If You're Gonna Let Another Angel into Heaven, I Got One That Oughta Go

I realize that the most recent entries haven't exactly been laugh-a-minute riots, but sometimes life just works out that way.

This entry is no exception.

I was saddened to learn last week that one of Atlanta's best local artists, Uncle Mark Reynolds (who was also a personal friend) died on Septermber 11 of a heart attack. The man had a voice that could make the ground tremble and Tom Waits wake up and take note.

And he was the nicest damn musician I ever met.

I used to work at the Corner Cafe in Carrollton, and he'd play there quite a bit in the mid-90's because he'd gotten his start in Carrollton when he was in a group called (appropriately enough) Ashley & Mark. He'd always ask me to work the door even if I was off that evening, and he'd give me a cut of his earnings. It was never much, but it was the thought that counted.

Later, when I began teaching GED classes at local jails, Mark volunteered his time to visit my classes and talk about writing poetry and music. He'd usually end up by giving an impromptu concert.

He wanted to visit my high-school classes when I taught English in the public school system, but our schedules could never work out. Again, though, it was the thought.

I hadn't seen him in a few years when I heard about his death. I knew he was overweight and had had a heart attack about three years ago, but I didn't realize he'd been given only three years to live (at least he made his curtain, but you'd think he could've been late just this once).

I realize that most of you will never have heard of him.

You've all missed out.

Try to find his album Hammers Hum. It's nowhere near as good as a live performance; all his anecdotes and stories have been edited out, and you lose the effect that is his voice without the aid of a microphone, but it's all you can get now.

Goodnight, Mark.

Sleep well.