A few weeks ago, decided to check out the open mic scene at Keenan's Piano Lounge, just down Broadway. As expected, it was sparse, with fewer people there for the music than for the drinking, and no piano that I could see. But this had its good and bad points. It was rough playing with people talking loudly, but this made it good performing experience, and the polite tension of many open mics was nicely absent. I also can't complain about being able to play 15 minutes after walking in and do up to 5 songs. I only had three, two brand new ones, as is my custom, and Sloan's "Lines You Amend." My final original achieved an enthusiastic response from the girl who had played before me, and as she was leaving she told me about a "really good" open mic on Sundays at a place on Avenue C. I was encouraged by this and figured I'd follow the white rabbit to success.

I showed up to the place on Avenue C that Sunday with another new song and my guitar looking like this:

I probably should have heeded the omens when several times that day I stepped out into suddenly pouring rain that stopped as I was going inside, only to start up again upon my exit. The water leaked through my gig bag and wreaked some havoc on my decorations, and I had to hastily repair them at the venue. I got there halfway through the 4 hour event and signed up. H and Mr. former XS were already there. The music was considerably less adventurous than I had been hoping, and though I worried about the increasing volume of XS's derisive comments, my id felt some satisfaction that they were being said by someone. Then again, the sleepy country stuff being played by many performers was a fine contrast to what I had prepared, and that's always a good thing.

As time wore on we all grew weary, especially so when they had their 'featured performer,' a half-hour set in the middle of the open mic that is not announced as anything special. I was also confused at the parade of names that seemed to bear almost no correspondence at all to the signup list. As it got dangerously near the end of the event, a guy who was obviously a veteran started talking to someone else behind us about the MC. He said he tended to favor nice-looking girls when choosing the playing order. I suppose this shouldn't come as a surprise, but I think if anywhere, at the open mic level we should be able to avoid this. The veteran's comment seemed to be verified when a girl whose name I had seen directly after mine on the list got called up. The veteran also spent some time hassling the MC into letting him get a set in. He eventually relented, and at that point, at right about the time the open mic was supposed to end, the MC came up to me to tell me he had no time for me. He was purposeful in not apologizing, but recommended I come early next time and let him know I'd been here, and he'd get me in. The strange thing was that the entire time he talked, he was counting a wad of money, holding it inches from my face. For a moment I must admit I entertained the bizarre thought that he was going to pay me for my trouble. Well thanks for the advice, I thought, but I'll go back to Keenan's.

After another week I realized it wasn't the look of my guitar I had gotten tired of but the sound. It was always one strum after another at these things, to the point where the mere sight of a guitar coming out caused me to sort of tune out and give up hope of hearing anything truly new. I figured the other patrons at Keenan's just might be having similar feelings. So this past Monday, I got out my old friend the 7 Dollar Keyboard, which I've had since high school and the Honest Ben Jonson days. It's about 16 inches wide and has a few tiny octaves, 8 sounds, some drum beats, and a microphone input. I've recorded with it a few times and slammed it into other instruments many times during performances. It still works, but its internal speaker seems to be blown, and its tuning sometimes changes erratically. It also makes a random sound every time you turn it on, which is awesome. I wrote two nice and simple songs on it and brought it in, by far the easiest performance transportation experience I've ever made for myself. Orville Davis, the MC at Keenan's who is a real cowboy and sings some nice country songs, was baffled when he saw it. I ended up following a Navy man reading poems so the contrast from the acoustic guitars was a bit dulled, but I think the weirdness of the songs made up for that. Peter's review:

"It was really good man. But I think you lost just about EVERYONE in here."