I don't mean gone from there, but I mean living here, in this apartment. One week as of yesterday. I celebrated by moping. But also by pulling on a poly shirt and heading out to open mic at Muddy Water.
I thought I misheard the name, but no. Apparently Dingo Dizmal is a local street performer/persona. He also hosts the open mic every Thursday (And Sunday?) and has unfortunate familiar hair. And a fabulous hat.
The first full act I saw was S.T. Hines. Not as in 'saint,' but as in [ehs-ti]. (I know because I wrote it down, and because this had to be sorted out in order to be announced properly.)
This guy was awesome. He played in both normal and DADGAD and did some really interesting stuff. Upbeat stuff, then kind of lilting cowboyish stuff, and could project his voice well.
Next up was a rather portly gent, tweed suit and a fedora, walking around and encouraging people to sing along with him as he belted out Irish folk songs. This was a heartwrencher for me, since this is the kind of thing Grandpa would do in his younger days, but it was also really great and a nice change from the shy person on the stool hiding behind a guitar. During his last song a couple I had been admiring got up and began dancing:
(Huzzah for dancing.)
Two more players after that, also good but mumbly and less distinct. I left not long after.
The walk home still felt like early night, with a deep blue sky instead of the black one would expect at 9o'clock at night on the other side of the Rockies. The moon -- dark bits and all -- was intense and the clouds actually looked purple. The kind you would paint and no one would believe.
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