open mic odyssey
bry-bry and pow-pow hit nyc twice in one week.
monday in review: july 27 1998
today it was a return trip to that notorious east village open mic, the anti-hoot with lach at the fort/sidewalk cafe. cruised down 87 with mr. premiere power pop john powhida of the staziaks. we met up with his guitarist chris piefer and my ol' high school buddy chris cecot once down there.
john had luck on his side and drew an 8; i didn't and drew 21, which actually isn't bad considering there were damn near 40 people waiting to play.
bummer moment: john dropped his guitar on the way to the stage and busted a tuning peg. it was bt to the rescue with his trusty godin: john-john took it all in stride and used the 'nervous energy' to fuel a smokin' 'delilah' that drew cheers from the very first line ('she was a part-time dreamer and a full-time contortionist from jackson mississippi where the water flows like turpentine...' in that perfectly princely falsetto - how could it not?) he busted out with 'the mystic,' left the stage to much applause, and was promptly asked to return and return soon by the lach himself.
time passes. a lot of time. a long long long ass time.
admittedly, by the time i get up there, i'm frazzled. the quasi-fictional '21' slot somehow became more like '31,' the smoke was getting to my throat, the day was catchin' up with me. lach admires my boots while i'm soundchecking, but i'm too tired to comment, hoping i don't come off as aloof. i just want to get through my songs and get outta there.
bring in the quiet funk.
'girl ya betta sit down/i gots something to confess... i likes yo mama.' lach laughs loudest. i heave a sigh while the guitar kix more of the funk. 'mama' goes over well.
while they're still applauding, i whisper, ' i need to do a cover, y'all, to wake myself up for the long drive home.'
launch into hendrix's 'fire' - kicking the spoken word in the middle ('don't forget fingers linger spider tiptoe tap dance michael flatley upon your thighs let me lick your flame...'). i finish up, lach announces that it's criminal that he wasn't able to find me a slot until october, and gives me a date: friday, august 7 @ 8:30 p.m.
so come two weeks, it's the first official noo yawk gig. cool.
so on to boston.
toozday in review: july 28, 1998
did i hear right? one song? six hours of driving for one song?
they neglected to mention that on the club passim web site.
it's funny: john and i last nite were saying how tough it is to pick two songs for a set.
'it'd be easier to pick one song than two,' i said.
it's amazing how quickly a self-curse like that will kick in.
what the hell do i play? should i go with funny ('mama')? jazzy and quasi-poetic and quasi-dirty ('sundays')? somethin' more tangible - a cover, perhaps ( i was thinkin' 'watchtower')? somethin in the singer-songwriter vein (i was thinkin' 'so')?
at least i drew a good number: took the stage as number 9 of 45 people waiting to play. went with 'sundays': it went over well. i'll be back in september anyway - so i like to think of it as a two song set with a really long pause in between.
an aside: the poet who followed me was the bomb diggity. sorry i didn't get a chance to let her know how much i enjoyed her groove. (osborne?)
was outta there by ten. it started catching up with me on the drive home - caffeine hallucinations on the highway.
tomorrow, new york again. this time by train. kj, here i come.
wenzday in review: july 29, 1998
nice room, this groove. the former visiones. in the heart of the village. right around the way from washington park. right up the block from the blue note.
not an open mic, per se, as kj made clear from the beginning. 'it's a fascist open mic, and i'm the dictator.' that means invite only, which kinda sucked for mr. powhida, who took advantage of the day off to meet me down there in hopes that it was an open mic. oh well.
kj's band kicked it all off. from the wings, i fantasized aloud to mr. powhida about having a band with her guitarist diane white (smokin'!) and lori friday of super 400 fame on bass (groovin'!).
'then maybe i could get that escovedo woman to play drums, whaddya think?'
john, too, was impressed by diane's isley-esque vibe.
kj calls me up, and i'm short and sweet: 'sundays' is the first, a good, introductory groove. it's become the de facto sum-up-everything-ya-do-in-three-verses-or-less tune. the distillation of all that is bry-bry. hmmmmm...
so then, 'this is a song about motherly love. a beautiful thing. sweet.'
so of course, i kick into 'mama'. distracted a bit: i've gotten used to the open mic thang, the undivided attention thang, so the noise from the bar throws me a bit. no matter. i hear laughter. somebody's listening.
tag team. i'm out. kj gives me a nice send-off: 'i want to try to have him as the big feature here soon,' she says, but alas, soto voce she tells me later that she ain't too sure how much longer she'll be hosting this wenzday nite thang. 'it's a lot of work,' she says.
psyched to check out von em again (auntie em... auntie em). damn good grooves. makes me hungry to see 'em with the full band.
props to the crew for showin' up: john, chris and chris - and sooper special props to my new buddy jennifer for keeping me company and cracking me up. (i told you not to expect too much from the tape, didn't i? and when do i get to hear your stuff? keep in touch...)
all in all, a good room and a good nite.
just one observation:
seven brothas in the room, how much head hair on 'em? not a one. not a ONE! all of 'em cueballs. damn! (present peeps included, donchyaknow...)
tomorrow nite: kimmy's thang @ valentine's, and this bald negro can't wait.