Open Mic 10th Anniversary- Nice 'n Sleazies

A friend popped up for an impromptu visit while I was sorting through nakedchicksonpostitnotes Post-It notes so I didn’t manage to get down to the venue until after 10.00. I assured my friend there would be cake and he came too despite his misgivings having apparently done about “400 shifts” at the open mic when he worked there.

We make our way straight downstairs and I make out Paul Kelly, Tom Snowball and Jim McAteer among a younger generation of as yet unnamed open mic participants. Gilly Baby is there too but I give her the brush off as I want to make sure my companion is safe in hostile territory. Me Paul and Yossi manage to grab a cracking table in the middle and I focus on the entertainment.

A young pale lassie with a high voice is singing a famous song I cannae remember but I keep getting a fright every time she starts singing cause it’s a bit loud and I’m glad I don’t suffer from Migraine.

Now there’s two chaps up on stage singing about bestiality and how they would do any type of animal. I think it’s not a cover. The chorus declares their love for “a spider in a thong” and it’s all a bit of a musical gala performance.

Up next is Tom Snowball, Andrea and Iain Moye doing a song I aint heard before. Yossi comments that Tom can’t sing but I give him a what are you crazy look and he tells me he sounds like he needs a packet of tunes. Turns out I’ve brought along Sheffield’s answer to Simon Cowell. I tell him this and he just smirks in a Cowellesque manor. I then start mimicking Peter Serafinowicz’ “You’re a cunt” impression of Simon Cowell but I don’t think anyone else has seen it.

Poor wee Paul Kelly has a sore throat form over jamming and we hoarsely discuss his up and coming kinks tribute. Apparently I’m the only person wot’s showed any definite intention of going. There’s a biker type guy up on stage with a harmonica, belting out some blues then giving a few lines singing. I preferred the harmonica playing to the singing. Yossi continues his critiques in my ear and I ask him why he’s not wearing his trousers up to his ribcage.

Paul Kelly up next proclaiming he is going to perform the first song he ever did at the open mic way back in 1999 when he was 18. Darren Hayman’s “Mary Lee”. He does great despite his sore throat and gives the song his own Kelly brand. He comes back and I tell him his throat gravel made him sound like John Lennon.

A guy called “young” Tom is up next and after a tentative few opening lines his voice relaxes into a beautiful and warm effort. Yossi says you shouldn’t sing Van Morrison if you don’t sound like him. I didn’t know it was a Van Morrison song (apparently it was Domino and one of his more famous ones) and I thought the guy sounded lovely.

Brown-haired girl up next with a pretty Scottish/American style voice. Yossi’s jaw drops at one point “did she just sing do do do?” I tell him it’s not a crime but his face says otherwise. Note to self: don’t bring cynical old men to open mic nights. Last time I took my ex-chugger boy to Sleazies every time a slow sad song came on he would mimic slitting his wrists. Tsk. No respect.

Can I just say at this point that no-one has offered me a piece of cake but the beer is flowing nicely and then I get me and Paul a couple of Glayvas. His for his sore throat, mine for my addiction. He pours coke in his. Yossi’s draw drops again. I turn my head away and try to think happy thoughts.

Wee Craig is up next. The guy got a fine voice and tends to choose radiohead warbling songs. His attempts to be touching this time isn’t quite cutting it with me. Yossi mumbles something about “shite radiohead”.

Big curly headed guy up next singing a love song. He looks just like the guy who thinks he’s a pirate in Dodgeball. I find his sang quite haunting at points in a maybe I’m just getting a bit drunk way.

Someone maybe called Don is up next with a song called “Cynical Girl”. Hey I have a fan! I quip, “well you know I like you but it’ll never work”.

I can’t mentally envisage who was up next but I’ve scribbled “shite-haired fuck spaz music” in the flyer I’m using for a note pad.

Another lady up next introducing herself as a former music student sings “Mr Manipulator” she’s got an alright voice but she’s playing an annoying repetitive twang thing on guitar. Yossi suggests ambulance but I pinpoint it to car alarm but realise later it’s more accurately my radio alarm clock blare.

Andrea gets up again and plays some small stringed instrument or maybe it just sounds like a ukulele or maybe I’m hallucinating. She finishes with a query to the audience as wether the host of the venue, Mr Gerry Lyons, shouldn’t go up and give us a song.

A man in a scarf passes me by. Goodness it’s Mr Mark Rafferty. I didnae recognise him without a hat.

Yossi reviews him as “Bald gay guy” I look at him up and down and say but so are you! He concurs. Good ole Gerry. I’m sure he’s a lost Gibb brother. Or maybe he wasn’t hirsute enough to play with the others.

Christ there’s a lot into reviewing these open mic things!

Mark Rafferty is up next and I assure Yossi that he’s got to like this. He asks if he’s in a band but all I know is that he’s was/is in a wedding band. Mark does his usual humorous patter then introduces his “The Great Bminor song”. For me the mirth flows straight to my left eyeball which continues to stream for the duration of the song. Even Yossi is impressed and I caught him laughing of all things.

Geeky Tom up next with oh god no Tenacious D’s “greatest song in the world”. That sort of stuff might get you laid in the Cathouse sunny but Sleazies chicks look for a more sensitive or something quirkily humorous. Yossi sums it up with I can’t believe that guy followed up Mark Rafferty with that. It did kind of kill the rapport. Sorry geeky tom.

Oooh wee Ben TD is up and I get excited. This wee dudes got the sweetest voice…wait a minute what’s he doing….rapping? Yep he’s wrapping while his mate beatboxes. Actually it’s not as bad as it could be and wee Ben is so sweet. Yes it was rather endearing I think in my glayva haze.

Guy called Rob up next. Another I can’t mentally envisage but have written “Bob Dylan meets Johnny Cash” however Yossi has corrected this to “Johnny Gash”. Oh dear.

Last but not least Mr Tom Snowball takes to the stage again. “I reckon he’ll play Under the Sea. In fact I’ll bet my Pulitzer on it. He announces he is going to play under the sea and invites everyone up on stage for the finale. I wasn’t going to but Paul beckons me so I follow him through the audience. Also getting up are Jim McAteer, Andrea, Ben TD Lou who I knew in Jersey and Mark Rafferty takes to the Piano. I’m sure I’m missing someone. Oh the lovely Jo Mango.

Anyway this is when the funniest thing in the entire night happens. Paul steps over some girls sitting on the floor (Paul does a lot of jumping in his movements from A to B) straight onto an empty glass which shatters amongst them loudly but he continues his stride straight onto the stage where he trips up as soon as he steps up and goes flying across the stage. You can’t write comedy like that ladies and gentleman. I jump up next to him and give some moral support through shoulder patting and laughing in his face. We all sing along with Tom Tom, the piano accompanying beautifully and Jim’s deep tones soothing in my ear. We all get into a hug line and start swaying and it’s all rather erm cheesy. I point Yossi out to Jim noting he can’t even look at us (Yossi’s head is tuned away at a 90 degrees angle). When he gets his phone out I joke he’s trying to call a cab. Urgently. We laugh for a while at his expense then I concentrate on making animals noises– if you know the song you don’t need to ask.

It was a great end to a great night. Quite nostalgic *sniff* with all the old school attendees on board (oh and Lou but her passion made up for her newness). Oh and Paul continued his comedy by dropping his fag outside in a wet patch and picking it up again. Sorry Paul where you tad inebriated last night?

Peace and Love

Tom Snowball, George Thomas, Ceylan, Liz Green, - 13th Note

I wasn't sure where tonight's gig was so I tried Sleazys first, found Commander Keen on the door, not the gig I was after so I bade him farewell, fond regards and headed off. He'd said that he thought Take A Worm For A Walk Week were playing the Note but I wasn't so sure.

Arrived at the Note as dusk fell, Wee Patrick was outside talking to some sexy kids and I hurried inside.

Tom Snowball on the door, looking as youthful and fresh faced as always. I remember him being the bard of the Tchai Ovna many years ago with a beard, I remember him playing Last Night From Glasgow, and now a promoter at the Note.

Ceylan's on stage, providing backing vocals to some other guitar on guitar, playing the final song of their set. Christina says "she was great" and Ceyaln herself swears it was her best show ever.

I bought a drink and bade hello to friends and ladies.

Next up on stage is a painfully nervous singing girl, Liz Green. After starting with an accappella song she picks up a guitar and goes full on two string Billie Holliday.

Faint echos of Lily Allen in her retroness and hamming of decades old genres. "She sounds a bit like a cross between Billie Holiday and a muppet. I don't know if that's a good or a bad things - Christina. Katesby picked up on the Billie Holliday thing too. I wonder if this is actually what Billie Holliday sounds like.

"I was playing that on the wrong fret, so it was lower than I expected, luckily I have a voice like a man"

Big Jim is here, and Katesby off of the internet, some of The Drive Carefully folk, and uncle Brendan chin stroking by the mixing desk at the back.

"Actually I take it back, she's pretty good. Peculiar voice though" - Christina again.

George Thomas and The Owls, starting off in the troubador style with a thin acoustic cover of "I'm so Excited", his vox ain't so good on it. Uncle Brendan's stood right behind me, so I feel I should mention the buzzines from one of the speakers, doesn't sound power related, some kind of ground loop or interference.

George Thomas is playing really gentle music, dry half mumbled lyrics, so slight you can almost see straight through them.

Ally Kerr, Chris Leonard, Tom Snowball, Francis MacDonald - Cottiers

I miss the smell of smoke. Pubs, beer and smoke, it reminds me of being young.

I'm an hour late and nothing's started yet. Miles Davis jazz playing and the place is bustling more than last week, no comfortable standing room. I might be relegated to standing awkwardly close to a middle-aged couple, having a quiet Sunday evening drink.

Gah, even worse, its two middle aged couple. I am become Elexender Brown.

Time passes.

Near the front Ally Kerr and Chris Leonard look poised to pick up their guitars. Other awkward standing folk at the back, less awkward, but in couples, no one as alone as I.

A dreamy set, stalked by the spectre of mic feedback and almost drowned out by apathetic audience conversations. It sounded like a hand reaching out in the dark.

I wish I could bring a girl to shows like this, we'd drink wine and talk over the music.

Tom Snowball, his greatest song is "Credit Debonairs", the line about "Computers count our friends", his songs have the greatest lyrics. He wins over the crowd, but its a hard fought battle withquite a few casualties, but they stop talking when he sings.

He manages to plug the Littlest Album, without ever saying its name, which considering the past few days is somewhat a relief.

I've heard some of the songs before, recorded them even, but tonight he seems to slow everything down, mid-song, drawing out choruses, leaving people craning on the edges of their seats expectantly. Seemed a more forthright performance than last night.

He looks quite young does Francis MacDonald, considering Teeneage Fanclub and BMX Bandits legacy. Oop, vocals are a touch too loud to start off with, they're making the bench I'm sitting on resonate up my arse.

I'm a bit underwelmed to be honest, there's something missing, like the script says winsom, but the heart beats for something else.

Frequent words forgetting isn't helping to win me over.

Four or five songs in, and he's more comfortable in his skin, like he, his guitar, the words and the audience are on the same level. The singing becomes a closer match to way back when.

Telemachus, Nathan Persad, Tom Snowball, Joe Kane, Murnie - 13th Note

Its a dark, cold and foggy night out, and inside its warm, low key and friendly. Uncle Brendan is somewhere at the back fiddling with sound levels, and the cute new barmaid is serving with a smile.

On stage, the first act, playing guitar with an array of effects pedles and drum + bass machine backing is the cartoonist known as Rob Miller, tonight known as Telemachus. He bares a striking resemblance to the comic book character Elexender Brown. This gig looks like one of his strips, achingly honest, like we can see inside his head, looking out his eyes. When he played the Tchai Ovna a few months back I wasn't convinced, but tonight the man is an artist, every nuance, every reverb and guitar jangle, the slow pace and epic tones, carefully crafted, even the slightly too quiet vocals, supposed to be that way. He seems far away, but the music is so loud, and vaguely dischordant.

The set ends unexpectedly, jarring even, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Nathan Persad is if MJ Hibbett discovered boogie, songs about lifestyle changes cos of new girlfriends, dedicated to Maggie Broon, songs co-written with Adam Plimpton.

Do I mention him in every review? Quite possibly, I ought to cut down on that. But not tonight, he's curated and arranged all this and the Littlest Album 3. Why does he do it? Why do I do it? Banging my head against the cell door like I'm Leland Palmer or something. Why can't I stop? What am I expecting from Glasgow Indie Eyespy, Last Night from Glasgow, manc_ill_kid, The Plimptons, Ivan Lendil Music, The Wolfknuckles, Shag Times, One Big Snog, SchaudenFreude, Somewhere in The Sun, any of this? The futile hope that some girl from far away will look up and remember and pick up the phone, all forgiven? Wouldn't it be easier to pick up the phone or ring the doorbell myself, rather than spraying this across the nation, half-hearted wank if anything. Maybe that's why she's so far away, and I'm left here dreaming of things that never were, aren't and never will be. This will never work out, I'll always be feeling my way through a fog of choking emotions and deluded beliefs. I am Francesco Petrarca with a 407 mile long conveyor belt of Lauras. Under the sunshine can't I just tell her the way I feel? or would that shatter everything?

And why's it always dead sheep?

The room's slowly filling up, forty paying customers at the 1 hour point.

Someone near the bar says (about Nathan) "This sounds like Johnathan Richman"

Looking at the expression on Adam's face, its clear how wrong I am about his motives. Sheer, unadulterated glee.

Nathan's enjoying himself, pwning hecklers, he's a natural entertainer, given the opportunity to entertain and spread a little happiness.

Time passes

I doubt anyone could sound warmer or fuzzier than Tom Snowball and if I were a girl about whom he'd written a song, my heart would melt. Elements of Americana on the vocals I guess, on reflection sounds like a stripped down Decemberists, deep resonance from the guitar, audience talking loudly.

Time passes

Once again, its Only Joe Kane, onstage alone with backing mp3s, so its like a whole band. The audience, pre-programmed, holler after each song.

The only act tonight playing with a full band are Murnie, drums, keyboards and guitar. Sounding rather rock tonight, a lilting Dire Straits.

They have an old school music stand for lyrics and sweet noodly keyboards which doesn't quite gel with the harsh guitar.