Open mic: closed for business?

There is a stage, all but empty save for the microphone in a pool of harsh light, the tinkle of glasses, the flick of a cigarette lighter, smoke swirling around the room, pointing the way for the next participant. And the next name is yours.

There are two things wrong with this picture: 1) you cannot smoke inside anywhere anymore, and 2) this is not what an open mic night is like.

Though the name “open mic” still evokes certain images, the reality of the events, especially in Portland, are quite underwhelming.

“[Open Mics] are a chance to get your music (or spoken word) heard, to get feedback, meet others in the music community,” says Sandra Kremers, who puts on an open mic at the Twin Paradox Coffeehouse. “Open mics are used to develop style in front of a live audience or just overcome stage fright.”

This is the sentiment shared by many on open mics, but it is also the frustration of many open mic goers.

Sitting in dark upstairs of The Buffalo Gap Saloon, it is evident who turns out for open mic nights: those that are bar regulars, the ones whose chairs bear the permanent imprint of the person’s bum and those people that come just to watch their friends or family perform.

“Absolutely, the idea of open mics have been romanticized,” says Matthew Roley, booking manager at the Buffalo Gap. “There are many legends of discoveries at open mics, Faith Hill for example.”

The idea of open mics has been romanticized ever since the ’60s and ’70s with places like the Café Wha? in New York, with the beat poets and the Bob Dylans and the Joan Baezs.

There is a here-and-now moment to open mics that makes all the lore that much more palpable. And makes those singer-songwriters keep coming back.

The trouble is, with the advent of MySpace and other online posting sites, people can get their music out there to people they will never even meet in less than five seconds. It is the ultimate open mic, because musicians are playing in front of billions of people at any given moment.

This could be a large part of why almost every band in Portland that the Vanguard contacted had never played an open mic night. You could easily throw a stone and probably hit three musicians at any given location in Portland. They’re that prevalent. But no one does open mics. Since so many are in a band or know people in a band, it is easier just to ask a friend and play with them. Gotta get paid.

“People who play open mics are people who want to participate and share,” says Nichole Cathcart, who helps run an open mic at JavaRama coffee shop on MLK. “These are qualities I feel are falling by the way side as people scramble to make a living in these hard times; our sense of fun, creativity, play. Open mic people are idealists.”

The open mic has evolved or devolved into a neighborhood hangout, with just as many of the events at coffee shops as at bars.

“We had neighbor kids do a ballet dance once,” says Kremers. “It’s mostly singer-songwriters on guitar or piano. One of our regulars for the last three years got a record contract and is only 14!”

Whether it be 14-year-old girls with record contracts, that guy who’s skinny as a rail with the pencil-thin mustache who plays banjo Fleetwood Mack covers, the crazy woman from the woods that has trained squirrels to sing “Baby Got Back” in four-part harmony or just your shy, brooding singer-songwriter, there will always be a need for open mics.

“About two months ago a guy got up and said he wasn’t going to sing,” says Kremers. “He was a storyteller. Everyone kind of groaned. He read and had everyone mesmerized and got huge applause when he finished. No one wanted him to stop.”

Open mic nights are like Christmas presents: Sometimes you get something crappy from your Aunt Flo and sometimes you stumble onto something that is so exciting that you can’t help but become inspired.