Open Mic Night...

Being a newbie to the Hartford area, I was interested in what kind of music scene existed around town. I've played music for 3/4ths of my life and love hearing local bands in little hole-in-the-wall bars and clubs. Saint Patrick's day seemed like a good night to head to a downtown venue to catch "Open Mic Night" at a cool, little blues/BBQ venue called Black Eyed Sally's. I'm not sure why you would name a place that seems to promote domestic violence, but I didn't see any women with black eyes nor anyone with a "Sally" name tag.

I'm not Irish, but I would guess that Ireland must have been so inundated with snakes that it was worthwhile for Patrick to rid the place of these reptiles and allow the citizens to drink heavily. Were snakes drinking all the beer and whiskey and that's why Patrick's miracle is still celebrated today? I guess I'll have to Google it later, but for now, I'm going with "snakes drake all the beer and they had to get rid of them."

I digress...

Most Open Mic Nights (OMN) I've been to feature local musicians who have varying degrees of talent. Some are veterans of the music scene and some are younguns trying to impress the other musicians. This OMN was no different. As a matter of fact, it was fairly predictable. The "house" band warmed the crowd up with a few tightly played blues tunes and then one of the members called up the first group to perform. Being a drummer myself, it's pretty easy to read the body language of another drummer who's about to play. Before the house band drummer could get off his stool, the next drummer they called up jumps up on stage and starts moving around like he's about to run the 100 meter. He's stretching, loosening up his legs and arms and swinging his head around. I'm guessing this will help him avoid any cramping that might occur. But it's more of a pretext to what's about to be played. Or better yet, "how" it's about to be played.

The keyboard player from the house band remained on stage to play with the first group of Open Mic'ers. He obviously had previously played with this new drummer because he quickly starts barking orders for him to keep the volume down and not to rush things. He might as well be telling Barbaro to jog around the track the first half a mile at the Kentucky Derby. After one of the guest guitarists gave the tempo, it was off to the races and the entire band struggled to keep up. At this point, the house band drummer walks nonchalantly in front of the stage and gives the universal signal for "slow down, dude." I'll give the drummer this much...the guy had some chops, but he had absolutely no meter. Translation: he could play some complicated licks, but couldn't keep a steady tempo.

(Know how to get a drummer off your front porch? Pay him for the pizza.)

There's only one thing worse than a drummer with no meter...a bass player who doesn't know what a 1, 4, 5 blues progression is. I'm not even a bass player - although I can strum a guitar - but I do know that if you can't play a simple blues progression, you probably need to spend a little more time practicing at home in your man cave than at an OMN. The bass and drums are the foundation of the rhythm section of any band. If either one of them suck, the WHOLE band sucks. I don't care if your guitarist could make Steve Vai sound like a hack. If the rhythm section isn't tight, it's just not going to sound very good.

(Know what you call a bass player who just broke up with his girlfried? Homeless.)

When I was a kid, I loved to dance. I even won a dance contest when I was in 7th or 8th grade. But after playing in different bands for a few decades and watching how drunk people dance (especially white, drunk people), I decided a long time ago that I don't like dancing. Obviously, not everyone subscribes to my school of thought on dancing and that's fine with me. The over-40 crowd who dominated OMN this particular night could have made a great advertisement for Viagra or Cialis. Not only does it help those who suffer from ED, but it also seems to help those who can't dance, but do it anyway. I was entertained by an older couple in their 60s who jumped onto the dance floor and danced like they each had their own pole they were humping. This scene was just another reminder of why I don't dance.

After waiting nearly three hours to get the opportunity to play drums with whatever misfits they stuck me with, I decided it was late and I would exceed my self-allotment of beverages if I stayed any longer. I went up to the guy in charge of OMN and told him to take me off the list because I was leaving. He said I was going to be next and to stick around five more minutes. Right after he said this, the band broke into a bluesy version of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida". I said, "No, thanks," and left.

I'm not sure if I'll attend another OMN, but it was nice to get out of the house for an evening of making fun of others. Because we all know that just makes us feel better about ourselves.