Concert Review: Lucas Reynolds at Smith’s Olde Bar in Atlanta
Blue Merle was a great band just peeking onto the musical horizon before they came to an untimely end. You could say they were aping Coldplay’s sound, but couldn’t you say the same of Stone Temple Pilots to Pearl Jam and John Mayer to Dave Matthews when they first hit the scene. They were a talented group with great potential, and it’s sad to see them fizzle out after one brief album. After missing Blue Merle’s swing through Atlanta countless times, I finally got a free evening to checkout lead singer, Lucas Reynolds, playing an intimate show at Smith’s Olde Bar. Smith’s holds in the neighborhood of 300 people so that’s quite a change from the venues three times this size that the collective played when they made their way through Atlanta. I was pretty jazzed about the possibilities inherent in this show. Little did I know about the bizarre world I was about to cross over into. Wild painters flailing about, Teddy Ruxpin morphed into a boy and endless blathering about sheer nothingness. How did this sure thing show go so wrong?
Rick Brantley opened the evening with his sound that was part Dylan, part Springsteen — yet all carbon copies of the originals. He pushed out the songs with his throaty howl with enough talent to keep you mildly interested, yet only mildly. He’s got oceans of maturing to do as a songwriter before we can really see where his potential lies. California native Brett Dennen, who proved massively surprising, followed him. He rode up on the stage looking like a 12 year old with the worst bowl haircut in the history of Great Clips and baby faced features that betrayed every one of his years. Fashion hadn’t knocked on his door since the geek patrol came calling. Once he struck up the guitar though, this man was all business. He was some wicked rhythmic combination recalling Ben Harper, Jack Johnson and even a splash of that carefree nature of Jimmy Buffett. His grooves were salacious and inviting as the jive took hold of his slinky legs. Seldom do openers do anything more than afflict your poor ears, but this was one of those few times that an artist upstaged the headliner. For that I extend kudos to Mr. Dennen.
Next, we find the reason we are here — Lucas Reynolds. He came out in army fatigue hat, natty glasses and bunny hoodie. He manned dual keyboards as he setup the first of his many solo pieces, while his friend Rachael Kice painted up a storm to the soundtrack. Yes I said painted. Mark this as my first concert where art forms blended — literally. From my vantage point on the side stage, it looked as if she was painting one huge blackish grey blob. It was even more curious because there was a cameraman from CNN filming the progression of the cubist piece as it evolved along with the music. All the while she was wiping the brush residue on her dress and doing funky yoga moves. Very strange.
The format of Reynolds set was varied, flip-flopping between Blue Merle material and his unreleased solo efforts. Within the past week, he just finished recording a five-song solo EP. The new material wasn’t nearly as compelling as his prior efforts with Blue Merle. They seemed to lack that depth and ease which Blue Merle has made its trademark. His sound was off as well. His guitar was consistently overpowering his vocals instead of complementing them. There was one point in the set where he mistakenly became unplugged, and it sounded golden. Unfortunately, the plug found it’s way back in the hole.
As the set progressed, he’d throw in strange little stories. Some were humorous; others were just out there. One in particular starred a millionaire homeless guy, that the band had befriended, who hitchhiked from Seattle to New Orleans faster than the band was able to fly there. Throughout the show, Reynolds seemed hopped up on the cheeba or something. He just had this goofy air circulating about him throughout the evening.
It was an uneven evening at best and certainly would seal itself in my memory for some time to come. The close of the night did bring redemption on a couple fronts. He closed with the beautiful “Part of Your History” which was a stirring take on the great song. Also once I stood up, the grey gelatinous blob on the canvas suddenly took shape, and it was a pretty interest painting Kice had worked up. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to salvage this show. I think Reynolds will probably be one of those artists who part ways with his band only to fade away into obscurity.