News - Lost Art Open Mic at Bill's Records

Open Mic Poetry, Music & Performance

I have to say it’s a little bit weird writing a show report, knowing that I can’t end it with a statement like “I hope to see all of you next week at Bill’s,” or something along those lines, but sadly Lost Art ended our year-long journey into the strange and exciting world that is an open format open mic on June 5th. Our last night was an awesome one, and while I could talk about it at length, I would feel like I was doing a disservice to our regulars, supporters, online followers, and last featured performers if I didn't talk about the night of May 29th, the night of Josh and Maggie's double feature.

I'd like to first thank everyone who took the stage that night, that is, Maggie Smith and Josh Weir, of course, but also Tony C - a first-timer doing a stand-up routine, which was a rare treat at Lost Art; Lilly - I remember being particularly impressed by one piece she read, unfortunately, writing this a month after the actual event, I can no longer recall its title; Desmene - it took a while but by the end she had become a regular... well... regular; BA - an entirely new word probably has to be thought up to describe his unique brand of performance, and unfortunately I can't tell you what that might be because he is the only one qualified to come up with it; Johnny O - a class act and, as a host, someone I've always looked up to; Jamie - a young man of immense talent (and that's probably why I always thought he was older than he really is); Abraham - he seemed to be an audience favorite; Devorah - she came all the way from Arlington to see us; Harry - largely the reason I still have faith in the next generation of performers; Paul - yes, I'll probably continue to read his old material live, Joey - honestly, Lost Art wouldn't have been what it was without him; and Emily.

Emily introduced Maggie and Josh, and I think she did a great job (especially considering I only asked her to do the intro a few minutes before she got in front of the mic). She talked about Josh's and Maggie's contrasting styles, mentioning Maggie's positivity and her artistry in performance. She noted Josh's ability to poignantly and insightfully describe the darker side of life, and I largely agreed with everything she was saying, but it was her opening remark, if I remember it correctly, something about the two of them being her friends, two unique individuals whom she'd only really known a short time, that made me vividly and in the flash of an instant recall a few specific moments I shared with Josh and Maggie.

I first met Josh in late summer or early fall of 2005 at an Oak Cliff Circle of Poets reading. He had much shorter hair then, and I remember thinking he looked like an amateur weight lifter. I asked him about his tattoo, and he said it represented a crew he used to run around with when he was a little younger. I didn't really talk to him again directly until the spring of 2010 when he had his feature at Mochalux. He thanked me for reading a piece by his friend Jay Mollenkamp.

Shortly thereafter, Jay died, and really, looking back on it, this past year threw one thing after another at Mr. Weir: death of a close friend, divorce, hospitalization, incarceration, and yet... well, this is one thing I really admire about Josh (this and his talent as a writer, of course): it seems like he never lost the ability to just sit back, relax, and have a beer and a laugh with friends. He's not seething with rage or in some kind of unshakable melancholic stupor. His material often deals with some heavy topics - poverty, alienation, alcoholism, loss, violence, death, etc. - but even when it's totally serious and there's no punchline in the traditional sense, it deals with these things in such a (for lack of a better term) fun way that they all become a little bit more bearable.

Maggie is someone I've known for a very short time - less than a year actually. The first time I saw her perform I remember thinking, "wow, she's a total theater chick" (it's ok; I meant that in a nice way). It's also fairly rare, in the circles where I usually find myself, to hear rhymed poetry of that quality.

I grew up in the nineties, and for whatever reason (it probably has to do with hip-hop growing rapidly in popularity during the early part of the decade) advertisers, educators, children's programs and the like often tended to present material in this horrible rhymed, rhythmic, performance poetry style, and it was all horrible, so I had almost no positive associations with anything even remotely similar stylistically. Then, all of a sudden, there was Maggie. She played with literary devices on expert level. Her use of rhyme schemes never seemed forced. Her puns were actually funny. It also didn't hurt that she was one of the nicest people I've met in the local scene.

I was at a reading sometime this past winter, and one poet, whom I hadn't met before, was apparently a little buzzed. He attempted to intellectualize his own piece in his introduction to it, which, I thought, proved to be detrimental because the piece itself was a bit, well... I don't want to be too negative, so I'll fast-forward a little. After the reading, he asked me a random, and I thought, kind of pretentious question. He asked when I last experienced a moment of transcendence, and I said it was during one of Maggie's pieces. On a related note, I just wanted to say that on the night of May 29th, Maggie's last piece, a new one and a love poem about Josh, is now my favorite love poem. I think that's largely because it, like much of Maggie's work, inhabits this strange realm where realism and optimism meet (and join forces in an epic rap battle against negativity).

Well, that's about it folks. Lost Art is no more, but it is somewhat of a consolation to me that our last two installments, Josh and Maggie's feature and the final night a week later, were pretty great.

Honestly, I can't thank Bill enough for all that he did for us during the past year. The same goes for Peter. I have to say a special "thank you" this time to Mad Swirl host Johnny O for the poem he read on our last night and for his words of encouragement. Also thanks to Lilly and Aeone for all the help, and thanks to everyone who came out... ever.

Peace be with you and the horse you rode in on.

- Alex P

Photo by Jeanette Miller

The day of Joey’s feature was absolutely picaresque. It is days like this on which one feels their pores unlatched; not sweating but breathing in a heavy, hearty way - the way sweaty children with ADHD breathe after two hours spent running around the barn chasing the heavy, hearty, gristle-fed cat. It was balmy and cloudless, the sky a blitz of blue, so bright and lucid you might could’ve been able to leave your terrestrial stead and jump into it like an enormous swimming pool.

I do not remember what I did in the earlier part of that day. Chances are it had something to with Star Trek: The Next Generation and mastur...Oh! Well, grill my bunions and mail them to that girl I made out with at the rave last night! I remember! It was MO T H ERS DA Y! I bought my mother some fiery colored roses from Tom Thumb and spent the morning and early afternoon with her in Oak Cliff. I made her a card. Drew a picture of myself on the front saying “Happy Mother’s Day Mum!” My mother hails from the land of Albion where they call all their sows “mum.” I call her “mom” phonetically, but when I send her a written message, I address her with a U in the middle. That’s dual citizenship for ye!

But whatever, that whole last paragraph is meaningless bullshit and will most probably likely be deleted by Alex later for being off-topic. I’m going to go back to that nice sky-gazing memory mmm...yeah...

I was standing in front of Jaime’s house in one of those verdant neighborhoods that hang out on the shoulders of central expressway near where it meets 635, feeling the big blue eye giving me warm kisses and reveling in that previously described feeling of pore-unlatchedness, when Jaime, Ryan and Chito pulled up and ushered me inside. We strummed some chords and sang and talked and discussed the neighboring squirrel community and had happy times developing covers to play that evening.

At 7:50 O Clock we jumped in our automobiles and chugged down to Southside on Lamar, eager to fill our head-gullets with the nutritious noises of poetry and music. I arrived at Bill’s Records and Tapes and immediately approached Mr. Joey Cloudy with a heavy, hearty “what’s up, fool?” Joey is a potent and charismatic poet with giant dreadlocks going down to the middle of his back. He seemed in lively spirits, conversing amiably with Paul Sexton and Shanna “Haley’s Comet” Hale, who made a rare Lost Art Open Mic appearance, driving all the way from Saginaw, Texas.

Besides being a semi-regular at Bill’s, Joey is a veteran of the open-mic scene, having read atprevious incarnations of Lost Art including the old Bill’s and Insomnia coffeehouse readings. Finding his gift of verse relatively late in life, at the age of 35, Joey has had numerous poems published and recently completed his first volume in a series of semi-autobiographical novels.

Ever the baron of banter, Mr. Cloudy produced an engaging and entertaining (heavy and hearty) performance, musing on sex, art, human relationships and death. After writing for over a decade, Joey has fashioned a unique voice for himself, combining profound phil o so fikal commentary with a crude and dark, but honest and oftentimes humorous mode. Joey read some standards including a personal favorite of mine which begins with the line “a good poem is like a good fuck” (its name eludes me, but that’s such an ear-sticky line, I will forever remember the poem by it) as well as a murderous denunciation of Anne Rice and a satire of richiehippielattewanking wholefoodsers. . One of the things I enjoy about features is that they force an artist to bring out stuff they wouldn’t normally read. The feature of an artist with a canon as diverse as Joey’s is especially scintillating. Joey displayed his latitude by reading a selection of more formal works as well as some shorter pieces - genres of poetry that are not traditionally read at open mics. All in all, Joey Cloudy’s performance was marvelous.

Now...the rest of the night...let’s see. Well, I went on stage and made an awful din. Opalina Salas spat some terrifically syncopated verse. Ryan Sneed played a couple of songs with his friend Hamilton Whatsisname and impressed everybody with his phalangelical dexterity and his Bright Eyes-like howl. Jamie told everybody to wake up and join the great revolution of brahmanic superego-edness through the medium of song, played a mean yukulele line, and, with the aid of percussionist Chito Aranda, joined me for a raucous rendition of Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots by Los labios fuegos (en ingles “The Flaming Lips”).

The open-mic came to a close with readings by poets Paul Sexton and Shanna “Haley’s Comet” Hale (Geddit? Her last name’s Hale and she comes to Bill’s every hundred years. ChortleChortle. I shouldn’t really make jokes about her, because I don’t know her, but you know, sometimes there are great fat juicy flightless puns toddling about on the fence and it’s a sin not to use them) and sweet songstress Emmeline Miles.

Afterwards was a heavy, hearty midnight snack at The Metro Diner partaken by I, Joey, Peter, Shanna and Paul. Peter, who had lamented of late the paucity of people in the post-open-mic Metro dining party, was especially chuffed, after a tough night on which three performers left early, to have such splendid company.

The night ended, for me at least, driving Joey through the Jack in the Box drive-thru lane and home. I dropped him off at his home in the “Dead Honkey” zone of Dallas and got home at 2 AM. I crept through the house with my guitar case and bag, set them down and then slumped heavily and heartily onto my blue bed into slumber.

- Harry

When I arrived at Bill’s on the evening of April 24, exactly an hour before show time, it somehow felt different from the previous week, or any other week for that matter. There were dark storm clouds on the horizon, Bill was still out of breath, having very recently chased down a shoplifter and successfully retrieved a stack of records, and the configuration of furniture at the back of the store, where the stage is, seemed off somehow. As performers and spectators began to arrive, however, the vibe mutated gradually from ominous to familiar, and when the show finally began there seemed to be a different kind of energy altogether permeating the room and things just began to... flow.

The first performer of the evening, Lilly read a few selections from her book O. They were deeply introspective, but their message was universal and not only because most people in the room, myself included, would hate to end up a denim-clad grandma who writes badly (and probably reeks of Ben Gay and dense perfume).

Johnny O followed Lilly, and read poetry submitted to the Mad Swirl website. Mad Swirl posts poetry from all over the world, giving poets in other countries the chance to express themselves even when free speech is not guaranteed to them on their home soil, unlike here, where I can freely sing about kidnapping former Dallas mayors and whatnot.

Next, Opalina took the stage for an energetic recitation of defiant yet delicately constructed verse. It was a departure from the sort of stuff I’ve grown accustomed to her reading but poignant nonetheless and laden with clever wordplay. Dez followed Opal, giving the audience a taste of what they may have missed last month when she had her own feature at Lost Art. Then I played a couple of quick songs, one original and one Operation Ivy cover, and then It was time for the night’s featured performers, Jessi, Jake and Justin of With These Words to do their thing.

Their “thing” happened to be beautiful acoustic renditions of the band’s original material (well, they threw in an adaptation of a Rihanna song as well). With These Words has been a very tight act every time I’ve seen them play, and Sunday night was no exception. There’s certain magic that comes out when you watch true professionals at work, doing something they are passionate about, having invested their time, effort, talent and heart into it (which, on a completely unrelated note, is why I hesitate to dismiss the Insane Clown Posse as talentless hacks - they love what they do, and over time they’ve perfected the psychotic clown rapper thing).

The music of With These Words is complex. I have not asked the band directly who their influences are, but there are definitely echoes of widely varying musical styles and genres in their songs. Listening to their CD, The Science of Loss I could hear elements reminiscent of bands as diverse as Paramore and Pantera, often within the same song, and, as could be seen Sunday night, the band really shines as a live act. Jessi’s voice carried like no other, and Justin and Jake played off each other masterfully. All in all it was a killer performance (thanks, guys).

Speaking from experience, to an open mic performer, following the feature can be a daunting task, but I knew ahead of time that this would be no problem for B.A. who took the stage after With These Words (following a brief intermission). B.A.’s free-form performance, featuring music, spoken word and plenty of audience participation got the crowd re-energized for the second half of the evening.

Then Tre B., making his Lost Art Open Mic debut, read an original poem, and I have to give him props because it takes guts to read a piece written from the point of view of a rapist publicly, especially if it’s your first time at an unfamiliar venue (unless of course you really are a rapist, but I’m almost 100% certain that was not the case).

We had another Lost Art first timer following Tre. Derek Comely is a name you may already be familiar with, as he is no stranger to the local music scene. Derek gave a very exciting performance. There was something appropriately raw about his songs. Punk rock all the way. Harry followed Derek with a couple of songs of his own performed in his distinctive style. Watching Harry is kind of like being on that teacup ride at the amusement park. It’s playful, and colorful, and sort of dizzying (but in a fun way) all at the same time.

Next Jason Gully went electric again and that was exciting to see. I look forward to hearing his band play (unfortunately I don’t remember their name as I write this, but you can come to Lost Art and ask him yourself).

Then Josh Weir read a few selections, and one in particular was very sweet. I’m not saying it’s at all surprising that Josh wrote something sweet. I was actually going to make the point that a poem like that juxtaposed with the piece in which Josh whips out his balls in public shows that he is a well rounded individual. Justin Dyer followed Josh and played a song that proved as a songwriter, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Emmeline followed Justin, and unless I’m forgetting something, I’m fairly certain it was the first time she played guitar on stage at Lost Art. Emmeline had the audience sing “Happy Birthday” to Bill as we finished off the coconut cake. If you are wondering how old Bill is, a gentleman never asks, and a beloved local fixture never tells (ok, he might tell you if you ask him nicely).

Joey closed out the evening reading a couple of old favorites. If you’re as big a fan of Joey’s work as I am, I have a feeling you’ll be happy to hear our forthcoming announcement (just keep checking our Facebook page).

I’d like to personally thank each and every one of you who came out to Bill’s last Sunday. I thought it was an awesome night, and I hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to Peter for getting us With These Words and for all the hard work, and to Justin's and Jessi’s parents who are apparently leaving the Dallas area (I hope you guys dug it).

- Alex P.

Attention, all personnel... February's photos and videos are now LIVE on Peter's website: paoprod.com. That is all.

- The 4077th Lost Art Unit

It is the last full week of February, and, so far, 2011 hasn’t been a great year for me. I’ve already been sick twice, we had ice on the roads on two occasions, I got screwed out of $1,000 in a car repair clusterf@#*k; my favorite greasy spoon diner is closing, as is the bookstore where I buy all my indie music magazines; gas prices are up, and one of my favorite open mic venues was purchased by conservative Christians who have instituted an “arts policy.” Needless to say, this year has gotten off to a notably sucky start. And then, in stark contrast to the continuous flow of craptastic events, came the February 20th installment of the Lost Art Open Mic featuring David Crandall.

The first performer, Harry, set the pace for a high-energy, fun-filled evening with a cover of Son House (or was he covering the White Stripes adaptation of a Son House song?) followed by a song that made me and at least one other audience member want a chicken sandwich. I know that wasn’t what the song was about, but when you utter the words “chicken club” in front of people who perhaps haven’t eaten for a few hours, that’s the risk you run.

We then heard Casey Graham do a short but memorable set of folk songs with an old school flair. I could have sworn I saw Bill’s poster of Bob Dylan smiling, well, that or some wisenheimer tried to draw a mustache on it at some point and gave up halfway. (side note: MS Word assures me that I’ve spelled “wisenheimer” correctly. Go me).

Casey was followed by comedian Dave (last name withheld) who gave us an account of how a mutual appreciation for geekery can be a deterrent for violence. Dave, if you’re reading this, thanks for coming, and tell your comic friends about us, unless of course you’ve manages to piss them off with some unforgivable infraction and we’re your replacement audience.

I then took the stage and did an original song about late 19th century culture clashes in Czarist Russia and a Ziggens cover. If you haven’t heard of the Ziggens, they have stated publicly that they are in YOUR microwave, so it might do you good to familiarize yourself with their work. (side note: That’s a horrible inside joke which only I and maybe one other person will get, but I left it in anyway. Go me.)

I then yielded the stage to Abraham Mellish, who was in a hurry because he was running late to pick his brother up at the airport, but his song was awesome, and he assured me the next day that his brother didn’t mind waiting. Then it was time for our feature.

The day before, a girl, I’ll call her “Tess” (cause that’s her name), asked me what David Crandall sounds like. I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that question, and probably still can’t. You just have to hear him. In terms of genre, his sound can, at its core, maybe be described as jazz-based folk, but that doesn’t really account for the elements of funk, soul, and rock that many of his songs exhibit. His lyrics are often humorous, but not always. He plays a custom baritone guitar that looks like no other axe I’ve seen, and he attacks it with his own slap-and-pluck style of playing, using it simultaneously as a rhythm instrument and to carry a melody. His vocal style is somewhere between Van Morrison and Sublime frontman Bradley Nowell (I hope he doesn’t mind either comparison).

David kept us entertained for the duration of his set, which at times had the audience laughing hysterically and at other times listening intently, enjoying a steady groove. His songs introduced us to a colorful mix of characters from alien robots to snobby society women to annoying c#$ksuckers who lack all sense and driving etiquette. Thank you, David for playing an awesome show.

Following David Crandall, we heard Justin Dyer, who is also no amateur in the songwriting and performing department (I mean in terms of proficiency. I’m not saying he makes his living writing song. Then again, he might. I don’t know. It didn’t occur to me to ask.) Justin gave a great solo performance, and then asked Mark Brandt to join him on stage, and I think we all appreciated the result.

Justin was followed by Mad Swirl host Johnny O, the first poet to take the stage that evening. If you are unfamiliar with Johnny’s material, perhaps the best place to hear it is at the Absinthe Lounge on the first Wednesday night of every month where, besides hosting, he can be heard reciting original poetry, sometimes by himself, and other times backed by the howling jazz instrumentation of the band Swerve (also, he has a track on the Live @ Lost Art Open Mic Cd, copies of which are still available at Bill’s, Cliff Notes, or directly from the organizers of our weekly event).

Next, the audience was in for a treat as Emmeline took the stage playing first a song about PTSD and pill parties, and then one she wrote for and about our good friend Paul Sexton and a recent tragedy in his life. She closed with a happy song because, well, we kind of needed one at that point (she’s actually a very positive person, as her hilarious between-song banter often proves).

Then Jason Gully took the stage for a few instrumental pieces played on my Yamaha acoustic guitar. I have to give him props for being more careful with it than I was that night. I dropped the thing on my way out of Bill’s later in the evening.

Mark Brandt followed Jason with a few instrumental pieces of his own. I have a theory that Mark plays so fast that if you looked at video footage of his performances (which can be found at www.paoprod.com) you’d actually see motion blur around his fingers. I’m not sure. You’ll have to watch the video to see if I’m right.

Next we heard from Maggie Smith. She gave a wonderful performance as expected. She is trained in the theater after all. There are certain tell-tale signs that you’re watching a theater person, but I won’t get into that. They’re a very secretive group, and they have made people disappear before (ever wonder why you haven’t seen Bridget Fonda in anything recent?).

Then Katie Carroll took the stage for only the second time ever at Bill’s. We’re always happy to see new faces (not that we’re sick of the old ones), so tell your friends to come join us Sunday nights. Katie was followed by Emily Rigert, who speaks at least three languages (and she’s not even Dutch).

As the night wound down, we heard from Lilly, one of the only performers at Lost Art brave enough to sing unaccompanied. Kudos, Lilly. One day I’ll do my acapella version of the Unknown Hinson classic “Pregnant Again,” and we’ll be in the same boat.

Closing out the night we heard from the infamous Josh Weir who shared a story or two from his past and told us about the value of driving home alone. All in all this was a truly great night, and I would like to say “thank you” again to all who contributed. Special thanks go out to the one and only Bill Wisener for allowing us to use his store as our own auditorium and to Peter Orozco who did a great job documenting the event on every medium imaginable.

This is where I’d put some sort of clever parting comment if I had one... but I don’t, so... yeah (Go me).

- Alex P.

Happy New Year from Lost Art Open Mic! It was audience participation night on this cold MLK-eve. It all started with the Ghost of Open Mic at Bill’s Past causing problems for Peter’s recording equipment, but after reaching some sort of compromise with the spirit during a séance involving Peter’s analog tape recorder, Jason took the stage. He rocked our faces with two songs from his sweet twelve string. Ryan followed with four songs. I’ve just gotta say, I really like the way he dresses, I like his guitar playing, and I like his singing. Not necessarily in that order.

Matthew hasn’t been sleeping lately, but he looked and sounded like a young Bob Dylan. Matthew, if you’re reading this, I have some bad news: one, two, Freddy’s coming for you, even if you think you can stay awake for days. After 72 hours of sleep deprivation you start experiencing mini-naps or walking dreams. That’s when he can get you. I know this because I watched a shitty remake of a great horror film.

Bryan sang a song that surprised me. It started out kinda sweet and romantic then he started singing shake that ass or something along those lines. Totally changed the tone of the song. Is that an original? Then Alex asked BA to play word association and, as usually happens when BA takes the stage, unpredictability ensued. Quite frankly, he shoulda tapped out of the word association game after about 1 minute 30, but at least no one can say Alex is a quitter. After morphing the game into more of a phrase and sentence association game, BA handed the baton to Jamie. Alex declared himself the winner when Jamie left the stage in frustration. Alex - 1, everyone else - 0.

BA returned to the stage and played guitar while Alex made up a song on the spot. Not bad for spontaneous songwriting. I thought he might break into a Detroit-style rap off, but alas, we Texans are much more polite and non-confrontational than that, even the Texans that are originally from the land of vodka and communism. But Alex did invite Ryan and Matthew to the stage to make up more songs with the accompanying guitar. And at the end of BA’s interesting time on stage, Matthew and Bryan read a poem of Harry’s. BA managed to get everyone else to do the talking for him tonight.

I followed with some serious “glorified journal entries” followed by a more lighthearted gooey love poem. I have been thinking a lot about the state of humanity, the state of the world, and the state of our country lately, and I’ll be happy to share my views with you if you’re up for a conversation. Preferably at The Metro after the open mic.

Harry read from Aleister Crowley’s, “The Book of Lies.” Harry informed me earlier in the night that this man is the founder of hedonism, something of which I’m an outspoken supporter. I’m thinking I should read this stuff. I’m not much for the dark colors that go along with being a Satanist, and I’m also purposely stereotyping members of the Church of Satan. He also read a couple of his own poems. I have to vote “YES” to Harry’s style on stage: rolled up jeans, yellow sneakers, purple and fluorescent green smoking bunny hoodie, a scarf around his head and a Dick Tracy t-shirt. You kick ass, my friend.

Victory took the stage next and read a poem of advice on how to make the world a more beautiful place, and it didn’t involve planting trees, getting kids off drugs or stopping violent crime. Nah, Victory tells us to break a poet’s heart so that he or she can immortalize you with words. I highly agree with V, with only the stipulation to be real nice at first, inspiring love poems before they get to the soul-crushing heartbreak poems.

Alex then took requests for songs from the audience, and I asked him to play “When Doves Cry,” a cover he debuted on Halloween when he dressed as the Man in Purple. Expressing worry that he couldn’t remember the words, Bunny, Harry and I lent a hand by singing along from the back, including the lead guitar riff and the backup vocals. Alex then played what he called his former signature piece, a sweet little ditty about a ho withholding money from her pimp. My favorite line: “You can’t say you didn’t, like, get laid.”

Jamie played two covers and an original song, because if you put the bad song at the end of two good ones, it makes the bad song sound better. I cannot argue with that logic. They all sounded pretty awesome to me. Everyone sounded pretty awesome to me, but that could’ve been the sake talking. Speaking of sake, Scarlett took the stage next, wearing red wool thigh-highs and a plaid miniskirt that looked so kickass it should be illegal. She read something from her notebook, which if you get a chance to see, will blow your mind on how awesome it is. Sorry, I hope the cool stuff you’ve got in there isn’t a secret.

Emmeline rolled in after working all day on a paper and sang us three songs, one sad one and two kinda angry songs. I mean, we didn’t even get the option to hear a happy song or a sad song this time, but it doesn’t matter, it’s always a delight to hear her angelic voice. We even got a little sing along in the middle of one of her songs that featured, among other things, the greatest piano song ever written. If you can guess it (and you weren’t there) I’ll personally give you a cookie at the next open mic. And next time, come to The Metro with us. Live a little more, sleep a little less.

Thanks to Bill for the venue, Peter Orozco for the audio and video recordings that he does, to Alex for organizing (I use the term loosely) the event every week, and to everyone who got up on stage or sat in the audience.

- Lilly

For those of you keeping track, this would be the post-Thanksgiving edition of the Lost Art Open Mic recap, and I feel almost obligated to say a few words about this ridiculous holiday.

Thanksgiving Day, we are told, commemorates the harvest festival held by the Plymouth colonists in 1621 to celebrate the success of their experimental implementation of Wampanoag Indian agricultural techniques and the colonists’ subsequent ... well, not starving to death like a bunch of ill-prepared, xenophobic, punk-ass bitches. It was indeed a simpler time, and one we can look back upon with fondness, temporarily ignoring the events that followed, specifically the Plymouth colony being absorbed by the Massachusetts Bay community, thus forming a sort of geopolitical Puritan super-group whose relationship with the native population eventually became notably more... well, genocidal.

Today, however, Thanksgiving is more frequently associated with Turkey consumption, holiday pay, and the official start of Christmas shopping season, albeit the latter was pushed back to before Halloween as of 2008 in an attempt to boost the economy (or at least that’s what my former boss at Starbucks told me when I asked her why the f*#k we were selling snow globes in October).

Seriously though, on the subject of the questionably named “Black Friday,” I think anyone dumb enough to hit the malls the day after Thanksgiving deserves to be trampled by the stampeding human herd desperately trying to get their hands on whatever this year’s hot item happens to be (it’s fleece ball warmers this year, right?).

On a less bitter note, the open mics of these last two weeks have been first-rate. That is to say, we saw some great performances. Nobody’s done any stage magic or burlesque acts yet, but there’s always this week. I should also remind everyone that we still have copies of the Live @ Lost Art Open Mic CD available. I’d like to thank all of you who have been coming out to the open mic. Please keep coming by, and tell your friends, relatives, teachers, students, court-appointed public defenders, hair stylists, etc. Check out Peter’s website at www.paoprod.com for video clips of our open mic, and when you’re at Bill’s, buy some music. CDs make great stocking-stuffers (or coasters).

- Alex P.

Greetings, surfers of the interweb. If you’re reading this you probably either followed a link from Facebook, or you’ve attended our open mic before. Well, that or you’re accessing the net from some computer in Indonesia and you were mistakenly redirected here from a site that sells novelty bean bag covers. Either way, now is a very exciting time to check in on us here at Lost Art because a little over a week ago, we released our first live compilation CD! It’s called, appropriately enough, Live @ Lost Art Open Mic, and it features performances from 17 local poets, songwriters, and wordsmiths (oh, and I’m on it as well). Copies of the CD are available at Bill’s Records and Cliff Notes, or you can get one by contacting us directly. They are free, but we do accept donations.

It’s also an exciting time for us, because we’ve had a great couple of weeks at the open mic. This past Sunday we saw a few new faces and we had some old friends drop by. The week before that was the official CD release and our six month anniversary. That’s right, we’ve been doing this Lost Art thing for over half a year now, and we’re not planning on stopping any time soon. I should note that we had our highest attendance ever at the CD release shindig, so I’d like to take a moment to personally thank each and every one of you who came out to that fun-filled Sunday night event. Thanks to all of you who got up on stage, i.e., Opalina, Jason, Crazy J, Rob Roper, Lilly, Paul, ____, BA, Harry, Emmeline, Josh Martin, Aeone, J Bean, Da’rrell Cloudy, and Joey. Also, thanks to everyone who came out just to watch.

I’m going to deviate from what has become the norm for these open mic recaps here and not list this past Sunday’s attendees by name (and probably discontinue doing so) because I’d like to give those of our regulars who are, shall we say, extra-legally inclined an opportunity to use our open mic as an alibi should their whereabouts ever be brought into question, Just remember, I helped keep your ass out of jail, so you best bring it to Bill’s the following week.

Now, what else happened in the past couple of weeks? Honestly, I was busy with work and post-Halloween stuff and three of my friends had birthdays within a very short time span and I was getting promotional materials together, so I haven’t been paying attention to the news or local goings on. This being the case, I give you ...

The Most Uninformed 2 Week Review Ever:

For starters, I don’t think any celebrities died. I could be wrong, though. President Obama visited, among other places, Indonesia. I’m not sure why, but I’m fairly certain it had nothing to do with novelty bean bag covers. In entertainment news, Conan O’Brien’s new show debuted on TBS. I caught like seven minutes of it. It didn’t suck. There’s was something in the news about some congressman and ethics violations (boy, I’m really making my old journalism professors proud), and there was other stuff as well.

Ok, enough of that. I’d like to take a moment to thank Peter Orozco for putting together the Live @ Lost Art CD and Lilly Penhall and Aeone Singson for doing the graphics. As always, thanks to Bill for providing the venue, and thanks to all of you who have ever performed at our open mic. You’ve kept this crazy thing going for six months, and we really appreciate your support.

- Alex P.

Those of you who missed this past Sunday’s Lost Art Open Mic missed out on your best chance to see the horror film Dementia for free on the (relatively) big screen and to see some of our open mic regulars in spiffy costumes. I know some of us normally look like we’re in costume, but trust me, this was special.

Dan Chandler started the evening off by playing a few songs. He also explained to us that he was, in fact, a songwriter/poet wearing a cowboy costume. Personally, I’m relieved because now that our cowboy quota has been met, I no longer feel a need to wear vinyl chaps in public (and I probably shouldn’t... ever... come to think of it, not even in private).

Then Paul Sexton read a few deeply personal selections as well as a piece that recounts his recent run-in with 14 douchebags. If you don’t know the story, he tells it better than I do, and in case you’re confused, no, it doesn’t involve him stumbling into the feminine hygiene products shelf at Walgreen’s. Ok, crappy joke. I’m sorry.

Hudson read a few selections from Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy books. Personally I think bistro math might give us all the solutions to the nation’s economic problems, but I would never advocate its use, cause I want Social Security to go bankrupt so I can use that as an excuse to break into my local tax office and steal shit. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, that makes two of us.

Next, Lilly read a new piece while wearing a very convincing wig, and then Harry played the mellowest Misfits cover I’ve ever heard. I could even understand the words. So, Glenn Danzig’s face comes off to reveal a demon bent on severing little girls’ heads which he then adds to his skull collection? I always thought that song was about Jimmy Carter and his Middle East policy. Boy, was I wrong.

Then Joey went on stage wearing bug antennae. I initially thought it was a Kafka reference, but now I’m second guessing myself, thinking it might have been a nod to the Blues Brothers’ early days when they wore bee costumes. I don’t want to over think it. I risk giving myself bad dreams, with existentialist overtones, in which I’m visited by John Belushi’s ghost again, if I do that.

After that, Bunny read a poem in which she befriends the moon. I like to imagine that all astronomical entities have personalities. Uranus would be like Michael Richards from Seinfeld; minus the racism (I had a Freudian slip typo a second ago when I initially typed his name as “Michael Reichards,” no joke).

Then Abraham came out of nowhere and blew us away with a couple of original songs. Abraham, if you’re reading this, please come back on November 7th and/or any Sunday after that. We’d love to hear you again.

Next, Jason played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly and the spiders from Mars. He played it left hand, but made it too far, became the special man... wait, no, those are Ziggy Stardust lyrics. Aahhh, get out of my head, David Bowie! Seriously though, Jason rocked.

Then Matthew made his Lost Art debut, getting his cherry popped at Bill’s. Hey, I wonder where that term comes from. I don’t get the metaphor. Cherries don’t pop, they squish, and hymens tear.

And then Chris Craft introduced the film Dementia, our feature presentation, which he co-wrote and starred in. You may never have heard of Dementia, or may have it confused with another horror flick with a similar title, but to clear things up, Dementia is a no budget production, shot locally, that tells the story of a former lawyer whose family was killed causing him to go nuts and take the law into his own hands, or rather, out into his shed. I’d just like to say that I think horror films have given backyard sheds a bad rap over the years. I mean, most sheds are used for perfectly normal things like tool storage, beef jerky production, and consensual S&M (or any combination of the above).

Well, that’s about it. I’d like to thank everyone who came out, Peter for taking pictures and video, Bill for letting us use his store, Matt and Sharon Bagley for letting me use their projector, and Shawn Remek for letting me have the screen.

Oh, and this is just a reminder, we’ll be in Deep Ellum on Saturday from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m., but we’re skipping the Sunday open mic this week cause it’s a holiday. Join us the following Sunday for the Live at Lost Art CD release party!

- Alex P.

This show report comes to you late, and I want to apologize for that. I don’t particularly like making people wait, especially not my readers and/or audience. Actually, I have a funny story about that, but there’s something I’d like to talk about first, and that is last Sunday’s installment of the Lost Art Open Mic.

I’d like to first thank everyone who got up on stage, i.e., Opalina, Emily, Paul, Janice, Devorah, Lilly, Joey, and Dan. The vibe seemed to be slightly different this night, or maybe I just perceived it to be so because I was a little sick, but, in any case, this was not a bad thing (the vibe that is, not me being sick). It seemed that quite a few of us were sharing stories from our past in a pretty direct way. Sure, it was, without a doubt, poetic, but in many cases the narratives were fairly straightforward, not ambiguous or veiled in metaphor. I have to say, this worked. Stories of, for instance, Devorah’s first kiss, Joey’s home town experience, and my swim team afro incident were rather well received. So, this being the case, I’d like to now take this opportunity to sneak an anecdote into this show report and tell my reader’s the story about the first night I hosted the open mic at the old Bill’s location, which was also the first time I made an audience wait.

I had been asked by Bill and on behalf of the previous hosts, to take over hosting duties in March of 2005. I guess I seemed like a logical choice because I had been a regular and I lived basically right across the street from the venue. I was excited, and I got to work right away on printing up and distributing flyers, my main promotional tool since this was before Facebook, and while MySpace existed, it hadn’t really caught on yet. The flyers advertised a start-time of 10 p.m. on a Saturday, and I was determined to be there early.

The trouble was, I was 21 and in love, and this was one of the few nights my girlfriend, who lived in Arlington, had available to come see me. On a side note, I don’t mean to imply that there’s anything wrong with being young or in love. I still consider myself to be young, and I’m not one of those cynical, jaded curmudgeons who either stopped believing in love somewhere along the way or have preconceived notions of it always leading to man’s demise. I simply meant that on the night in question it was not conducive to me being punctual.

Anyway, I thought it would be cool to take my girlfriend for a romantic walk on the University of Dallas campus in Irving. The college sits on a hill of sorts, and I always thought it was cool that one could see all of West Dallas from the sidewalk outside one of the administration buildings. Perhaps the most distinguishing feature of UD, however, is the big-ass bell tower which can be seen from miles around. You may have noticed it if you’ve ever been on the part of Loop 12 which runs by (the now demolished) Texas Stadium. So, as our walk took us past the tower, I decided to take a closer look.

The entrance to the tower was through a locked gate, the bars of which had been slightly bent, and I don’t know how, why, or by whom. I should point out that trespassing was sort of a hobby of mine during this time, so naturally I immediately thought about squeezing through the bent bars, intent on climbing to the very top of the tower. It looked as if the bars were too close together for me to accomplish this, so I wasn’t even going to try, but as my girlfriend pointed out to me, I’m one skinny son of a bitch (those of you who were there at Lost Art the night I fit my entire body through a tennis racquet can attest to this), so it was probably worth a shot..

And so, leaving my girlfriend by the entrance as a look-out, I managed to squeeze through the bars and began my ascent. The narrow spiral staircase went up probably seven or ten stories (I didn’t actually count), and going around in circles like that made me dizzy. I had only a few steps to go before I was in the belfry. I was dizzy as hell, and that’s when the open mic gods decided to remind me that I was late for my first night of hosting. You see, the bells in the UD tower (I hadn’t realized this at the time) were set to go off every hour, on the hour, chiming the time, and as I got to the top of the tower, the clock struck 10:00.

I remember squeezing my ears closed with both hands to protect myself from the bell noise, which was louder than any concert I had ever been to. I was dizzy, disoriented, and experiencing vertigo. When the ringing finally stopped I cautiously climbed back down and exited the tower to have my girlfriend laugh at me, and rightfully so. I used her cell phone to call Bill and tell him I was going to be there as soon as I could. The open mic that night started 45 minutes late because I was busy having my ass handed to me by the UD tower.

Well, there you have it. I’d like to take a moment to thank Bill for providing us open mic folk with a venue for the better part of a decade, and to thank Peter for documenting the open mics for posterity. I hope you enjoyed my little anecdote, and I hope you’ll join us tonight, October 24th for our costume party and screening of the film Dementia. Remember, there’s no open mic next week, but we will be in Deep Ellum on Saturday from 3 to 5 p.m.

- Alex P.

This past Sunday’s installment of the Lost Art Open Mic featured a lot of firsts. It was the first time, for instance, that a performer used a traditional drum. We also heard Hudson Perkins read for the first time, and it was the first time Taylor King and Bunny Trahan performed as a duo (at least, in front of us). Another first time collaboration, that of Lilly and Harry, also had Lilly singing for the first time at our open mic (the song was “Faith” by George Michael in case you were wondering).

Jason went electric for the first time, and I just have to say, it rocked! Dan Chandler read a poem, and Aeone actually plugged her day job. Joey didn’t read last (I know, I was surprised too). T.C. went on stage with no outerwear (some of you might say “that wasn’t the first time,” and I say kudos for paying attention, but you just ruined the joke), and I had to borrow a guitar.

Also, on a sadder note, this was the first Lost Art Open Mic since the passing of the previous week’s first-timer, Alexcie Ewbanks. We at Lost Art are saddened by the loss of such a dynamic performer and someone who’s meant so much to many members of the local poetry and music scenes. Some of our friends are organizing a memorial event in her honor. We will post it on our calendar, but for now, Facebook is probably the best source of information on this.

I’d like to thank everyone who came out last Sunday, and as usual, special thanks to Peter and to Bill.

- Alex P.

So, I was going to dance around the subject and find some subtle way to casually sneak the fact that we had record attendance at last Sunday’s Lost Art Open Mic into the introduction to this week’s write-up, but instead I think I’ll just apologize for my lack of modesty in expressing my elation, and go ahead and admit that I thought having our biggest turnout ever was SWEET! I know, reading this, you probably don’t get the impression that I’m ecstatic to the extent that I need to apologize, but you’re not seeing my celebratory dance.

I’d like to take a moment to personally thank everyone who got up on stage Sunday, so thank you Carlos, Harry, Opalina, Joanna, Lilly, Paul Sexton, Alexcie, Dan Chandler, Jennifer Bean, Darrell Cloudy, David Crandall, Josh Martin, T.C., and Rachel. Thanks also to those of you came out just to watch. I’d like to give a detailed recap of everything that happened Sunday night, but I honestly don’t think I’m a skilled enough writer to hold everyone’s attention for the full length of a 2000-plus word report (come to think of it, maybe I should just take the easy route, get a Twitter account and tweet the open mic reports from now on, but brevity takes skill as well).

Instead, this week I’d like to take a few minutes to address those of you who haven’t yet performed at the Lost Art Open Mic. I’m not talking about those friends of our regulars who just haven’t made it out yet. I have faith that you guys will show up eventually. No, I’m talking about the TYPES of acts which have had little or no representation at our open mic to date. I mean, we are (and I anticipate we’ll continue to be) frequented predominantly by people doing either poetry/spoken word or solo music performance, and that’s awesome, but that doesn’t mean we have to be limited to that. So today I’m talking to you other kinds of performers, specifically...

Magicians, I know you’re out there. Sure if you come to Lost Art there’s always the possibility that you’ll have to follow someone who just read a poem about war atrocities or did a song about getting date-raped in junior high, but stage magic is a centuries-old craft that’s pretty much universally admired (yes, even by political activists and sexual assault victims). We’ll still appreciate your card tricks and pulling small animals out of places they don’t normally belong just as much as an audience at an upscale Las Vegas performance hall would. We’ll even bend the rules a little to accommodate you, if that’s what it takes. The whole “no sharp objects on stage” rule can be temporarily suspended if you insist on sawing someone in half (though I’ll insist that you bring your own emergency staple gun and organ tape). You can install a trap door in the stage if you clear it with Bill first, and we promise not to laugh at your stage outfits no matter how gay we might think they look.

Comedians, sure our core crowd isn’t really the type that frequents comedy clubs, nor can most of us afford to, so you might not have too many of us showing up to your gig at the Improv, but isn’t the reason you got into comedy in the first place, that you like making people laugh? Hey, we’ve collectively got a great sense of humor. You should have been there when Josh Weir told his “How do you get a nun pregnant?” joke. I also know, from trying my hand at stand-up, that there’s a degree of masochism in doing comedy, and we’re great for that. Not to mention, the Lost Art crowd is generally pretty knowledgeable and culturally aware, so no matter how obscure your references get, someone in the audience is sure to get the joke. Plus, there’s no censorship at Bill’s so you can feel free to talk about your days as a meth-head or your adventures in necrophilia.

Animal trainers, is your monkey too good for us? Is that what’s going on? Seriously, who doesn’t love animals? I personally would be thoroughly impressed by an iguana that can ride a skateboard or a talking parrot. Heck, it doesn’t even have to be an exotic pet. If you’ve got a Doberman that can pee on cue... actually that would violate our “nothing wet, sticky, or messy on stage” rule, so never mind that last one, but you guys get the idea. Animals are great.

Drag queens, I know the interior of Bill’s might not look as... fabulous as what you’re used to, but we’ve got a PA (public address system, not Prince Albert), so you can plug in your I-pod and lip sync to Gloria Gaynor to your heart’s content. Seriously, we’ll even drape off a corner for you with some old Bon Jovi t-shirts so you can have your own dressing room. Come and sing some audience participation songs. We like those. I’ll lay down some mats for you so your eight-inch heels won’t get stuck between the boards of the stage. Also, I usually have extra duct tape on hand, which, as you know, comes in very handy for tacking down your, um... (I was gonna use some clever euphemism, but I’ll just go ahead and say it) junk, as well as for remedying all kinds of wardrobe malfunctions.

Barbershop quartets, I would love to hear a harmonized version of Duran Duran’s “Is There Something I Should Know?” and... actually, never mind. I’m going to let you guys off the hook, and that’s mainly because I’ve never seen a barbershop quartet in person. Oh sure, I’ve heard singers harmonize before, but nobody really goes the extra step of wearing matching candy striped shirts and straw hats, except for maybe The White Stripes’ roadies. I mean no offense when I say this, but barbershop quartets are kind of like the Klan. They’re a product of a bygone era, and while everyone knows they’re theoretically still around, nobody knows who or where the hell they are, and nobody really wants to go through the trouble of tracking them down.

There’s also plate spinners, contortionists, avant-garde performance artists, Celtic bands, spoon players, burlesque dancers, sword swallowers, and a plethora of other types of acts I wouldn’t mind seeing on stage at Lost Art. That being said, I still love all you writers, poets and musicians who have been coming to our open mic regularly. Thanks again, and please keep coming back. Oh, and as always thanks to Bill for providing the venue, and to our resident recording/videography guru, Peter.

- Alex P.

I’m typing this having just put down my copy of the new Dallas Observer “Best of Dallas” catalogue that they print once a year. The cover photo is an obvious parody of the promotional poster for the quintessential ’80s teen movie The Breakfast Club, and I guess that’s cool. What isn’t that cool, I just realized flipping through its pages, is that the designation of Best Record Store this year belongs to Good Records, and not to Bill’s.

Now, this is nothing I really want to complain about, and honestly if choosing Good Records over Bill’s is worst decision the Dallas Observer writing staff makes this year, I’ll be happy. I’ll even go so far as to say that Good Records has a number of admirable qualities (like clearly defined pricing and a live performance roster which has included national acts like Local H and Lou Barlow), but this being said, I find the vibe at Bill’s to be generally... warmer.

I am admittedly biased, and this should be taken into account, but the fact remains that at a Bill’s show, for instance, the performer can look out into the audience and see a crowd of friends as opposed to a bunch of vaguely interested hipsters who decided to put on their skinny pants and American Apparel v-neck t-shirts and nonchalantly stroll down the street from their rented M Streets houses or apartments just to “see what the deal is.” A perfect example of what I’m talking about (WARNING: IMPENDING SELF PROMOTION) is last Sunday’s feature at the Lost Art Open Mic, Emmeline.

The evening started with a performance by Jason Gully, who has been coming to our open mic pretty much every week since we started doing it back in May. Personally, I don’t believe a performer would keep coming back week after week if he wasn’t so consistently warmly received (which proves my point about the vibe, I think).

Next Roderick read a piece wherein he was openly critical of the law enforcement community. Just a few days earlier a number of Dallas Police officers were reprimanded for using excessive force in the arrest of a motorcyclist. So Roderick was essentially kicking them when they’re down, and normally I can’t condone that, but if the police can do this, Roderick should be able to as well.

Then Harry played a song that was either entertainingly depressing or depressingly entertaining. I can’t decide. He was followed by Mark. Mark played a few original instrumental compositions on the guitar, and rather than trying to describe their content or his playing style, I’ll just say go to Peter’s website at www.paoprod.com and look at some video of this guy, because you just have to see it.

Next Paul read a poem about a girl. I could be wrong about this, but I want to say that he met her at some open mic, so there’s another latent benefit of attending open mics, you could meet a girl who will inspire you to write poetry about her (I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing).

Then Emmeline took the stage. Emmeline’s set was a musical treat. Her sometimes blatantly optimistic and sometimes bittersweet songs were laden with emotion, and her soulful performance was actually enhanced by the between-song banter, which is awesome because usually musicians are just desperately trying to keep an audience’s attention while they tune or adjust cables or instrument settings. I would even go so far as to say I’m a little jealous. I mean, I just don’t have the stage presence to pull that kind of audience interaction off. Speaking of the audience, they so enthusiastically absorbed Emmeline’s set, that they seemed like a hungry sponge in a sink full of dishwater (Did I lose you guys with that simile? See that’s what I mean about my audience interaction skills).

______ followed Emmeline. His “Angel” piece always reminded me of that mid ’90s movie, The Prophecy. It’s a great piece, and I really like it as it is, but some deranged part of me wants to hear him read it in his best Christopher Walken voice, you know, just for kicks and giggles.

Next, Devorah told us about her mother in a piece that she prefaced by saying something along the lines of “be nice to your kids or they’ll grow up to write poetry about you that isn’t particularly kind”. I think she was right, and her piece was the most poignant on-stage revenge since George Lopez told Eric Estrada to go fuck himself.

Then Josh Martin played a brief set, during the course of which he got a Nina Simone song stuck in my head. I was mostly ok with that because his was a good cover, but really, though I respect Nina Simone as a songwriter and performer, I’ve never actually been a Nina Simone fan, per se.

Lilly followed Josh and read a piece called “All That Cliché Shit” which was largely made up of pre-existent song lyrics, irreverently yet very logically woven together to make an entirely new composition. I think I can name most of the songs she quoted Obviously, I can’t miss too many or I’ll risk losing my music geek status.

Then, closing out the evening’s lineup, T.C. read a few original poems, one of which celebrated womanhood. On a semi-related note, you know how some hardcore feminists spell the word “women” W-Y-M-I-N (or something along those lines), in order to literally and figuratively show a lack of reliance on M-E-N? Well, I want to popularize another alternative spelling, W-O-M-E-R-N-S. I like it because it accomplishes the same goal, but at the same time has an ironic overtone of redneckery.

Ok, I hope I didn’t stray too far from my original point, but I’m pretty sure that if you really think about it, everything I’ve just described couldn’t possibly have played out the same way and couldn’t have been as fun, had the event taken place anywhere other than Bill’s Records, still the best record store as far as I’m concerned. On that note, I’d like to thank Bill for providing us such an awesome venue week after week, and thanks to Peter for documenting the event.

- Alex P.

There’s probably an unwritten rule regarding the Lost Art Open Mic recap that says I have to make the claim that the open mic installment in question was a “great night,” or an “awesome show,” or something along those lines. I used to watch Late Night with Conan O’Brien on a regular basis, and he always started his show by saying “we have a great show for you tonight,” but I knew that this wasn’t always true. I’ve seen crappy episodes of Conan’s show. It’s all relative. I’m all for optimism, but you have to make a distinction between good and bad in context, or else the statement becomes meaningless, and there’s no point in saying it. Well, I don’t like lying to my readers, so you can rest assured that when I say we had a great night, I mean it, and I can confidently make that claim about last Sunday’s open mic and Lilly’s book release feature.

Jason Gully started things off, playing a new composition and a couple of old favorites. I was driving somewhere, earlier this week, and I switched my radio over to the classical channel without really paying attention to what I was putting on. About thirty seconds later I had to divert my attention from the road to my radio display because I though I was listening to Jason. It was actually some classical guitarist, and I didn’t get the name of the composer or the performer, but I think it’s cool that two guitarists coming from different musical backgrounds can sound so coincidentally similar.

Paul Sexton was next on the list, reading a piece that had several references to nachos (or was it cheese fries) and another that dealt with vomiting. Oddly enough, neither poem made any point regarding digestion, at least not in the literal sense.

Then B.A. read a few original pieces. He has the largest notebook of anyone I know, and you know what they say about guys with big notebooks... they either write really big or take forever to fill all the pages (crappy joke, I know, but I said it was a great night; I made no such claim about my comedic output).

Next, Opalina read her work off her I-Phone. In the future, we’ll all have smart phones with our pieces on them, and I’ll no longer have to stop mid-sentence because I can’t read my own handwriting. There’s no joke there, I actually have that problem pretty regularly.

I’d say “that’s enough about me,” but I think I was actually the next performer. I did a song called “Red Dwarf,” one of the better songs by my band Scarletien. I’m still not sure if I have to get clearance from the makers of that British TV show to use the name.

And then it was time for our feature. We turned the lights down, put two lit candles on the stage (thereby violating our own no fire rule), and Lilly sat down between them, mic in one hand, poetry in the other, and began her much anticipated extended recitation/read-along. Reading mostly poems from her book, O, Lilly touched on a plethora of topics, from love to sex to linguistics to cannibalism. I strongly recommend you buy a copy of her book and support this up and coming poet (no pun intended).

Following Lilly, Devorah read a couple of pieces, one of which had a part in Hebrew. For those of you keeping score, that’s the sixth language to be spoken on stage at Bill’s during our open mic. The other five were English, French, Spanish, Vietnamese, and Latin. I also referred to ancient Sumerian once, but that doesn’t count because I can’t actually speak it.

Harry was next, and he informed us all that he was just a Daniel Johnston rip-off. Oh well, so much for me comparing him to Gordon Gano. He also read a piece written from the point of view of a little kid. I couldn’t have done that because for me the temptation to use the work “fuck” is always too great, but enough about me (there, I got the chance to use that phrase after all).

Johnny O. read after Harry, and the piece he selected was actually from Lilly’s book. In case she had any doubts about her work being appreciated, she probably doesn’t anymore. Plus, we got it on tape, so she can watch it when she’s fifty (provided the tape isn’t lost in some cataclysmic event that plunges the world into darkness and forces us to live out our golden years in a post-apocalyptic Road Warrior-esque future).

Then T.C., fresh from Anime Fest and still in costume, got up on stage and read a few selections of her own. For those of you who are wondering, no, they were not anime related as far as I could tell.

The next performer to grace our stage was Alex Moline who played several beautiful Kasey Chambers covers. Next week, she’ll be covering Enter the Wu-Tang 36 Chambers and then she’ll be doing some Coal Chamber the week after that. Ok, that’s doubtful, but you never know, she could surprise us.

Victory followed Alex M. and it was Victory’s first time reading at this Bill’s Records location. She read at the old one, which has since been divided into three commercial spaces respectively housing a doctor’s office, a chicken place, and a store that sells everything from lawn chairs to mobile phone covers.

The last performer of the evening was Chris Zimmerly who played one original song. I thoroughly enjoyed his performance, and I’d just like to say, Chris, if you’re reading this, please come back and do another.

Alright, I believe that covers everything. I’d like to thank Bill for providing the venue, Peter for documenting the show, and Lisa, Gordon, Roderick, Brian, and Joey for coming out. Come out this next week. I said all that stuff in the beginning about not promising a great show like Conan used to, so I’ll close by saying next Sunday won’t suck. I’m only kidding. What I mean to say is, if you come out next Sunday, YOU can help make it a great night.

- Alex P.

These words you’re reading right now were written (or rather typed) after a two hour period of me sitting in front of my computer, staring at a blank Word document. I was supposed to write a simple recap of last Sunday’s Lost Art Open Mic and our featured event “What Can I Say?” An Evening with Gordon Hilgers, but early on I came to a realization that largely prevented me from doing so. Sure, I knew what information I should include. I knew I SHOULD mention the event having been a success (and I most definitely think it was). I SHOULD talk about Gordon being both thought-provoking and entertaining. I should mention that this was his first featured reading since 2005 and that the material he read consisted of poems from his forthcoming book, A Brief Tour of the Stone Age, and other pieces that were all in a stack of papers he picked up off his kitchen table.

I should mention that he is a cancer survivor and a few of his pieces addressed that. I should point out his amazing proficiency with stylistic devices, and that he is one of very few people I know who can explain the universal significance of a bum holding a flower or can so eloquently express the frustration of facing a life-threatening illness. I knew I SHOULD talk about all these things but the fact of the matter is, you simply had to be there last Sunday at Bill’s. [Guilt trip alert: If you weren't there, I must say, I am very disappointed in you. -Lilly]

Likewise, I COULD tell you about Harry’s performance, and that I think he kind of sounds like a cross between Buddy Holly and Violent Femmes frontman Gordon Gano on crack (yes that is a compliment, or at least, it’s intended as one). I could talk about Josh Martin’s brother Jacob, his Bill’s Records debut, and his poem about a song that takes eons to write. I could talk about Lilly’s codependent poetry and Nate’s rhymed work. I could mention Kelly, her spectacular Lost Art debut, and her singing in French. I could mention Josh Martin and his Nina Simone cover. And I could honestly say that I didn’t expect to hear Aeone sing a capella or hear T.C. read a sex poem (both performances got a great audience reaction, by the way). I could mention Marie’s solo performance or even talk about my own Johnny Cash parody, but again, you just had to be there. I guess the point I’m trying to make is that some of you may find an open mic recap helpful, or even (I can only hope) mildly entertaining, but without you being in our audience, I sometimes feel that anything I post here is only marginally more informative than if I were to say, “Last Sunday people got on stage at Bill’s and did stuff.”

These words you just read (assuming you didn’t just skip down to this particular paragraph for some unknown reason) actually seem pretty negative in hindsight. I’m sorry about that. I was really just going for a clever way of including all the information I wanted to include without resorting to a play-by-play format. Now I feel like I should brighten the mood or something. OK, here’s a joke:

Q: What’s the difference between a vampire and a sick tourist?
A: One sleeps in a coffin; the other coughs in a Sleep Inn.

That was awful, I know, but I was going for the “so bad that it’s funny” laugh.

Anyway last night was the Jay Mollenkamp Memorial Open Mic and Poet Fest. We’ll be back at our usual time next Sunday (08-29-10). Come join us at Bill’s.

- Alex P.

I hope my readers can appreciate bad puns, because I wanted to let everyone know that our Pool-less Pool Party went swimmingly. Seriously though, I’d like to take a moment to thank all those who participated, or to be more precise, Ricky, Dez, Joanna, Jason, Kyle, Shanna, Harry, Deserea, Jeff, T.C., Lilly, Chris Zimmerly, Alex M., Peter, and of course Bill. I still don’t know if my lime green swim trunks went over all that well, but I was happy to see our attendees having fun with the summer theme (Kyle even brought photos). Something else about this past Sunday’s open mic that caught my attention was that we had, not for the first time, but perhaps more noticeably than before, some heckling. I’m not mentioning any names to protect the guilty, but I do have some thoughts on this matter. Now, there are many who find heckling disrespectful if not downright offensive, but I, being a longtime stand-up comedy fan, have developed a certain appreciation for a good heckle. I do, however, want to point out that with heckling, as with any other form of public speaking, there is a definite art to it, and I, being a connoisseur of this particular art, would like to make some helpful suggestions to those who heckle, have heckled, or are considering heckling at some point in the future. As an open mic host I can’t actually condone heckling, but I would like to offer those who may choose not to “respect the mic,” in the traditional sense, some pointers on how they can be, for lack of a better term, strategically disrespectful. So, without further ado, I present to you:

Alex P.’s 5 tips for effective heckling:

#1 Steer Clear of Clichés

This really goes without saying, but you’re not going to impress anyone by yelling things like “You suck,” “You’re a fag,” or “Get off the stage.” Remember, the goal of heckling is to be humorously antagonistic, not to be a stupid dick. In order to accomplish this you have to be both caustic and creative. A good heckle is memorable, so it requires a bit of thought. Any moron can be overtly offensive, but it takes skill to be abrasive and not make the person you’re heckling want to punch you in the throat. There’s this great audio clip I heard once of comedian Bill Hicks going off on a drunken heckler that demonstrates the difference between the two. I’d post a link to it, but I heard it in like 1999, so I doubt that web site is even still up. Do some digging, though, and I’m sure you’ll find it somewhere.

#2 Exploit Awkward Moments

It’s a known fact of live performance that everybody messes up or stumbles or mis-speaks at some point, and it’s the heckler’s job to wait for these moments, ready to strike. Yes, you are essentially kicking the performer when he or she is down, but you’ve also waited for a break in the flow of a performance, which is a lot more polite than talking over someone, and you’re actually saving the performer from a far worse fate - having to deal with periods of awkward silence. Ok, the performer probably won’t thank you for filling the gap in his or her set, but in your heart you will know that you’ve done some good.

#3 Use Their Own Words Against ’Em

When properly used, the call-back is one of the most powerful weapons in a comedian’s arsenal. A call-back, in case you’re not familiar with the term, is when a comedian fashions a punchline from a reference to a previously uttered joke. It’s effect is twofold: first, it reminds the audience of the first joke to which the reference is made, thereby adding the comedic strength of the earlier joke to that of the new one, and second, it forces the audience to identify with the comedian because they know that the new joke won’t be funny out of context, so it makes them feel like they’re in on an inside joke. Now, as a heckler, if you can use a reference to something a performer has said earlier to make fun of the performer in a clever way, essentially turning their words against them, then you have harnessed the power of the call-back . It is the comedic equivalent of stabbing someone with his own knife. It makes quite an impression.

#4 Don’t Alienate Yourself

A good heckler can win over an audience, turning the audience members against the performer. You want the audience laughing WITH you, AT the person on stage. You’re trying to win hearts and minds here; therefore, it is essential that the audience can identify with you. In order to ensure this, you have to speak not as you, the individual, but as you, a representative of everyone watching the show. Try not to bring up personal information, make references to your own life, or even speak in the first person if you can avoid it. For example, making a comment like “You call that a sex song? My grandmother’s said raunchier shit at Thanksgiving dinner.” can make the audience think you have a perverted old lady for a grandmother, shifting the focus away from the performer. You can easily become the butt of your own joke unintentionally, when you could have said something like “You call that a sex song? How sad is YOUR life?” So unless you WANT to shift the focus toward yourself, stay away from personal facts you think the audience may not automatically swing with.

#5 Be Ready to Tango

Chances are the person you’re heckling has been heckled before. They’re probably prepared for just such a situation, and they can and will fire back. You have to step up to the challenge. They want a verbal fencing match? So be it. Preparation really helps in situations like this, so spend some time thinking about potential things a performer might say about you. Ask yourself if there are any jokes that can easily be made about your appearance or your presentation, because unless the performer knows you, these are the obvious attack points. Think of counters to these attacks ahead of time and you’ll do just fine. Remember, a good back-and-forth can be very funny and memorable, so as long as you can stand your ground for a little while, it won’t even matter if you win. Actually, you want to lose gracefully so as not to keep the exchange going too long. After all, the audience is there to see the performer, not you, so they will get sick of you fairly quickly.

Alrighty then, I hope some of you will find these suggestions useful. On a slightly more serious note, I would like to ask you to keep the heckling at the Lost Art Open Mic to a minimum because if you heckle too much, I will, with the audience’s permission, cut you down (and whether I mean that literally or metaphorically depends on the severity of your infraction).

I hope to see the lot of you spoken word loving, music playing, non-heckle-prone people at the Lost Art Open Mic this next Sunday for “What Can I Say,” Gordon Hilgers’ feature performance. I have no doubt that it will be an awesome night.

Oh, and on a final note I haven’t received any e-mailed questions, so I’m extending the deadline for Ask Alex Anything (that’s not an official name, it’s just a description; I don’t know why I decided to capitalize it). E-mail us at lostart@lostartopenmic.com

- Alex P.

This Sunday’s open mic featured a mix of regulars, newcomers, and a few faces we haven’t seen in a while at Bill’s records. I would like to extend my thanks to everyone who helped make this week’s Lost Art Open Mic a success. This includes everyone who got on stage, namely, Opalina Salas, Jason Gully, Johnny Olson (pictured), Chris Hamilton, Harry McNabb, Josh Martin, Nate Kelly, ___________, Aeone Singson, Thomas Banner (I hope I got his name right), and Alex Moline, as well as our audience. I’d also like to thank Peter Orozco for documenting the event and Bill for providing the venue.

You may have noticed, looking at this page, that this week’s write-up is pretty short compared to that of previous weeks. I assure you, there is a very good reason for that, and here it is: I was going to talk about certain unanswered questions pertaining to the Lost Art Open Mic, such as, why do we do what we do each week, what’s our goal, and what is the significance of the name “Lost Art,” but as I began answering these questions, two things quickly became clear -- first, I need to do some fact checking if I’m going to be making the claims I want to make about poetry and about music performance, and second, I should really type up a well crafted mission statement (ok, since it’s me doing it, it’ll probably be somewhat informal, but still...) and post it on a separate section of the site. So now you have that to look forward to.

All of this being said, I realize that there are still more, perhaps less obvious questions remaining, so next week, in addition to a write up for (WARNING: SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION IMMINENT) our POOL-LESS POOL PARTY, I’ll answer some of these questions. Ok, more specifically, since I don’t actually know what all of these questions are (I’m not a mind reader, after all) I’ll answer the questions you, the public, ask me via e-mail. So please send your questions to lostart@lostartopenmic.com, and I’ll answer some or all of them (depending on volume of mail received) next week. Oh, and they don’t even have to pertain to Lost Art. If you want to be a smart-arse and ask me what the airspeed velocity of a laden swallow is, I’ll take a crack at that as well. I look forward to reading your e-mails and to seeing you at our pool party.

- Alex P

This Sunday’s open mic put a giant smile on my face. We had a great turnout which included both newcomers and seasoned veterans. I’d like to thank everyone who got up on stage this week, more specifically, I’d like to thank Jason Gully, Josh Martin, Harry McNabb, Lilly Penhall, Kyle Vaughn, Emmeline Miles, Aeone, Bunny Trahan, Isabella Blood, T.C., Jamal Cloudy, and Joey Cloudy. I’d also like to thank Bill Wisener for providing the venue and Peter Orozco for getting the show on tape.

If you’ve seen video clips from our open mic on Peter’s website, www.paoprod.com, and you’ve seen the recording equipment he uses, you might be asking yourself, “How can this obsolete analog equipment yield such awesome results?” [You can't tell, but that's an old reel-to-reel in the chair in front of the video camera. -Lilly] I assure you that every week Peter goes through a long, painstaking process in order to convert his recordings to a digital format, synchronize the audio with the video, and make meticulous edits so that the final product meets even his ridiculously high standards [very ridiculously high standards, but that's why Peter is the BEST! -Lilly]. I can also assure you that it is a process that, unless you are a hardcore AV geek like Peter or me, is as boring to read about as it would be to undertake. So, instead of giving you factual information, I’d like to present to you a fictionalized account of the post-production process.

Every week after the Lost Art Open Mic is over, Peter, Joey, and I, along with anyone brave enough to tag along, eat a late night meal at the Metro Diner in Oak Cliff (actually, that part is true; what follows is fiction). Then Peter gets in his car and drives to an abandoned warehouse somewhere in South Dallas. Even I don’t know its exact location. Peter knocks on the door using a secret knock which only he and the party inside the warehouse know. The door opens with a creak as it is pulled inward by some unseen force, and Peter walks onto the dark, empty warehouse floor.

Scratching can be heard in the darkness, and soon enough its source comes into view as Peter is greeted by an army of super-intelligent rats, all of whom are named after cast members of the original Broadway production of Grease. Peter communicates with these rats by clapping his hands in Morse code. After exchanging pleasantries, Peter hands his tapes from the evening to the rats and pays them for their services with a hefty package of a soy-based imitation cheese, as both he and the rats are vegan. He then assures the rats that soon the day will come when they can come out of their hiding places and usurp power from their human oppressors, and the streets will run red with the blood of their unlucky victims. After this pep talk the rats are generally in a good mood, so they bid Peter adieu, and scurry off into the sewer system.

After traversing miles of underground pipes, the rats surface in a truck stop parking lot on Interstate 20. Here they skillfully board an eighteen-wheeler unseen, like the Ninja, while the driver is being serviced by a lot lizard, possibly in exchange for methamphetamines. After the rats have successfully stowed themselves away in the back of the truck, the driver, in a fit of panicked guilt and post-orgasmic regret speeds off, his only goal being to get as far way as possible, and as quickly as possible, from this den of disease and degradation (I mean the truck stop, not Dallas). He heads east on Interstate 20 eventually crossing the border into Louisiana.

A few hours later he is in New Orleans, where the rats surreptitiously exit his vehicle, and they proceed to whip out their special rat-sized GPS system. They scour the streets of the French Quarter in search of an elusive address, finally stopping in an alleyway at a door in a two-story red brick building. The name Baron St. James is scratched rather sloppily into the paint on the door. The rats knock three times, and they are let in by a spindly man wearing a dirty top hat and Michale Graves style skull face paint. [Hey! I've met that guy! He's cool! Michale Graves, not the Voodoo priest. -Lilly] The Voodoo priest complies with the rats’ requests, for he is eternally in their debt after the Baton Rouge possum incident. He draws a chalk veve pattern on the hardwood floor. Then, after taking the open mic tapes from the rat named after Barry Bostwick and placing them into the center of the chalk circle, he picks up the sacrificial chicken, which I personally hunted down in the back alleys of Richardson and had overnight delivered to him, and begins the ritual (actually part of that is true too; that is, there really are free range chickens in a Richardson neighborhood, but I don’t really hunt them). Soon the scull-faced man is being ridden by the Voodoo spirit Ogoun Badagris who magically syncs the audio and video recordings.

The man’s hand, which is being controlled by the spirits, hovers for a moment over the dusty keyboard of an outdated computer which still runs Windows 95 and then begins to type frantically. The Voodoo priest types an incredibly long sequence of ones and zeros, binary code for the finished and perfectly edited video clips, which he then saves as a text file and e-mails back to Peter in Allen, Texas. Then Peter, using only the power of his own mind, like the Jedi, converts the binary code into a usable video format and posts the open mic clips on his website, making them available to you, the public.

There you have it. That’s how the post production process works. Well, not really. You’d have to ask Peter if you want the factual version of the story. He should be there at Bill’s Records for the open mic this next Sunday. I hope to see you there too.

- Alex P.