I arrive at 4 pm for the Hootenanny at Logan’s Pub (Sundays, 4 to 8 pm). It’s packed with young people. The host arrives for a mic check and gets rolling at 4:45 with her warm-up of six tunes followed by three more for each band member. So the band hogs the first two hours, then opens it up to the remaining eight people placed at the bottom of their sign-up list. I’m not impressed, plus I can’t make out any lyrics of the performers, who seem to be a sideshow for each other and their friends at tables near the stage, while people in the main room and the adjoining room carry on as though nothing is happening. The performers are good, but I find the audience rude. Open mics can be an unpredictable uphill battle. Outside a heavy snow falls.
I bus over to the Kitchen Party Jam at Christie’s Carriage House Pub (Sundays, 7 to 10 pm). From the lobby I hear a guitar and one high voice. I don’t hear the room of attentive people around the corner. The host sees my pack: “What’s in there?” “Trumpet.” “Wanna play?” “Prob’ly not. I’m out of practice. No chops, but can I tell a story?” “Sure.” Two of the crowd here don’t have grey hair. Like Logan’s, there’s also an adjoining room here, but it’s no distraction from a cute country duo, then a folk singer and a ’70s rock band who just rolled in from playing the open mic at The Loft Pub. My turn. I tell a story about busking in the London Underground, which goes over well, even though I blow the punchline. I’ll do better next time. Open mic is about ironing out kinks. Or else I’ll do what my hero, Leonard Cohen, did at open mics: only perform what is perfectly ready, then split, leaving them wanting more.
Next I hear an Indigo Girls song, “Closer to Fine.” A guy on piano covers Elton John’s “Rocket Man.” Exquisite. Okay, maybe it’s more than just acoustics. What was happening back at the Hootenanny? Perhaps rookies dealing with stage fright prefer not to be noticed and veterans are more comfortable. It’s all relative. Forty years ago, if I stepped into a room of geezers playing schmaltzy tunes from the 1930s, I’d do a 180 and head for a bar like Logan’s, where I’d hear people my age struggling to cover these songs I hear today at the Kitchen Party Jam.
On Tuesday, I check out the Unplugged Open Mic at Gorge-ous Coffee (Tuesdays, 6:30 to 9:30pm). The place is a cafe with 10 tables and 25 seats, all taken, and simple rules: “No microphone, acoustic. Each performer gets three songs.” That seems to be the standard stage time allotted at open mics. Nicole goes to UVic and plays original tunes. She’s quiet, shy, and struggles to find the chords, but offers up a voice that rings clear, true, timid, fragile, and vulnerable. She almost cries. She sings too quiet, so on the second song a friend backs her up with harmonies.
Musicians need a place to play before an audience. These are not people pretending to be rock stars, professionals who’ve chosen to make a career of music. They’re truck drivers, students, a couple of professors on a break from the Kingston snow, people with day jobs who’ve sometimes been playing music all their lives. Sometimes it’s their first time on stage. Open mics are for people who want to share their passion—music—with someone other than a neighbour on the other side of a wall. Don’t expect sounds from iTunes. This will be raw and human with glitches. “Original, magical, beautiful,” as the host at Gorge-ous Coffee says.
Two days later I’m at the Open Mic at the Spiral Cafe (Thursdays, 6 to 9 pm). It’s a full house of 30 seats and a few people standing. “Only two songs here, and only one if it’s long. 15 have signed up already, so the list is full and we might have to go late.” Apparently, this open mic is one of the oldest in town. Even though it’s way over in Vic West, it’s worth the trip (the number 14 bus goes direct from Camosun to the Spiral Café).
“Hi. I’m Max. I’m seven years old. This is my Dad. He’s 44. I like to do songs about interesting characters. This one is called ‘Old Joe Clark.’” Max plays fiddle; his dad plays banjo. And they’re great. Max doesn’t miss a beat. Dad doesn’t either.
People come here to show off. All the acts are polished. Several pianists, drummers, and guitarists play back-up at all the open mics. If you want to do that, you better be good. Get some songs together. Plan some banter. Connect with the audience. If you want to make open mics your scene, play a good hour a day at home. If you’re versatile, you can sit in with anyone. Get unwired.