Music Family

Of those open mic gatherings, a favorite for many, including me, was the IAMA Coffeehouse music series at a place called Elliot Hall we rent from the Unitarian Church. Guy had been running this bimonthly music series for over four decades! Due to health issues in 2018, Guy asked if I would take over the Coffeehouse setup, sound, and hosting duties.

We spent a couple of years together (pre-pandemic) side by side, twisting knobs and tweaking sound for a host of talented musicians. Guy and I became friends, close friends. We would regularly share stories and brag about our respective daughters, Sage and Marilyn. He loved Marilyn and always made her feel like the most important person in the room. That always moved me.

The Magic of Guy Benson

I was routinely struck by the way people paid attention when Guy performed. Yes, he was a competition finger-style champion (on more than one occasion). But Guy had an unorthodox, wabi-sabi style about him that was a force multiplier of his technical talent.

His folksy, no-nonsense way elevated his presence on and off stage. He cared about the art of performing, was a champion for enthusiastic new talent, and had little patience for show boaters and pretenders.

Due to ongoing respiratory issues, Guy required full-time supplemental oxygen. He never really complained. He was formidably stoic and made a lot of very funny jokes about his condition. He called his oxygen tank, “Tanky” and the O2 hose, “Tanky’s leash.”

Aside from his daughter Sage, performing was the most important part of his life. On stage, in those quiet moments, a soft pshhh from his cannula would accompany his performance with every inhale. That ever-present sound became somewhat of an endearing trademark to many of his friends and fans.

Pandemic

Guy struggled during the pandemic. His health issues required the soul-eroding isolation of social distancing. We talked by phone often – losing track of time with stories of Sage and Marilyn, philosophy, past adventures, and of course, music.  I would regularly visit and bring food, hang out at a distance, and sometimes play a little music with him when he was up for it. The strain of his illness and social isolation took a toll with ever-increasing hospital visits and close calls. Guy was a fighter. He made it to the other side of the pandemic and even performed recently after a brutal hospital stint.

I visited guy in his new apartment shortly before his passing and took him out to see the Two Old Guys (Michael Feldman and Tally Evans) perform at Gracie’s in downtown Salt Lake City.

We went back to his apartment, talked about life, and swapped playing his guitar and telling stories into the night. He confided that he was close to the end of his journey and did not expect to make it too much longer.

His statement froze me, us, in that moment. The deepness of my feelings for this fellow human, son, brother, father, and dear friend intensified and reminded me of the importance of how to value our short time on this planet.

Guy had always wanted an apartment in a high-rise with a view of the city lights. He got it. We stared out and upon the city lights and deeply into the beauty of that eternal moment, in silence with a magnification of gratitude difficult to put into words.

That was the last time I saw Guy in person. Given his health issues, the news, although not really unexpected, did catch me and our community off guard.

I look forward to Guy’s send-off with his friends, family, and community this Saturday, May 13^th. And, of all days, on my birthday, for one Last CoffeeHouse with Guy Benson.

You can find details of “Guy’s Celebration of Life” here.

The post Last CoffeHouse with Guy Benson appeared first on Bill Heaner.

It’s the friend who is with you through war and peace. A friend who knows you better than anyone and you know the depth of them. Somehow, in the milieu of humanity, they find you, and you find them.

This friend has seen you cry many times and, other times, laughed with you so hard that time stopped. This one friend is always there, always. Ready to forgive and ask for forgiveness. Ready to love you as deeply as you will dare allow and then go to the ground fighting for the last donut.

This Friend Knows Where the Bodies are Buried

This friend knows and protects your vulnerabilities. For some reason, this friend will argue and fight with you over the silliest things and tell you how ridiculous you look (but only if you really look ridiculous).

If asked, this friend would do anything and travel anywhere at a moment’s notice to ensure you are safe and happy. You would do the same without hesitation.

This friend will tell you truths you may or MAY NOT want to hear. This friend will celebrate your successes and help you patch up your shortcomings.

This one friend stays with you for life.

I Had Such a Friend

His name, Greg Gooch. We met on our first day at university. We lived together through our college years, and he became a cherished member of my family.

My parents thought of him as their other son, and in all the years that followed, my family’s history included this man, this friend, this brother.

Greg Was Unique

While I was physically small and a bit insecure, Greg was this 6’4″, blond-haired, blue-eyed, extroverted powerhouse. Greg always encouraged me, complimented me, and made sure I was seen and heard. And the best part, I was just one of many lives he touched in this way.

As young college roommates, we were mischievous. We’d sometimes stay up all night exploring abandoned places, sneaking onto golf courses, or climbing water towers on warm summer nights to sit high above the city and contemplate our dreams.

Greg gave me the courage to speak up and be noticed. When I told him I had an audition at Carlos restaurant for my first professional music gig, Greg was ecstatic and helped me choose the music. My insecurity took over, and I decided to cancel the audition.

As I was backing out, Greg explained this was not an option because he wanted a musician friend to meet girls.

Greg had many, many friends whose lives were touched deeply by this man. Talk to anyone who knew him well, and you would hear the same story. Kind, loving, funny, supportive, and always there to lend a hand.

Greg was always making new best friends, and those friends became my friends. We traveled, played a lot of golf with his father, at times, we drank too much, and sometimes had to steer ourselves out of predicaments that our mischief bore. The secrets borne out of that mischief are some of my most cherished memories.

So many years have passed since those early days. Different paths, different lives, and new stories fill the present. So many forgotten moments to be remembered as we gather to remind one another of the best you always saw in us.

P.S. We love you, Greg.

The post That Friend. That One Friend. appeared first on Bill Heaner.

That feeling. You notice the swells behind you are changing. Are they less flat and becoming steeper? Is this the set? In the black water, I could hear a voice from my left, yelling, “get ready, this is it!”

It’s midnight, but the moon is full. The water is warm and foamy. Excitement and terror fight for control of my thoughts.. Sitting up on my surfboard and looking back at the full moon silhouetting the dark swells seemed to stop time. I could feel the heat of tears forming from an overwhelming sense of the importance of this moment.

Life In The Low Lands

My family lived in Bevil Oaks, Texas, within the boundary of the Big Thicket. This area of southeast Texas is bayou country with thick, dense Cyprus tree forests, alligators, water moccasins, and lots of mosquitos.

We called it paradise.

As kids, our horses and bikes were our main transportation. 4H rodeos, Fourth of July parades, swimming in the bayou, camping in the woods, and meeting at the community pool occupied our hot summer days.

Skateboarding

After a year of pleading and bartering, my mom offered to take me skateboard shopping for my birthday. While there were a lot of skateboard options in those days, my mind was set. The Bonzai Skateboard was the only board I would consider.

It was a dream with its oversized polyurethane wheels and aluminum deck. It was fast and smooth and made skateboarding feel like freedom. I was a tiny, wiry kid, so I came to see gravity as more of a suggestion than a law. I gladly exploited that relationship with skateboard handstands (which I can still do to this day) and holding on to cars to test the Bonzai’s cushy wheels at speed on the rough asphalt roads.

Our tiny community pool was across the street from our house, and when the new tennis courts were built next to the pool, we finally had a smooth surface to skate. The tennis courts became our new skatepark.

New Tricks

I had developed the trick of jumping over objects while my skateboard rolled under.

The tricky part was landing back on the board and continuing skating. I was challenged by a friend to jump the tennis court net. We tied the bottom of the net so the skateboard could travel underneath. I should mention that we had no pads or helmets in those days and that one maneuver left scars still visible today.

I eventually made it over the net with a clean landing. We would practice this trick along with low slide-outs, obstacle skating, and any other trick we could imagine. We had a lot of time.

What’s Stranger Danger?

Within the line of sight of the lifeguard stand at the pool, our new lifeguard, Mike Reins, would watch us. We didn’t know much about him other than he was over eighteen and had a sweet Chevy van with surfboard racks. We were still kids, and to us, Mike seemed like a movie star. Tan, tall, lean, flowing brown-blond hair, and cooler than we would ever hope to be.

I was fourteen years old when Mike Reins stopped me at the pool and commented on my tennis court skateboarding. Time stopped when he said, ”You would be a natural at surfing. We’re going this weekend if you want to join us.”

Breath.

“Did I hear that correctly?” was my first thought. “What do you mean?” I asked with what sounded in my head like a little boy’s voice. “My friend Phillip and I are leaving Friday at 10:00 PM to surf at midnight under the full moon and coming back on Sunday,” Mike replied.

Breath.

Ok, Situational Factors

1. 14 years old agreeing to go camp-surfing in a Chevy Van with two older men.
2. What will my parents say?
3. I don’t know how to surf
4. Surfing at midnight…we’re surfing at midnight!

Without hesitation, I said, “Yes!”

If enthusiasm were physical, I would have been ripped apart. But I calmly thanked Mike and told him I would check with my mom. Slowly walking away from the pool, I continuously looked back over my shoulder until the pool building blocked my view of the lifeguard stand. From there, I’m sure I set a world sprinting record the rest of the way home.

A Different Time

We lived in a time and place outside of stranger danger or automatic suspicion – at least in my family. I burst through the door yelling, “Mom, Mom.” I found her in the garage about to change the oil in our station wagon. She invited me to help.

Under the car, the drain plug plopped into the oil catch pan. On our backs working together, I told her about the surfing opportunity with the lifeguard. Without a beat, she said, “Wow, Bill, that sounds like a great experience. I guess it’s ok but just be safe.”

We finished the oil change and not another word was spoken about it.

It was a different time.

Beer and Surfing

Friday night arrived with me standing in the driveway. In my hands, a towel, swim trunks, blanket, and five bucks in cash tucked into the back pocket of my cutoff shorts. I was ready to go. The van pulled up in the driveway, I hopped in the back, and off we drove into the night.

In the front passenger seat was Mike’s friend, Phillip Hussey. He was some sort of surfing legend at the time. After introductions, Phillip didn’t say much. We headed out down the thickly forested hwy 105 toward Beaumont, where we stopped at a 7-11. I stayed in the van while they went inside.

They emerged with snacks and a case of Schlitz Malt Liquor. A case of beer. We hit the road and they both popped tops and clicked cans to midnight at Meacom’s Pier, our destination.

The van was dark in the back: no seats, only extra surfboards, wet suits, and various supplies. I could hear a slight, whispered argument ensuing. A few moments passed when Phillip turned around to offer me a beer.

Red or Blue Pill?

There are moments that define us. My choice was binary: pass or accept. Pass and everything remains the same. Accept, and everything changes. My 14-year-old brain chose the Red Pill.

I popped the top and took a sip. The Red Pill sucked. Warm beer is an acquired taste for even hard-core beer drinkers. It smelled like warm urine and tasted worse. I was in a predicament. While I had gained “cool guy” points for accepting the beer I clearly would not be able to drink this disgusting “gift.”

We were still about 45 minutes to the beach, and my dilemma with what to do with this “urine in a can” was interrupted by a weird road noise. It came from under the wet suit I was using for padding against the cold steel surface. I lifted my neoprene cushion to find a small, rusted hole in the floor about the size of a quarter. I could see the road whizzing by beneath me.

I slowly and carefully poured my Schlitz through the hole.

About ten minutes later, I heard a can being crushed, and another pop-fizz from the front seat as both Mike and Phillip reached for seconds. With a mocking laugh, Phillip looked back at me and asked in a sarcastic tone, “Hey Bill, ready for another?” I crushed my can, handed it to him, and said, “thank you…absolutely!”

They both seemed stunned. I could hear Mike whispering, “Should we?” And Phillip said, “Here you go, little buddy.” They both laughed in disbelief.

In that 45-minute van ride to the beach, I poured three more beers through my Portal To Coolness.

We arrived at the beach in stunning, full moonlight. Both Mike and Phillip were tipsy and anxious to get into the water. Mike gave me a smaller custom board that he made. They showed me the leash system and Mike said, “It’s time to go water-skateboarding!”

I paddled out with them and watched. Phillip was shooting the pier and Mike was whooping and carving. I couldn’t seem to get into position. I was either late on timing or just couldn’t paddle fast enough. Mike saw me struggling and paddled over. He offered to call out the set and the best wave to take and then disappeared. Waiting and looking back at the dark swells against the bright moonlight, I heard, “This is the one, start paddling as fast as you can!”

That feeling. That lift. That push. That drop. “This feels familiar,” I thought. I stood, crouched, and joined the secret society of night surfers.

We surfed for hours. Exhausted, we left the water, came back to the van, and dried off. Mike and Phillip had another beer while I rummaged for my blanket and some water. I carved a bed and pillow out of the sand, wrapped up, sipped water, and watched the moon against dark swells in the distance. I drifted into a deepness of sleep I’d never experienced.

Sunrise

The morning light created the illusion of being away from life in Bevel Oaks for weeks. We got up and reminisced about the night over a breakfast of honey buns and warm, soft drinks. Delicious. After a morning of surfing, we headed to get burgers at High Island. Phillip decided he needed to cut the trip short, so we headed back to Beaumont early.

Over that magical summer, Mike invited me to surf many times and gifted me that custom surfboard. With every trip to the beach, I offered to ride in the back of the van, where I poured beer after beer all summer long through my Portal to Coolness.

The post Portal To Coolness appeared first on Bill Heaner.

It was my freshman summer break when I got the news I was going to a new high school. Beaumont Charlton Pollard, or BCP as it was known, was the integration of the segregated, all-black high school, Charlton Pollard, with the mostly white, Beaumont High School.

BCP was fully integrated from the top down. As a result, the two schools combined administration, teachers, and student bodies, creating an immersive cultural diversification that certainly had its share of growing pains. Desegregation was messy.

Invisi-BILL

At 5 feet and 115 pounds, I was physically immature as a high school sophomore.

One bully after the next would sniff me out. I didn’t have size or stature and looked like I was still in elementary school.

Even in this integrated environment, the race of a person was somewhat “neutral” to me. From my perspective, everyone seemed so big and tall…like grownups. As I walked through the halls, I would avoid eye contact and try to stay out of sight.

One of my friends nicknamed me, Invisi-Bill.

Family Life

My sisters and I were not exposed to racism in our family. It’s hard to believe our parents never really talked about the deeply troubling history of race in the USA, let alone in our little town.

Mexico

My mother was raised in Mexico City until around ten years old. She regarded Mexico as her co-heritage. Mom was completely bilingual and bicultural, and she and my father were always helping the Latino community with the myriad issues that came from lack of privilege.

This was my mother’s greatest gift to my sisters and me, compassion for those in need, which also included animals.

Junior Year

After putting my sophomore year behind me, I did not look forward to returning to BCP.

My first day back as a high school junior revolved around figuring out classroom locations and noticing how much everyone had grown over the summer…that is, everyone except me.

While still years away from shaving, I hoped that this would be the year of adding at least a couple of new inches to my height.

I was able to choose a P.E. class that was listed as self-defense. The trouble was that the coach knew nothing about self-defense. The coach asked for a show of hands from anyone with a self-defense background, one hand arose.

His name, Osborn Ballard. Osborn received his black belt in Thai Kwando from the legendary Beaumont Texas martial arts instructor and one of the best people I know, Fred Simon.

The coach anointed Osborn “self-defense instructor” for the class, then left for his office.

After the coach walked away, Osborn offered a sparring demonstration and asked for a volunteer. Reggie McElroy stood up to take the sparring challenge.

Yes, that Reggie McElroy of the New York Jets and Denver Broncos. Reggie was already around 6’5” and the toughest person I’d ever laid eyes upon. Osborn was about 5’10” and maybe 150 pounds.

Now We Knew

It’s difficult to describe what happened next because it happened so fast. With a fake-out punch followed by one side kick to the rib cage, Reggie dropped to the ground gasping for air.

Osborn’s movements were a blur. What struck me was the absolute calm, speed, and strength that this superhuman boy possessed and the confidence of it all.

There was no one tougher and more mysterious than Osborn Ballard, and the news of what happened spread throughout the school like wildfire.

A few days had passed, and I was still doing my best to blend into the background: to be Invisi-Bill. The self-defense class was unorganized, and Osborn was randomly showing a martial arts trick or two to the more confident students.

My Next Bully

Up to that moment, my junior year was free of bullies when a large, white football player in our self-defense class decided I needed to be taught some sort of lesson for being quiet and small.

The first time was intense. A shove to the floor from the back. A bloody lip and broken alligator toy I was holding made him laugh with such pleasure.

I was no longer Invisi-Bill. Others who witnessed the shove seemed to feel sorry for me, and I despised that flavor of attention. Helplessness is one of the worst places to live.

My particular skill avoiding bullies had been working pretty well until that day in the P.E. class. After that, I went to school in fear.

I hated myself for my small size and seeming insignificance. But that was about to change. All thanks to the compassion from the most unlikely character, Osborn Ballard.

Osborn Steps In

My bullying had not gone unnoticed by Osborn and on a Thursday morning at around 10:00 am, Osborn asked if I would like some help learning a few martial arts techniques.

“Why me?” I asked myself. “Why would someone like him even notice I was alive?” I was nobody, but he worked with me that day and in every self-defense class after.

He taught me how to stretch and the importance of core strength. He taught me how to box and, more importantly, how to take a hit – a lot of hits! It should be mentioned that in every boxing round, I was never able to land one punch.

But I was toughening up.

Osborn was wise. He told me that I had to stand up for myself against this bully, or I would live in fear for the rest of my life. He offered a possible solution, but given the size of my bully, I would only get one chance.

This solution involved what is known as a turnaround-hook-kick.

He chose this maneuver because of the centrifugal force generated by the kick from my leg spinning around my center of mass. Connect a spinning hook kick, and your opponent, no matter how big, will feel it.

We worked on this kick over and over for weeks. Osborn would randomly stick up a boxing glove and say, “hit it!” I would perform the kick over and over. And over time, I could hit that boxing glove wherever he put it. High, low, moving, but only one side. I only practiced with my right leg.

Maturity Begins

As time marched on in Beaumont,Texas, I grew a little. Although I put on a couple inches in height, my weight stayed the same, and, though I ate like a horse, I looked impossibly thin.

After Thanksgiving break, I would see Osborn again, resume my training, and maybe put on some muscle weight.

I looked forward to spending time with Osborn. I felt we were becoming friends. But Osborn had a reputation to uphold. The cancer of Jim Crow still infected the south, and skin color was always the elephant in the room.

Though integrated, BCP, like other integrated schools, was rife with racial tensions that forced much intra-segregation within the school boundaries.

Osborn was tough and intense, and no one got in his way or ever challenged him. Although he wouldn’t acknowledge me outside of the self-defense class, I knew it wasn’t about me. The fierce desire to belong to groups was and is powerful.

Our coach had moved our class out to the football field workout rooms. It was nice there. A universal gym where I would watch Osborn easily bench press 230 lbs!

There was a locked chain-link fence protecting football gear that Osborn and I would use to pull ourselves into middle stretches. There was also a large room for boxing and mats for grappling.

From time to time, my bully would taunt me, shove me or threaten me. I remember him saying something like, “you think you’re so tough now with a bodyguard.”

Osborn did not like that and told me that I alone would have to deal with this. Win or lose, just standing up to him was better than continually cowering.

And Then IT Happened

During what seemed like just another day in our self-defense class, the big bully decided to be a bit more aggressive and taunt me with fake karate moves.

He’d laugh and call me a little coward.

Something came over me at that moment. As if the whole world went silent and my peripheral vision went dark.

I have since learned about this phenomenon of stress-induced tunnel vision in the fight or flight moment.

In that moment, as if through a vignetted lens, I only saw his contorted, laughing face and, without hesitation, threw my one and only spinning hook kick.

The nature of this kick is that the foot’s heel is coming up in an arc from low-to-high in the opposite direction and is easily missed. The kick landed squarely on the blade of his right jawbone, knocking him backwards onto the cement floor.

After what seemed like an eternal pause, the silence was broken, with everyone in the class whooping, yelling, and high-fiving.

My bully was unconscious, and I was sick to my stomach. I jumped down to his side in some vain effort to console and noticed his jaw swelling in front of my eyes.

Someone ran to get help. An ambulance was called, and my life was changed forever.

Every witness confirmed I was defending myself as well as the long, sorted story of the bullying. My Karate Kid moment had spread like wildfire.

Later that day, as I was walking into my photography class, I saw Osborn and Reggie walking toward me in the hall. Osborn was smiling at me. Then Reggie stopped in front of me, looked me in the eye, entered a Karate stance, and said “HEANER…Hiya!” Followed by, “jus kiddn, man, jus kiddn!”

Reggie and Osborn made me feel seen for the first time. I was now, Visi-BILL.

The following day, the school newspaper organized a story on our self-defense class and took pictures of Osborn and me sparring. Osborn and I were now friends outside the gym. After school, I would give him rides home in my old Volvo station wagon, and everyone called us “Salt and Pepper.”

To this day, I owe who I am to Osborn Ballard. I wonder from time to time who I would have been never standing up to my bully.

Even in the wake of Jim Crow, a poor black boy from the south thought my life was important.

You can bet his life will always matter to me.

The post Osborn and My Karate Kid Moment appeared first on Bill Heaner.

Our Focus For This Post

• Acoustic Instruments: Guitar, Ukelele, Banjo
• Electric Instruments: Guitar, Bass
• Other Stringed Instruments (Cello, Violin)
• Keyboard
• Prerecorded Sounds or Music
• Percussion
• Spoken Word / Comedy

Guitar / Ukulele / Banjo Players

Let’s start with the most common open mic instruments.  There are a lot of guitars, ukuleles and sometimes banjo players at open mics.  Chances are (statistically speaking) your performance is with a guitar.  If not, read on as we will take on each category in the list above.

For this section, we will include the ukulele and banjo as the following information generally applies to both instruments. Note: Banjos are loud and can be completely acoustic in small venues. Many of the banjo players I have worked with have pickups installed, but also work great with an external microphone.

Guitar and Banjo Players

You have a list to keep up to date.  And NOT keeping that list up to date is causing or WILL cause others to wait due to your lack of preparedness – this is disrespectful, and sloppy tradecraft.

What I have noticed over the years is that most open mic performers do not take this list seriously and rely on everyone else to lend them what they need.

Unexpected Issues

Unexpected issues do arise from time to time that will have you borrowing a pick or capo…just don’t make it a regular thing.  Make sure you check this list at least a day before, the day of, and just before you leave for your performance.

The Checklist

• Fresh pickup battery (and a couple of spares) for Active Pickups. These batteries are usually 9V. (Active Pickups are highly recommended…see more on active pickups below)
  
• Reasonably fresh strings (more important on guitars)
  We call old strings “thumpers” as they are more percussive than tonal. If you cannot hear a nice tone out of your strings, it’s time to put on a new set.
  
• Tuner with a good battery (buy two tuners to have an extra)
  
• Picks – Bring plenty of your favorite picks in some sort of container. A sandwich bag works just fine.
  
• Capo – At least two (if you use them)
  
• Strap – adjusted to your comfort level
  
• Optional –  a small “gig” bag for extras.

Guitars And Ukuleles Are Easy

These are easy instruments if you have a pickup system that uses a standard, quarter-inch plugin.  It’s better if your pickup system is active, meaning it is powered by a battery.  And even better if you have onboard guitar volume and tone controls.

These onboard systems have a better volume and frequency level with which to work.  The other pickup type is what is known as “passive” and can really cause issues with usable tone and volume especially the longer the cable is to the mixing board. 

Long Cables

The longer the cable to the sound mixer, the more degradation in the signal and the worse your instrument will sound. This can be remedied with an external microphone from the sound person, but there are a host of issues related to relying on the external mic setup.

External Microphones

If you HAVE NOT had experience playing with an external mic, it is likely you will not be able to keep your guitar fixed on the sweet spot during your performance due to body movement. The anatomies of banjos and ukuleles are much easier to keep near the mic

There are even more options for acoustic guitar pickups like sound-hole, internal microphone, etc. that we will cover in more detail in another post.

Other Stringed Instruments (Violin, Cello, Bass, etc)

Some professionals and knowledgeable amateurs use pickup systems for there orchestral instruments, but these instruments are naturally loud and can cut through an indoor performance easily in smaller venues. However, microphones are a handy addition for soft, nuanced performances and can effectively spread the sound around the venue. Your open mic host will have options…just ask!

KEYBOARD PLAYERS

Keyboards are pretty straight-forward for sound people. The keyboards are usually compact, light and easy to carry in a bag. There are full-size keyboards, but these rarely show up at the Open Mic venues. These instruments come with a strong line-level signal with a standard quarter-inch plug and do not need a preamp. No batteries needed.

I’ve worked with many keyboard players and the only big issues I’ve experienced are those not familiar with the menu systems on their keyboards…but that is rare.

Not so rare are sustain pedals that don’t work. Fear not, it’s not the end of the performance, just a little less control on the sustain most likely not even noticed my most.

Even if you opt for a more expensive main sustain pedal, it is good to have an extra, less expensive backup. Usually costs less than $20.

The other is the keyboard stand. Many keyboard players hope that they can just find a suitable alternative at the venue like a couple of chairs with arms placed front to front or a small cafe sized table.

Veteran performers who have made prior arrangements will sometimes put their keyboard on a table. If you’re new to this and haven’t made arrangements ahead of time, my advice is to bring a stand. They are compact and lightweight and don’t require a major disruption at the venue to move tables and chairs to accommodate you.

Pre-Recorded Music

Many performers today are taking advantage of the compact, wireless boom boxes for using a pre-recorded track to back their performance. Purists don’t care for it, but I think there is a place for this performance art form ESPECIALLY if it is original work that the artists has prerecorded. It falls in a similar category of the guitar looper.

Many venues will not allow the use of copyrighted material in a public performance. Not just because of the copyright issues, but the fact that open mics are distinctly NOT Karaoke. There are so many Karaoke venues to express yourself if your desire is to use prerecorded music that is not your own.

I can tell you that most Open Mic hosts prefer to mic the boombox rather than to “patch” it into the system with an adaptor cable. Why? Setup time, extra cable management, volume control and lastly, being able to keep the boombox next to the performer.

Click on the links below for more on Open Mic performing!

The Open Mic

Lessons for the Open Mic Performer

Spit Misting – YUK!

The post Lessons for the Open Mic Performer appeared first on Bill Heaner.

The simple math is that there are not enough paying gigs for the army of performers looking to be compensated, so the open mic has become a social hub for a large network of musicians to gather, exchange ideas, test out new music and find a place in the pack.

If you have a talent in a performance art form, be it music, poetry, comedy, etc. that you wish to share in public, there is an open mic waiting for you. The process is easy enough; search for open mics online, sign up and step up to the microphone.  It really is that easy.

Be Prepared

In my countless conversations with budding open mic performers, the common theme is that they wish they had been more prepared for the big event.  Sure, it’s easy to just walk on stage on and hope for the best, but you’ll never get that second chance to make a first impression.

After all, there is a bit of work that goes into a performance and you’ll want your fellow participants to feel you’ve put in at least a minimum amount of due diligence in preparation.

This doesn’t mean the polish of a pro, but within the context of a first performance, there are a few guidelines that can make your debut go more smoothly.

Search Online

Start your search online for an open mic that seems appropriate for your talent.  Determine whether the venue you want to attend is an “Open Mic” or Invitation Only “Open Mic.”

Make a note of the host’s name and contact information if provided.  Some open mics simply require you to show up at a specified time and get on “The List,”  while others have you call ahead of time.  If it’s a popular open mic, show up early as the lists can fill up quickly.

When you arrive, introduce yourself to the host and know their name.  Thank them in advance for the opportunity to perform and ask if there is anything you can do to make their life easier for your performance.  If there is equipment to be carried in our out, offer to pitch in.

Hosting is Work!

For the hosts, it’s work to set up and breakdown sound equipment, get the list out, soundcheck, and run sound for the duration of the open mic.  Open mic hosts have their hands full, so do your best to make their lives easier instead of adding to their workload.

Open Mic General Rules

The rules for open mics are generally the same everywhere:

1. Get on the list early
2. Be tuned and ready to go the moment you’re called
3. Follow the time limit

Punctuality

A note on time limit. This includes your setup time and talking time. If you plan to tell stories, make sure to factor that time into your set. Also, if your setup is complicated or you have multiple musicians, make the transition as simple and quick as possible for the open mic host, your fellow performers, and the adoring audience.

Etiquette

Also very important is ETIQUETTE. Some obvious, some overlooked.  
Here’s the checklist:

1. Be respectful to everyone. Show your appreciation by giving positive feedback to fellow performers, sound people and thank your host.
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2. If there are children or minors present, tone down the vulgarity or obvious adult-themed content.
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3. Stick around before and after your performance to show your support of your fellow performers. Nothing is more distasteful than the performer that leaves right after their performance or waits to perform in a backroom or outside the venue. Just plain tacky and sends the message that you only care about your own performance.
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4. Put away your cell phones and tablets!  Within reason.  Great for pictures and videos and checking on your kids, etc. But thumbing through your social media or compulsive texting and emailing during a live performance is bad form.  Pass it around.
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5. Keep distracting conversations to a minimum.  We’re social creatures. I get it. And we like to talk. One tip – Imagine the performer is your son, daughter, best friend, loved one – or, better yet, you! Give them the attention and respect you’d like to receive yourself when it’s your turn.

Click on the links below for more on Open Mic performing!

The Open Mic

Lessons for the Open Mic Performer

Spit Misting – YUK!

The post The Open Mic appeared first on Bill Heaner.

Germs

A public microphone is a germ paradise. Add a foam cover over the microphone’s grill and germs like flu viruses can last up to 48 hours, especially in the warm, moist environment typical in those foam windscreens.

Along with the responsibilities we all share to slow the spread of infectious germs, a little planning goes a long way.

Germ Transmission

Germ transmission is easy enough. Performers not only put their hands all over the mic but eject saliva through what I call, “SPIT-MISTING” directly into the microphone grill or foam windscreen. These types of live performance microphones require that you get close to the surface to get great tone.

Windscreens and Microphone Adjustments

Touching the windscreen with your mouth or more likely, just the air pressure from your voice will detach and disperse a past performer’s eager little bugs directly into your mouth, nose, or eyes.

Or, have you ever seen a performer NOT grab the microphone and stand and adjust its position?

When you make your adjustments to the microphone and stand, the previously deposited bugs can hop a ride onto your hands with the eager expectation of you rubbing your nose or eyes or worse, passing it to someone else.

From the Mayo Clinic

“The length of time that cold and flu viruses can survive outside the body on an environmental surface varies greatly. But the suspected range is from a few seconds up to 48 hours, depending on the specific virus and the type of surface.”

We Are Social Creatures

Open mic venues are intimate environments.  The social connection in the performance space creates a lot of handshaking and hugging.  We are always reminded to wash our hands, not rub our faces, and not get too close to someone coughing or sneezing.  But what about the microphone? What can we do to protect ourselves from the lurking pathogens on this vital piece of vocal technology so close to our faces?

Personal Microphones

There are a few famous performers that bring their own personal microphones to a performance for health reasons.  But you don’t have to be a germaphobe to pack your own microphone to your neighborhood open mic.  It’s common sense and a sign of intelligence with an important added benefit: predictable sound quality and knowing the mic-to-mouth distance sweet spots for your different vocal styles.

Bring Your Own Microphone and Windscreens

“What? That’s expensive and I’m not a professional.”  A really good, professional microphone can be purchased for under $100.  Go for the Sure SM58 or if you can spend a little more, the Sure SM58 Beta.

Here are the options:

If a microphone is outside your budget, bring your own windscreens.  This is not a bad option, and very affordable.

Microphone Pop Screen or Windscreen
You can get a pack of five for under $7.00 USD!

Typically, venues will provide a “Ball” or “Capsule” type microphone. These foam windscreens will fit most hand-held microphones. There are other types of microphones with odd shapes, but these are rarely found in the open mic venues.

Pro Tip: if you pull off the venue’s existing windscreen, use a paper towel, napkin or even disinfectant wipe (or Purell on hands if you have it) so you don’t transfer the germs of the previous windscreen to your hands.

For Those On A Tight Budget

If you’ve borrowed bus fare to get to the venue, you may still have some options for free to almost free. If the microphones do not have foam windscreens, you can ask the host if you can use a disinfectant hand wipe on the microphone grill, body, and stand. Most hosts are receptive. Many people carry extras if the event is low on disinfecting supplies. To be extra prepared, purchase some inexpensive antibacterial wipes before you arrive.

**Once you explain what you’re doing, you will have many followers**

Some Closing Thoughts

I personally don’t like foam windscreens on my live vocal microphone.  I feel like they reduce microphone fidelity a little.  But I always bring along extra windscreens in case my personal microphone is needed.  After the performance, I pull off the windscreen with a disinfectant hand wipe and store with the hand wipe around the windscreen and tucked the excess in the microphone opening. I also wipe the entire microphone with another disinfectant wipe, before stowing.

Click on the links below for more on Open Mic performing!

The Open Mic

Lessons for the Open Mic Performer

Spit Misting – YUK!

The post Spit-Misting…Yuck! appeared first on Bill Heaner.