El único disco de Kit Ream se convirtió en un objeto de culto tras ser destacado por Jello Biafra en su libro "Incredible Strange Music II":
The most deranged "rich person do-it-yourself" album is All That I Am by KIT REAM, heir to the Nabisco cookie fortune. According to someone who knew him, he dropped tons of acid in the '60's and wound up in a mental hospital where he spent six months staring at his own reflection in a mirror. Eventually the acid wore off, he was deemed "cured" and let loose in society, whereupon he decided to become a guru and make a record. From his maniacal expression you can see that this is a man who has seen it all and knows that he has "the answer". The songs are light beatnik jazz mixed with pseudo-psychedelia; he chants lines like "Don't be so holy, poly, over my soul-y." As far as I know his cult is still vastly outnumbered by Maharaj Ji, Rajnessh and the Moonies.
Algunas reseñas han contado hasta con la entrada en los comentarios del hijo del propio Kit Ream como en esta de waxidermy (enlace) y en algunos blogs incluso se puede conseguir para descarga (enlace) y también incluído en el proyecto de la referencial UBUWEB con el 365 Days (outsiders) Project (enlace) en el que muchos solemos navegar para encontrar esas joyas aurales perdidas en el tiempo. Del blog lost in Tyme saco una nueva descripción:
"This one is pretty well-known by “incredibly strange” fans and has been raved over by Jello Biafra. To make the story short, Ream was a wealthy 1960s acid casualty and then mental patient whose album was actually released by the "Institute For Creative Living,” a conservative “spiritual growth” center. The spacy, jazzy music on the album is strikingly similar to the equally bizarre Gary Wilson. Ream rants and raves in a completely confident and lounge-inspired way, entreating us not to be so holy poly over his souly, among other things. As real people albums go, this is one of the most endearing, as his life philosophy is even more compelling than, say, Father Yod’s, and the music is never dull. One song has some unexpected female vocals, and a few others have cool and weird vocal arrangements. He grunts and groans and moves from sing-speak to crooning at the drop of a hat. This is absolutely wonderful. “Go down to the beach, baby, get naked at twelve o’clock!"
El disco es una chaladura a la que le hacen justicia todas las descripciones desperdigadas por la red, sin duda alguna. Hay momentos que parece como si Mark E. Smith estuviera envuelto en el espíritu de Dr John en "Wines", el momento canallesco de "Funk" serpenteando con el proto-disco y el funk sintético, la nana hippiesca y jazzy de "Memories",... Seguiremos presentando actualizaciones en este sentido de una manera más habitual. Todos estos rescates son pertinentes, sin duda alguna.