Rural Alabama

Songwriter's Open Mic Night

Wednesday (last) night, I walked, unburdened by a guitar, to Serda's, as their Songwriter's Open Mic Night, was beginning.

There were a lot of people there, several performers, many of which seemed to know each other.

I was greeted by one kid, who recognized me.

The crowd was young, seemed to be cut from the same fabric, and most had devices for recording music and video. They were using them to document their friend's performances and, as in the past, were ignoring the other artists, for the most part.

But, not to think this "sour grapes" from me, I welcome the challenge to entertain so well that they will want to turn their devices on and record the performance, then put it on U-Tube.

I haven't seen this come to fruition yet, but have had at least one offer to do so, a few weeks ago.

The MC asked me if I was going to play, and offered to let me use his guitar, after I had told him that mine was stolen, and he had said "That sucks."

The performers before me were bizzare and interesting, and seemed as if their music had been spawned way out in the country, where there were not many other influences to rub off upon it.

They were musically proficient, but, the one's who were more skilled on the instrument were generally less inspired lyrically; the one's with the better lyrics just strummed simple accompaniment, in general.

I had to keep telling myself: "Don't judge them, they probably think you're just as weird," as I watched and listened. One very short guy, actually introduced one of his songs, and then added "...and it's cute," before playing a number which left me at a loss to find any "cuteness" in. He asked the audience, a great portion of which were his friends, how his hair looked, before starting. He seemed half serious in his inquiry.

Performance Marred By Lack Of Warming Up

Having not played all day, and using a pretty unfamiliar guitar, I was not very comfortable; pretty rusty. I usually play for a couple hours on the street before doing the Serda's gig.

In the back of my mind was an awareness that I was playing for some strange people from the hills of rural Alabama, and had trouble deciding which songs might appeal to the 25 or so, of them, how to do them, and should I tell them that the songs were good, before launching into them.

I was glad that nobody who had been there in weeks past requested "Hubert's Trip," or "The Carcass song," and I was able to give them each a well needed rest.

I hadn't really worked on anything, not having an instrument, and wound up doing "My Favorite Horse," after telling the story about how it was composed for a guitar missing a string.

I then did "Crazy About A Crazy Girl," and was informed by the MC, after I finished it, that there were still several more performers on queve, and to do one more song, a good one.

I did "You Must Be Getting What You Want," the song about Karrie, and how she hasn't bothered to find these 12 weeks that I've been in Mobile.

I was a moderate success. I wasn't really in my element, wanting to keep it simple, for not being warmed up, but wanting to play something kind of fancy, in order to self-promote, because one never knows when opportunity will knock, and one might be invited to join a hillbilly band in rural Alabama.

After the event, I slept at the church spot, next to the two guys who are afraid of being attacked during the night.

This morning, I had just coffee and gave my food to one of the guys who is afraid of being attacked, and thus, continued my juice diet, which I began yesterday. I have only had a handful of peanuts, and three bananas, the past two days, but, a lot of grape juice. I feel great, and the stiffness in my joints has subsided.

Just A Backpack

I feel strange, walking around without a guitar on my back. Fewer people say hello to me, because now I represent a simple homeless man, and not a poor guy struggling to make a living playing music. There is a big difference to some, and I am looked at "askance" more often now, as I sport just a backpack.

I still walk with my head up (like my favorite horse) because I know I am still a musician.

Guitar Still Not Found

Support from several homeless

I have gotten a lot of support from other street people. Not all are spitefull nor glory in the misfortunes of others. There are some who certainly resented me being able to make money playing songs, as if it called attention to their lack of ability to so the same. These do not make up the majority, I am finding out, to my mild surprise. There are many who despise people who would steal from other homeless.

It occured to me that the eyes and ears of all the homeless might be a more effective dragnet than any that the Mobile Police might muster.

The guitar might still be found. It will probably be in the hands of someone who bought it from someone else, perhaps for "peanuts."

A Lead

Someone told me, over coffee this morning, that "a new guy" was seen playing a guitar in front of a certain "peanut" store, one who reportedly could hardly play, and was fussing with the strings.

This someone didn't get a detailed description of this supposed guitar which this supposed 'new" guy supposedly had, but, my guitar was stolen after I had tuned it to the unorthodox "open G" tuning, which I had been working on. This would explain a novice player's bewilderment over the relationships between the strings, and cause him to sit in front of a peanut store and fuss with them.