The Reddmen are fucking dead that's what the answering machine said, looks like this is it! They talked one too many shit about the lower class and the government, did you hear what those faggots said in some fanzine someone else read? I heard they're a bunch of spoiled little rich kids who need to get their asses kicked, fucking ingrates! fucking pussies!! The Reddmen are fucking dead guaw huydsas kjhds aowedde (fighting sequence). The Reddmen are fucking dead by order of the bass master general just like A.I.M. only this time for real because the B.I.A. have tapped their telephone and the RCPD raided Lakota Homes and they must have beed killed.
The Reddmen, garage rock, power-pop, band hailing from Rapid City, South Dakota formed in 1996 by brothers J. Waylon Porcupine and Miyo One Arrow of the Northern Cheyenne and Lakota plains Indian tribes. The group achieved some semblance of mainstream appeal despite never being formally signed to a record label. The band has independently recorded, distributed, produced and toured for over a decade. The Reddmen have been featured to soundtrack a pivotal episode of hit series Grey's Anatomy, appeared at Al Gore's 2007 festival Live Earth/Mother Earth in Washington D.C. The Reddmen have attained spaces on national radio and print publications such as NPR's Morning Edition Program. , New York Times, and Razorcake magazine.
The Reddmen disbanded in 2011, though many former members remain musically involved in solo careers or other projects.
2 brothers, 15 years - 1 goal: 100% lo(ud) fidelity recklessness. Self-taught, self-produced, and self-destructive, this crew continues to leave a trail of smashed instruments, ruined bass players, shattered eardrums, and broken hearts in its wake... Tigers Against Crime Tigers Against Crime
The Reddmen are from Rapid City, in the Dakotas, dependably delivering melodic, trashy pop cribbed from a vast garage of the mind where Big Star and maybe Guided By Voices are getting really loud like with their fists, with the occasional pretty tune thrown in for a change-up. One time I witnessed their singer Johnny walk right through two dudes who were beating the shit out of each other so he could get paid for the night’s rockage. So they’re tough too, I think. -Timmy Arrowtop/Total Fest '08
Rapid City trio The REDDMEN make infectious little British Invasion ’60s nuggets injected with incendiary Green Day punk pop. -The Boston Phoenix 
The Reddmen of Rapid City, S.D., with their trashed-out, fuzzed-up, garage-pop static ... the Infections, the Bloody Hollies, or for a more conventional reference, the Hives. High energy, low cost! -Adam Leech/Colorado Springs Independent 
There were some panties hanging on the mike stand, and lead singer J. Waylon Porcupine was wearing a set of handcuffs as a sort of belt/belt buckle deal. I didn’t get any better photos of this because honestly, how close do you want to get to a strange pair of panties and a guy who’s wearing handcuffs on his crotch? -Rapid City Journal 
"South Dakota created, nicknamed itself The Mount Rushmore state. Fortunately, The Reddmen, purveyors of lo-fi power pop, have a stronger store of creative juices than the stack of functionaries in Pierre." -Missoula Independent
by D. Von Hartwig on Wednesday, August 24, 2011 at 2:25pm
My first interaction with anything Reddmen was via the internet. I wrote harsh words about them (I can't even remember what they were now, since this was circa 2004)- the harshness came from a place of jealousy and self-pity; I wanted what they had: the moves, the tunes, the friends. So, like many a pissed off youth does, I attacked. I remember these attacks being primarily focused at J. Waylon (ahh the trials and tribs of a frontman, eh?). All I really remember about the conversation is someone saying it was fucked up for me to talk shit about John on the internet because he couldn't read. So, being gullible and not inherently malicious, I stopped.
As I'm sure the story goes for many a "reddfriend" (thx Meatknife), Trevor was the first one of the dudes I actually met. Always gracious, always doing that side grin/push back the bangs and make you melt move, Trevie instantly makes you want to love everything he loves or does. So, I ate my fucking words- one night he brought Johnny to a party at my house on Columbus St and I apologized for being a little shithead. I told him I wanted to start over and I introduced myself to him like we both had no idea who the other was. It didn't create a completely blank slate, but it was a start. Johnny is an ever illusive creature (always a valuable attribute for a luminary). Oh, and he can and does read by the way. If you ask him he can recommend some killer rock bios. When he invited me to go on a mini-tour with them in early 2006 (SD/CO/WY), I was hesitant for a few reasons: I barely knew Miyo, couldn't read Johnny, and had an online final I had to take for my psych class. The morning of Johnny was calling me from out in front of my house- they were all there in the van ready to go… so, I went. I didn't take that final. I had a blast. Later that year I also accompanied them in CA and NV- watched Trevie get his first lapdance and saw a stripper pay the band $100 to play one more song. Around the same time I went to Berkeley and saw Miyo drum and sing in Bad Nation. This was my quintessential Reddmen era.
The Reddmen make me feel good, make my heart race and melt, make my feet move. Goddammit, I just love every ounce of them. J. Waylon writes songs that every girl with a foot on either side of the tracks wants to have written about her: she's pretty, sweet and rock and roll. It is truly the end of an era. I guess I felt inspired to write this little bit because I'm not ready to let it go. On my recent trip back to Rapid I couldn't even bring myself to visit the house and I was actually kind of glad to miss the last round of shows- there's a difference between knowing something is dead and seeing it in its coffin. I want to remember the highlights and let the lowlights fade away. RIP dear Sons of the Morningstar. I fucking love you.
The year was 1999, spring had sprung in The Black Hills of South Dakota and with it, my new found love and curiosity of music. The internet had not yet been embraced and music resources were scarce. The previous summer, I had been taken to the local motorcycle rally to witness a reunion tour of a few original members of Lynrd Skynrd. It astounded me, but even at that young age, I knew something was missing. I started going to small local music shops looking for something I would like. Standing in line once, I noticed an orange music flier. I was interested and noticed the address was only a couple of miles way from my house outside of town. I asked the clerk about it and he told me it was a small house of siblings that booked traveling music acts to play in their kitchen. I didn’t need to hear anymore, I had to go.
The night of the show, I waited for my mother to fall asleep and crawled out of my window. As I approached, I could hear the faint sound of music pounding from the small country house. When I arrived, the flier I had seen earlier was taped onto the old farm door. An older, tattooed man let me in. The band had finished and no music was playing. A new band began to set up. These guys were different then anything I had seen before. There was no colored lights or dry ice fog, no rock costumes or lavish displays. These guys were hanging out right next to me I had to move out of the way so the drummer could move his drum set in. It was just three young men in an old farm house playing some well worn guitars through a distorted PA with a mismatched, simple drum set. This was something else, something different, something real.
The drummer took of his jacket and pushed back his hair, the guitars flipped on and feedback came, and grew louder. The crowd came in from outside and I quickly was packed in like a sardine. I didn’t know what was happening but was luckily pushed to the front of the small crowd. People were yelling and shouting as the noise grew and I could feel that something was about to begin. Then, like God splitting the red sea, a “1——2——1-2-3-4” was yelled over the wall of noise and a sound hit me like the power of a thousand suns. Rock kicks, stick twirls, hair flips, and jumps off amps. This was it…pure, untouched organic rock energy in its most natural and beautiful form. Things would never be the same.
I started to see more and more of their shows and would talk with people in attendance. What I found was my story was not unique. The respect and admiration was shared with every person and musician I met. They had brought to our small city what we never could have witnessed ourselves, another world that most people don’t even know exists. In the world of sold out, commercial, rock venues, big record labels, and mass produced bull shit. We had something different. We had something real. And we had something that no one else could have… The Reddmen, a group that defined our generation, inspired a city, and changed countless lives along with my own.
-Zachary J. Hollander