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Sunday, July 17, 2011  

Open Sesame

With M. Edium out of the house for the weekend, I thought I'd take my lovely wife out for a fun, romantic evening. But instead we scoped out a local open mike night. For the first time ever.

Here's the thing: we both like live music, but who wants to go pay a cover charge for a band we might not even like? This way's much better. You find a place, you have a few drinks, you listen to some music. And if you don't like the singer, wait a few minutes for the next one.

And I will gladly say that we did not like the singer every time.

Trash liked the high-voiced kid who sang long, minor-chord ruminations on longing and loss and having been born to late to play in The Church or The Smiths more than I did, but not by much. Neither of us cared for the runty, dreadlocked douche who half-rapped some of what I'm thought he was sure was trenchant social commentary about the world being wack and then left two minutes later, making his friend carry his guitar.

The good news is they only got two songs each. I think Trash kind of kept forgetting that, because during that first guy's set, she told me to ask for our bill, and then we ordered another round, and then during that second guy's set she was more than ready to go. I had to keep reminding her that the people who would normally drive her right out of the bar would probably be done by the time we got to the door.

Besides the lamers were in the minority here. There were some surprisingly talented singer-songwriters, and Trash even bought one of their CDs so she can hear more than two of her songs. There was also a middle-aged guy who was going to play a very minor 80s new wave hit that I remember well, because it turned out that he was in the band recorded it, but then he couldn't remember the words and sang something else instead. Too bad, because I totally could have hollered the lyrics out to him.

Not all of the interesting stuff happened onstage, either. There was a guy who kept lurking behind Trash, close enough to smell the bacon in her shirt if she'd had any in there. Trash texted me, "I have a friend behind me." I thought she was talking about someone at the next table, but it later turned out that she was referring to some dude breathing down her neck right around the corner where I couldn't see him from my seat. It was an outer corner, you see. Nobody puts Trash in the other kind of corner.

We also enjoyed the two teenagers in polo shirts who kept walking back and forth holding their trendy single-malts so everyone could see them. Which we did. We also noticed that the level of the liquid never seemed to get any lower. "Do we notice those things because we're older?" Trash asked me on the way home. "No, we always laughed at people like that," I said.

As we left, the last performer we heard had just finished a keening song about desperately needing someone's body. Which seemed to make her girlfriend at a nearby table a little uncomfortable.

So in short, next time you're wondering where to go out, consider an open mike night. We'll probably do it again, so who knows? There's a chance you might even run into us.

Unless you're not in the Twin Cities and it's a night when M. Edium is home. Then the chances of that are pretty remote.

posted by M. Giant 9:57 PM 1 comments

1 Comments:

I've had this entry saved so I would remember to ask about the minor hit. As I majored in obscure 80's new wave songs, please do tell!

By Blogger Kate, at August 16, 2011 at 7:32 PM  

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