Riding Bikes to Open Mics

Frontage Road is a straight shot to Conway. On a bike it takes me 20 minutes. It is true that we live in a valley- the road is as straight as the coastal plane of the Carolinas, yet I can almost reach out and touch tiny mountains. Its like being in a litter box with one of its sides cut out (that side is for the ocean). In the same day I can watch a sunset over the Pacific Ocean, hike a mountain, and bike through fields that mimic the grain producing lands of the Midwest.

To the west the Amtrak will put me to shame with its silver bullet speed as it cuts through true fields of gold. In the haze of the distant horizon, 4 hours from sunset, the sun repeats the same tawny glow. Along the way you can stop for espresso and a bite to eat at the lovely Skagit Valley Gardens, in the fall you can drink cider at the big red barn that says “Cider” in big white letters on it’s roof, and the side of a wooden garage promises Crabs & Beer and, low and behold, skydiving lessons. To the east is surely the picturesque scene from many a calendar, green farmland dappled with red and white barns, and equally as green mountains jutting as the backdrop suddenly from these flat fields. I half-expect a rainbow with a pot of gold at it’s end to arch from behind one of these mountains. This is all parallel to I-5, as in 30 yards away, if that.

This road leads my friend and I to a very warm & inviting open mic at the Muse. This place is unparalleled to anything I have ever seen except in childhood dreams. Antique walnut tables, each one with a glowing crystal light at its center, a cozy plaid couch with pillows, and an espresso and candy bar that mimics the smooth dark wood from an early saloon. The walls are arranged with old timey classic drink ads, cabaret drawings, and feather masks, and every nook and cranny is filled with some vintage relic. The women here are Gaia Goddesses. They could subscribe to witch folklore or believe in faeries, or just be old artistic Thespians finally realizing their youthful fantastical dreams.

It’s a crazy scene in this dimly lit refurnished barn for older granola heads like I may be some day (I fear it even though I half-expect it). They are so gracious. They smile and laugh and cheer and encourage each other. They actually sing along to your original songs they’re hearing for the first time. There was one older man I actually really liked, he improvised his lyrics and mumbled because of some mouthpiece, pulled foreign words out of his ass, and could hardly play guitar but made it work somehow. He had on a blue dress shirt, jeans, and flip flops. White hair, blue eye, a tan face, and a good smile. I was very excited about his kudos he gave me until he was a little too overly insistent that I come swimming in his shallow bay, after I expressed a slight interest. I’m not sure whether to file him away in the creepster category or overly warm grandfather-type.

One funny thing that struck me was that when I asked for an alcoholic drink before I played, the owner/bartended/blonde old artist in a black floral dress explained that they did not serve alcoholic drinks. But as soon as I sat back down on the couch after my set, she ran up to me like an excited puppy, told me how much she liked my music, and offered me wine or beer for $2. I joked how now I was “in”, but I don’t think it’s a joke. Apparently they are getting into some legal spouts about selling alcohol and advertising their events with a cover to the public.

Nicole & I had so much fun we decided to open mic it up again- but tonight it was at Johnny Picasso’s in Anacortes. A slow night, a small but attentive non-vocal crowd of mostly older ladies knitting. The young blonde barista really liked my stuff and told me I should go to Olympia and try to play at house shows or Bellingham. My eyes glowed (hello, this was the connection I have been pining for!) She offered to write down her musical connections there for me. Instead she produced a list of the founders of K Records (from Olympia), and lists of members in popular local bands that she knew from the venue down the street. I was hoping for something more along the lines of phone numbers for folks that lived in houses with basements for rockin’ instead a list of how popular she was in the music scene by listing names of members of bands I already know. Oh well, she’s young, and so the search continues. Well, at least she is one more person that I now know in the little Skagit scene and beyond. And at least people like my stuff! I am finding out that I am more of an open mic kind of gal than a rockstar who plays in bands.