My musical taste often stands between shoegaze, psychedelic rock, and punk. Yet, like a river flowing back to its source, I sometimes return to the soulful waters of my Southern roots. An example is Marcus King, a modern musician that plays a mix of blues and rock n’ roll. When I invited friends to his concert, their responses of “who?” highlighted a regional gap in awareness. This inspired me to craft a review not from a critic’s perspective, but as a fan, eager to share my experience.
I’m dashing down the metro escalator, running late after battling it out with my eyeliner. As I burst through the gates, a metro line catches on fire, causing extremely frustrating delays. The sweltering station turns into a sauna, sweat trickling down my forehead like summer rain. After an agonizing twenty minutes, a train finally roars in. I hop on, put my airpods in, and immerse myself in Marcus King’s soulful melodies to get in the right mindset. I sit down on the grimy metro seat and focus on the lyrics of his songs.
“All I need, all I’m wanting
Is something sweet, to take all this pain that’s been haunting me
Oh yeah, haunting me
Hold me down, don’t let me get any higher
Turn me around, pull me away from this fire”
Marcus King writes from a powerful desire for connection and relief. There’s a deep need for comfort and grounding amid life’s chaos, echoed through soulful melodies and a driving rhythm that amplified their intensity. The melancholy energy in “Rescue Me” is elevated with his blues technique of straining on syllables across multiple pitches, the reverb effect of his slide guitar adding on top of it.
As I’m settling into the right mood for a concert, the train screeches at my stop, causing me to jolt up. I sprint out of the metro, ready to get to the venue after multiple delays. Once inside, an usher guides me to my seat, only to find someone has stolen it. The usher removes him, and I try to settle in, but a nearby frat-bro type tries to strike up a conversation. After multiple dry responses, he finally takes the hint and converses with his dad instead, leaving me in peace. Now I can finally enjoy the opener, Brittney Spencer.
I take note of her performance—the bass player’s simple yet solid lines, her soft voice, and the drummer’s experimental methods of putting maracas on top of his snare drum, exacerbating the snake-like sound that it produces. While her set exudes satin-like energy, I can’t calm down. From the delays, and feeling alone at the show surrounded by drunks, my nerves are still humming like a live wire. That is, until Marcus King and his band ignite the stage.
Having seen Marcus King before, I wonder if his performance will have the same magic he showed before; but as he plays the first guitar riff from “It’s Too Late” and his voice pours ours like warm honey, I’m transported to another realm. As the music hits the air, I can tell Marcus is eager to show his talent, guitar wailing with a familiar whine reminiscent of Jimi Hendrix’s wah-wah effect. Then the fuzz pedal kicks in, giving the song a grittier, more electric edge. There’s a heavier beat driving it forward, a raw intensity that has the whole crowd whistling. It’s not his usual Southern blues pace—it’s darker, like he’s reaching deeper and pulling us into his orbit. It’s the perfect choice for a first song, amping up the energy and unifying the entire crowd. Once it ends, I notice a smile on my face and breathe of reassurance, knowing my $30 wasn’t a waste.
Instead of continuing with the energetic sound of the last song, he slowly pulls the mood back. He plays “Virginia,” a jazzier song that blends sorrowful lyrics with a gospel-inspired instrumental. The tune is both lively and melancholy, keeping us animated while setting a subdued, soulful vibe. Marcus then goes into his conventional blues songs, all off of his new album Mood Swings. The album’s songs have a murky and dark feel to them, yet they’re also peaceful at the same time. It’s like I’m watching a spider spin its web around a fly; there’s a sinister feeling but at the same time, the beauty of his creation washes a sensation of serenity over me.
Just as I’m sinking into this darker soundscape, Marcus King shifts into covering quintessential country songs like “Many Rivers to Cross” by Jimmy Cliff, however, his rendition of “Good Time Charlie’s Got the Blues” specifically speaks to me. There’s a steady groove, filling the room with comfort, then the sound of an organ washes over me. I look over to the pianist, Mike Runyon, noticing he’s switched positions to his electronic-organ. The sound reminds me of the many church services my pastor-parents forced me to go to, but this time I was hit with awe instead of tiredness. Growing up in the church, I understand the sheer talent that’s needed to play the organ, however, Mike goes beyond that, adding subtle touches that mirror Marcus’s guitar whine, echoing its inflections. All of the sudden, the song evolves into a lively exchange between Marcus and Mike, with each musician playing off of each other’s riffs. There’s a musical conversation happening onstage, as if they’re trading stories that only they can understand. Each call is answered with a response that seems to grow bolder, pushing each other into harder and more difficult techniques. Marcus’s guitar lets out a high, longing note, and Mike answers with a deep, resonant organ line, the tones of each instrument weaving together flawlessly.
After the improvised trade-off sends a pulse of energy through the room, Marcus changes pace again, causing a bit of whiplash, as he reaches for an acoustic guitar to perform “Save Me.” The lyrics were already mournful, but the acoustic guitar magnifies their impact, adding a raw, intimate touch. The gentle strum and slowed tempo create a haunting, yearning melody that fills the room, and for the first time all night, I can hear the entire crowd singing along, their voices blending into a collective sound. The room feels connected, like we’re all sharing the weight of those words together, caught up in the somber beauty of the song. It’s a moment of stillness that lingers, leaving a powerful impression.
As the night reaches its high, I find myself drawn away from my seat, closer to the stage. Marcus starts to sing “Wildflowers & Wine,” a song that’s etched into my soul. The first time I heard it was in Ireland, arriving late, as usual, to a concert where King was the opener. I spotted a gap near the stage and sprinted to claim it. As I caught my breath, Marcus began his set with this enchanting song, and it was as if time itself had stopped. The soulful melody entrances me, unaware of the artist but fully immersed in the music. Back home this song became my sanctuary. In any moment of panic, it provided an image of a stream running, surrounded by wildflowers. Now, as the opening notes fill the air, memories come flooding back, this time of home. I picture my dog, her reddish-brown fur glistening as she digs joyfully in my family’s blueberry bushes. My mind wanders to my brother, as he rows down the Connecticut river, his determination and resilience inspiring me. I think of my mom, who stood beside me when I first discovered this song, and I wish my dad could experience this, knowing he’d appreciate the mastery of the guitar. I think of my sister, as she drives me back from college, handing me the aux cord so she can experience my music taste. Then finally, I think of my town of Asheville, NC: the community that always has each other’s back, the breweries that draw too many tourists in, the musicians and vendors on the street that call to me whenever I walk downtown, the arts district where I spent most my time, and the tree-covered mountains that reflect the sun.
As the final notes of “Wildflowers & Wine” fade into the night, I understand again why I love going to concerts. They’re a reminder that music is more than listening to what you like—it’s about emotion, being in the present, and letting it fill your body and soul. Marcus King has a way of drawing out those hidden emotions, the ones that might otherwise remain buried, too difficult to confront without the right soundtrack. For me, it’s homesickness, yearning, and the sadness the week provided; only now, through his music, am I comfortable enough to feel and release these feelings. That’s the beauty of Marcus’s sound—he doesn’t just let you acknowledge your emotions, he allows you to let them go. His music is a steady, bluesy unshackling that lets sorrow, hope, and nostalgia pour out in a way that feels tranquil, almost healing. It’s as if he’s guiding each listener through their own journey, with each note offering comfort and peace. This is, after all, the essence of the blues: facing life’s rawest emotions and expressing them in a way that brings both depth and calm.
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