown shortly after. Still, there was gratitude – gratitude for the jams we shared, for all the magical times we got it right. There were more hits than misses, but it was always memorable, always fun, always uplifting.
Thank you, J.D.
Until we jam again.
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