We are also looking for a space to host future live shows and house parties other than my grandma's livingroom. If you know of one of these places, like, oh, an abandoned office in midtown, send Ken a little note.
Every Tuesday there's a poetry open mike sort of thing at a local coffee shop, and the last Tuesday of every month it's a musical poetry open mike where a bass player accompanies the poets and singer/songwriters are also welcome. I've been a few times, and it's always been interesting and fun. (The first time I met a tall transsexual woman who I think might be named Genevieve (unless I'm thinking of someone else) who then subsequently came to my knitting group a few times.)
One nice thing about it from my perspective is that in general the people there are poets first and, at most, musicians second, so I have the unfamiliar sensation of being the best musician in the room. As such the audience is extra appreciative.
I decided I was in the mood to do a song I didn't write for once, so I got up to the mike and said, "I've played here a couple of times before, and both times I did original stuff, but if it's OK I'd like to do a song by Andy Breckman." A couple of people in the crowd cheered, and Genevieve (if that's her name) shouted out, "Railroad Bill?"
Railroad Bill it was. I thought that crowd would like it because it's about writing, more or less, and man was I right -- people laughed themselves silly. All praise to Andy Breckman!
After I did my song Genevieve came over to tell me that she enjoyed my performance of the song and said that she knew Andy when he was still a struggling folkie in New York -- it turns out that she used to be a bouncer at the (I think she said) Folk Palace where he used to play. We talked a little about his music, agreeing that his songs are clever and funny, and then the next act went up and the conversation ended.
And that's about where the story ends, too. Well, anyway.
