I never went to an open-mic while living in California. While there was a regular one down the street, it seemed too kitchy to show up with a ukulele and assortment of novelty songs. But having received an invitation, and as I've been looking for fun, purpose, and friends in Italy -- I decided to go!
Part I: Others
I greeted my friend on the street and met some people:
"I just got a ukulele too!"
"I play guitar, is that similar?"
"I don't really play, but your ukulele looks cool!"
"Is that the same as a mandolin?"
"Here's my business card. I hate boring classical and folk music, but sing my own rock songs with my guitarlele*!"
*The Yamaha guitarlele is a well-intentioned, whimsical cross between a ukulele and a guitar. While fun to noodle on, they typically lack both the bass of a good guitar and the treble clarity of a good ukulele. Fortunately most are lacking amplification, so players can usually just annoy others in the same immediate area.
Entering the bar, I bought a beer and settled in to be supportive. Some of the folks were pretty decent. I sipped some beer and enjoyed some Portuguese songs crooned by an older Italian gentleman as he strummed an inaudible guitar, accompanied indifferently by a too-loud electric bass and a cajon*.
*a box that one sits on and beats with hands and feet.
I imbibed more beer and endured a balding, rotund intellectual whisper his Italian poetry somewhere near a microphone, accompanied by the booming electric bass and excited cajon.
I guzzled more beer and listened to a very pretty Brazilian girl screech and teach herself to play guitar, all at once, all while being drowned out by the off-key electric bass and frenetic cajon.
As the guitarlele rocker commenced her lengthy set-up process, the bassist and drummer decided to take a well-earned smoke break. And during her second, um, song...as I noticed that the rest of the patrons had also left for a smoke, I ran out of beer.
I thought to myself -- it's 11:30, I could probably drink another before biking home. But as she continued into her third song, I realized that beer alone couldn't keep a supportive smile on my face. I stepped out also. My friend congratulated me on my endurance.
"Usually I stay for one of her songs. If she sings two, I go for a cigarette. If she sings three, I switch to cannabis!"
Seriously -- playing an instrument that society devalues does not entitle you to not practice, not listen to yourself, or not to take a hint. I'm sure that this applies to me as well, but...oh my lord...
Part II: Me?
There was no formal host, sign-up sheet, or list of guidelines, but I'd let it be known that I wanted to play. I figured that surviving the bass-less cacophony qualified me for sainthood, or at least a spot in line. My dream came true around midnight.
As the bar keep kicked us "musicians" downstairs to the basement, I got asked to play!
You know how in some meetings, the organizer will say, "No laptops or cell phones, please!" I wish I'd done the same:
"Let me just do one by myself..."
But I didn't want to offend, and probably couldn't say it right in Italian anyhow, so I let it go. This wa not smart. As I began my first song, I had a terrible feeling that my playing was totally off. All I could hear were wrong notes. As this isn't surprising with ukulele players in general or me in particular, I was mortified, but I sort of expected it... Here I was, in the room full of my future musician best-friends, and I was terrible!
I think I realized towards the end of my song that the notes I played had nothing to do with the notes that came out of the amp. As I prepared a second song, I quizzically looked around the room and spotted a creative guy who'd plugged in what looked like a homemade, fretless, cigar-box, 3-string dulcimer.
"What is that?" I asked, hoping he'd get the hint and stop. I didn't even ask it as "What IS that!?"
"I don't know, somebody handed it to me!"
Ah.
I think he got the message, as my second song was only additionally butchered by bass and cajon!
I stayed for a bit after I finished, but as I received a goodnight text from my fiancée, I decided to call it a night.
WTF, open-mic night!
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