One major event I forgot to mention in my previous post about the people I encounter at Hartford is one of much significance: Friday’s Open Mic Night. A night filled with 60s-80s folk and pop songs performed by people who should never, ever sing in public and really awful poetry.

Some of you may have read tweets about musical performances at Hartford here, or here, or here, maybe here or finally here. Let’s start with that last tweet #coheedkid.

#coheedkid’s story it pretty simple really. He’s a 16 or 17 year old kid who is a very decent guitarist and really likes progressive/rock emo bands like Coheed and Cambria or the Fall of Troy, etc. Every week him and his chain smoking, refillable coffee and soda drinking friends will swarm upon our patio and remain there all evening. About 4 to 5pm, after school now that it has started again, they show up and are in and out of the shop all night. There numbers have steadily grown since August, them and their goth clothes & the girls with their Hot Topic skirts with the Misfits logo on it without a clue where it originally came from or any idea who Glenn Danzig is.

Whatever. They’re just kids. Now, #coheedkid is nice and polite and always asks if he can take our house acoustic guitar out to the patio to play for the evening. We always obliged, and appreciate his asking. Once Open Mic Night starts, he signs up somewhere in the middle of the evening and plays two songs. They’re usually both some progressive/rock emo song by Coheed and Cambria. That is to say, the kid can rip it on guitar, usually making a mistake or two, but when he tries to play AND SING at the same time, he usually guffs it up significantly. So each week, towards the middle of the set, I have two, poorly performed 7-minute songs to look forward to. But God bless ‘em for getting up there and doing it. Everyone’s terrible before they’re good.

#coheedkid’s not even the worst part. I’d be very happy to listen to him try to play those songs all night than have to listen to a few people who read poetry during the evening. Supposedly, all it takes to be a poet is the ability to rhyme if you based it solely on the crap I’ve heard. Aren’t you aware the poetry can be about more than your relationship problems or frustrated rantings? People don’t clap after your performance because it was good, they’re just happy the poem is over.

A brief aside about the sound system. Two mics, on mic stands, into a Crate acoustic amp. Awesome.