Reflections on an Open Mic Night

There are a few regulars at West End's Open Mic night, but every week there are some new performers. Some are actually quite gifted, a real treat to listen to... which, by process of elimination, leaves those other ones. It is musical Russian Roulette for the audience, but that's the nature of the beast in the fast-paced world of Open Mic.

There were two performers who stood out. Not that either was particularly good, nor particularly bad; instead, they inspired some contemplation, because let's face it, sometimes acoustic emo-guitar is better as a soundtrack than as a main-event.

Tone-Deaf Guy was tone-deaf, or at least close to it. His singing varied from out-of-key to atonal. He took longer to tune his guitar than anyone else that night, and it was still cringe-inducing when he gave up.

But here's the thing... Tone-Deaf Guy knows music. His technique was pretty good, and his repertoire was eclectic enough that his taste was surely honed, rather than dictated by the Billboard Top 40. When he forgot how a Belle and Sebastian song ended, he said "oh no, I forget how this ends", then improvised a conclusion that belied his knowledge of music theory. Tone-Deaf Guy knows music.

I feel so sorry for Tone-Deaf Guy. To love something that much, but to be genetically predisposed to sucking at it... that's got to be tough. Immensely tough.

Also, there was a guy I like to call The Twitcher. He was twitchy - not Tourette's twitchy, but nervous. Watching him interact with people before he performed was like watching Cosmo Kramer. That wasn't a simile, but an allusion. Okay.

When The Twitcher played guitar, though, the twitchiness went away. His arms were controlled, his facial expressions varied less frequently, his whole demeanor was just smoother. I could speculate as to the neurological basis of this change, but that would just be guesswork. Instead, let me just say: watching this twitchy guy get serene for 10 solid minutes was a real pleasure. Music is a wonderful thing.