06 September, 2008

Of open mics and amateur musicians.


Few things are as cringe-inducing as open mic nights at your local coffeeshop. Admittedly, a small part of me enjoys the trebly, off-pitch warble of your local 'up-and-coming' bedroom musician in a mascicistic (and slightly empathetic) sort of way.

I took the above picture a moment ago of this evening's schmuck with a guitar. I've gotta say, these types attract a full house of weirdos. Most of the songs are nothing more than some poorly-written lyrics over three or four barre chords, with a completely predictable bridge or chorus thrown in. Every once in a while, you hear one start out with some potential, only for the singer to open his mouth and exclaim, "I only knew you onnnnce, Melissa. 3 AM and my eyes are droooopy..." Apparently, the fellow onstage is good friends with a guy who recorded with a rising star who opened once for Robert Plant. THAT'S street-cred. Unfortunately, street-cred doesn't keep your guitar in tune or your voice on key.

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