OK, I have to confess that I despise the taste of coffee. Even if you chock it full of special flavor combinations, give it fancy names and charge $4.00 per cup, it’s still coffee. However, I do like the atmosphere of the new breed of coffee houses and some traditional, local bars as well. Reminiscent of the beatnik age, many have added acoustic music, art and poetry to make for an enjoyable evening. Thankfully, most establishments, even the haven of the bean Starbucks, have also added some teas to their menu so freakish outcasts such as myself can take part in the scene.
It could just be the years of standing and sweating in crowded, loud nightclubs; uninspired by the onslaught of visionless bands vying for that big break that has led me to this world. Or perhaps the same thing that led me to those clubs in the first place has led me here. I’m always seeking new forms of independent creative expression. While I was able to find that in a few local bands, the chances of being inspired or enlightened has become slim. There is an unending supply of shitty bands out there and my tolerance for waiting through hours and hours of torture to hear 30 minutes of brilliance has withered away.
My longing to be impressed has led me to these small, open-minded spaces that allow folks to stand up and be brilliant. Even in their failure, they are brilliant. To stand naked and express your innermost thoughts without a safety net is all I’ve ever sought in performers. Don’t try to impress me with the breadth of your vocabulary or the speed of your fingers. Let me hear the fear in your voice and let me feel the dread in your hands as you expose yourself to the world.
