Misericord rocks out deep in G-Town, yo
Jun. 3rd, 2004 11:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slipjig3Kindly line your plaudits up at the door, please: tonight marked the performing debut of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rafaela and myself at the open mic at the Rock Hill Bakehouse in Glens Falls. (Tomorrow: THE WORLD! *power-mad cackle*) We'd been rehearsing on and off for a few weeks, and being the spotlight-grubbers that we are (and I say that with pride), we were dying to get up on stage as soon as possible. We choose the band name Misericord, which we knew was The One from the beginning: it's not only the name ascribed to a knife used to off wounded knights on the field of battle, but also has a nice "misery-chord" pun that's perfect for a couple of mopey folkie-types such as we.
The local open mic runs on the standard three-songs-and-you're-out rule, so we decided on a simple pattern: one by me, one by her, and one by the both of us. Mine was an original entitled "The Back of Your Head," which is the one dorky li'l pop song in my repertoire, but seemed to be received well. She performed a trad piece, "La Rosa Enflorence," sung a capella in the Ladino dialect, which had the waitstaff craning their necks to watch. Finally, we closed with our showstopper, a slowed-down, bluesy take on the Kenny-Rogers'-stoner-period classic "I Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)." Let me tell you, that girl can belt like nobody's business, and I actually think I hit my stride on my guitar work. Long story short: we didn't suck. Saints be praised.
We were actually the first ones on, but we (along with Trey, who kindly came to root us on) stuck around for the next several acts, which included a quite-talented emo-puppy with Fauntleroyesque blonde curls named Travis, a guy who read aloud from The Screwtape Letters, someone who did somewhat lackluster covers of Van Morrison and the Rolling Stones with a decent harmonica blower in tow, and a suburban frat-boyish rapper who came unprepared and a bit apathetic but managed to charm me anyway. When a fellow who gave his name as, and I quote, "The Poet Whom Trouble Follows Around," began reciting in tones flat enough to make Ben Stein sound like Bon Scott, we fled for our lives. The blessing of open mics—that anyone can participate—is also on some night its greatest curse.
So anyway, we survived. It looks like we've got ourselves a band. We will be doing it again.
rafaela and myself at the open mic at the Rock Hill Bakehouse in Glens Falls. (Tomorrow: THE WORLD! *power-mad cackle*) We'd been rehearsing on and off for a few weeks, and being the spotlight-grubbers that we are (and I say that with pride), we were dying to get up on stage as soon as possible. We choose the band name Misericord, which we knew was The One from the beginning: it's not only the name ascribed to a knife used to off wounded knights on the field of battle, but also has a nice "misery-chord" pun that's perfect for a couple of mopey folkie-types such as we.The local open mic runs on the standard three-songs-and-you're-out rule, so we decided on a simple pattern: one by me, one by her, and one by the both of us. Mine was an original entitled "The Back of Your Head," which is the one dorky li'l pop song in my repertoire, but seemed to be received well. She performed a trad piece, "La Rosa Enflorence," sung a capella in the Ladino dialect, which had the waitstaff craning their necks to watch. Finally, we closed with our showstopper, a slowed-down, bluesy take on the Kenny-Rogers'-stoner-period classic "I Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)." Let me tell you, that girl can belt like nobody's business, and I actually think I hit my stride on my guitar work. Long story short: we didn't suck. Saints be praised.
We were actually the first ones on, but we (along with Trey, who kindly came to root us on) stuck around for the next several acts, which included a quite-talented emo-puppy with Fauntleroyesque blonde curls named Travis, a guy who read aloud from The Screwtape Letters, someone who did somewhat lackluster covers of Van Morrison and the Rolling Stones with a decent harmonica blower in tow, and a suburban frat-boyish rapper who came unprepared and a bit apathetic but managed to charm me anyway. When a fellow who gave his name as, and I quote, "The Poet Whom Trouble Follows Around," began reciting in tones flat enough to make Ben Stein sound like Bon Scott, we fled for our lives. The blessing of open mics—that anyone can participate—is also on some night its greatest curse.
So anyway, we survived. It looks like we've got ourselves a band. We will be doing it again.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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And the mention of Bon Scott perked me right up.
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Date: 2004-06-05 09:32 pm (UTC)I found you through a mention in
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