open mic
I was trying to figure out who it was that his mode of speech reminded me of, but i was drawing a blank. He forged ahead about going down to talk to the ASCAP guy.Waiting in line to do your slot can be a good way to bore yourself to death. It's moms who want to rock, country boys with old ass guitars and no talent, and some people who read their poems about taking a shit.
It takes all kinds, but I had nothing better to do.
I fought down an urge to tell the guy I was talking to that I played the harpsichord. I have no idea why I wanted to tell him that.
Thank god, Joel Tuttle's slot was up. He put his guitar on and plinked at it for a few minutes.
"I'm gonna play you some new songs!" he said. "Takes me about a week to write them, you know. I write the poems first. This is a poem I wrote, and then put it to music. The words are for the music." Plinka plinka went the guitar.
I roared from the back "YEAH JOEL", and clapped as hard as I could.
Joel shuddered into his first song like an engine just catching. He sputtered and sparked and got rolling there on stage for us, his hands and arms shaking. He really was incredible.
Joel was singing about having to slow down for slow right turns. His song eventually ended and he went plinka plinka on the guitar some more.
"Cause you have to slow DOWN!" he said. "For the TURNS!". I howled with laughter, and shouted encouragement.
Finally his set was over and I went to tell him that it was great hearing him. He thanked me.
I went outside to read until my slot came up, and a girl and some other guy came out right after me. "HEY YA MIND IF WE SIT HERE?" her red lips shouted.
"No." I told her.
"WHAT DO YOU PLAY?" she asked.
"The harpsichord"
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