“This Love I Know”

Metropolitan Room  –  February 10 – 14

As his prize for winning the 2010 MetroStar Talent Challenge at the Metropolitan Room, T. Oliver Reid received a fully produced one-week run at the club—an engagement that he recently completed. It was an impressive display of the strengths and qualities that served him so well in the competition. More than that, it augured well for even greater achievement in the future. The evening was a winning blend of open sentiment and quirkily comic perspective—both in his song interpretations and in his patter. His is a very attractive baritone, robust and resonant when employed full-out and pretty in quieter moments, and he sang with authority.

He was accompanied in this, his solo cabaret debut, by musical director Larry Yurman on piano, Mark Vanderpoel on bass and guitar, and Damien Bassman on percussion.

Rodgers and Hart’s “I Wish I Were in Love Again” is, of course, typically—perhaps always—done up-tempo, and Reid’s rendition was no exception; however, his playful attitude made it more than simply a very good high-energy number. Cole Porter’s “Do I Love You?” was given rapid-rhythm accompaniment, not to mention a melisma-filled verse and a bit of melisma at the end. This non-traditional arrangement worked remarkably well, creating an ebullient profession of love. He performed Noël Coward’s “Any Little Fish” with appealing merry-making exuberance.

As excellent as these cheery numbers were, it was in his more serious selections that he was most compelling. A pairing of “How Do You Keep the Music Playing?” (Michel Legrand, Alan and Marilyn Bergman) and “I Can’t Make You Love Me” (Michael Reid, Allen Shamblin) was superb: without a single false step or moment, Reid filled the songs with emotional texture, and he sounded glorious. His rendition of Vernon Duke’s “Autumn in New York” was a rich tapestry of joy against the somber shades of autumn, and Rodgers and Hart’s “It’s Easy to Remember,” sung with just piano accompaniment, was delicate and lovely.

Over the years, I have witnessed three memorable renditions of Harold Arlen and E.Y. Harburg’s “Over the Rainbow”: when I was a puppy, Judy Garland at the Palace; years later, Leslie Orofino at Judys’ on 44th Street; and now T. Oliver Reid at the Metropolitan Room. Reid sings this classic with exquisite simplicity and tenderness. I heard him do it twice during the MetroStar Talent Challenge, and in his cabaret show it is his encore. In the spirit of full disclosure, I should state that at the performance I attended, he uncharacteristically overstated a couple of the lines.

Which takes me to the reasons that in my opening paragraph I referred to “even greater achievement in the future.” There were a number of problems with this show that do not stem from limitations in Reid’s talent; rather, they reflect erroneous choices made in putting this particular show together, some perhaps only in the performance I attended. Because I’ve come across similar faults in many shows, I’ll spend some time on them.

The opening number was an up-tempo mélange of segments of three songs. This may have made a spirited sound, but not only did it not make a cohesive statement, it did an injustice to all three songs; the most grievous crime was depriving Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein II’s “All the Things You Are” of its romance and beauty. Many singers seem to think that it’s necessary to wow the audience with the very first number, and I suspect that this is what prompted Reid to go for a splashy beginning. This view is false. Yes, you do need to get the audience’s attention with the first number, and you have to persuade them that you’re worth spending the next hour with, but you do not need to hit them over the head to do this—an inviting ballad or swing tune can do the trick—and opening with a medley is more often than not a mistake. At the end of the number I had the feeling that Reid thought to himself, “Well, that’s over. Now I can begin.”

In addition to these three segments, several of the other numbers included truncated songs. For example, a shortened “Glad to Be Unhappy” (Rodgers & Hart) segued into “Autumn in New York.” An amputated “This Can’t Be Love” (Rodgers & Hart, again) led into “How Do You Keep the Music Playing?” and “I Can’t Make You Love Me”; though Reid’s chipper interpretation of the first song was excellent, not only was the song abbreviated, it was an inappropriate introduction to the next two songs. He should have done the first song by itself, and in its entirety.

Another infelicitous combination was an interweaving of a truncated “The Nearness of You” (Hoagy Carmichael, Ned Washington) and “Like a Lover” (Dori Caymmi, Nelson Motta, Alan & Marilyn Bergman), with both songs given a Latin beat. Not only did this cheat the first song, it deprived the second song of the delicious sensuality its original Brazilian rhythm gives it. How much better it would have been had Reid given each song its full due and its own flavor.

A song is not a carcass waiting to have its juiciest bits picked at by vultures, nor is it an array of dishes to be chosen piecemeal from a smorgasbord. Songs are complete creations, and songwriters give those creations the number of verses and choruses they believe necessary. Generally, songs should be done whole, or as a minimum, once through without repeats. However, repeats serve a purpose, so recognize that a song performed without them is likely to have less impact than if given a fully developed interpretation. Nonetheless, there may be situations in which omitting the repeats and, instead, segueing to the next number will be more effective. And there may be the occasional special situation in which doing just a segment of a song will fill the bill, but, be sure you have a damned good reason to do that—and never, or nearly never, more than once in a show. I’m not saying this only out of respect for the writers, but also because segments rarely land, that is, they do not have the emotional or dramatic impact on the audience that complete songs do.

Getting back to Reid’s show, there were a couple of missteps that are not serious, but they’re so easily corrected they’re worth mentioning. He started two songs with his arms folded across his chest. The first time he adopted this stance, though it was a little distracting, it came across as perhaps having a valid interpretive value; doing it a second time made it look like a self-conscious affectation. What’s more, it’s a rather constricting position, uncomfortable for the audience to behold. Also, more than once he began a song with his hands in his pockets, which made him appear tentative and awkward. As I’ve often commented, putting one’s hands in one’s pockets is almost always a bad choice: it drains energy and focus, and gives the audience the (probably true) impression that the singer doesn’t know quite what to do with his hands, or the (hopefully false) impression that the singer isn’t particularly interested in what he’s doing.

Finally, in a few numbers, the beat in the instrumental accompaniment, especially in the percussion, was overly emphatic and at odds with the vocal line—sometimes throughout the song, sometimes only at moments.

This was Reid’s first cabaret show, and singers with more cabaret experience make these same mistakes, so certainly he can be excused. More important, as I said above, none of these errors stems from limitations in his talent, so there’s no reason to expect his next show to be less than smashing. I look forward to it, and I’m not saying that just to wrap up this review; I’m really looking forward to it.