Local stars shine bright at the open stage

Ghettoes on my mind: Reflections on a visit to the King Memorial

Local stars shine bright at the open stage, David M. Jones 

Posted on Sun, Feb. 06, 2005 

'American Idol" is a good show, right?

Well, I bet you can find the next star at a bar or coffee shop in your own neighborhood. I'm talking about open stages, what used to be called amateur nights in more honest times. In our media-saturated culture, it's easy to forget that celebrity can be local, and the joy of being seen isn't reserved for Britney, Janet and Shaq Daddy.

In case you're unfamiliar with the format, let me fill you in on how open stages work. Usually, open stages happen on a weeknight. When customers are few, musicians and club managers look for creative ways to bring in a crowd. A guy like me is hired to bring in a sound system and perhaps an extra amplifier for guest musicians. If I'm lucky, the manager may kick in extra dollars, and I can hire a drummer and a bass player for a house band. If I'm not so lucky, I make flyers and phone calls, and twist arms to build a turnout. Otherwise, I may be in for a lonely night with employees outnumbering customers — a bad sign in the entertainment industry!

Once promotion is done, the spotlight shines on the host and guests. There is an open stage for every taste. I've been to open stages in Twin Cities bars that are really rehearsals for top local musicians. This way of doing things can be great — even historic. I still dream of the legendary Minton's Playhouse up in Harlem during the glory days of the jazz era, where if you had the chops, you could jam with Thelonius Monk or Dizzy Gillespie, but without skills you would never see the stage more than once. Established bars like to run their open stages this way.

However, I prefer open stages that are truly open, where anyone who walks up gets his or her moment in the sun. At these open stages you never know what you're going to hear. In Eau Claire, Wis., I have attended and hosted such affairs off and on for four years with wonderful results. I have jammed along with a virtuoso on the didgeridoo — we rewrote the blues that night! I have played with an earnest jaw harp player who always brings several of his instruments. (I never knew that jaw harps came in different keys!) Recently I hosted an open stage at a lakeside bar and grill, with a great view of the water, summer sunsets and Newcastle Ale on tap. What could beat that?

I have to admit that occasionally at open stages, acts can be really bad, and they never seem to feel guilty about inflicting their bad performance on everyone else. Fortunately, acts that are really bad also tend to be really funny, just like on "American Idol."

There is a serious side to all this, which is the exchange of musical ideas. The communication between musicians is a wonderful thing when it works. After all, nobody wants to stink when he's on stage, even a bad musician. Under those conditions, you get amazing performances, some that I will never forget. I still remember a young man, 20 years old and a student at St. Olaf, who could play steel guitar like a Nashville pro and also could play the keyboard part to any Bruce Springsteen song I could name.

I remember Rappin' Rapunzel, who used to come to open stages in Minneapolis with her Heidi braids and drum machine, and while her rhymes would not remind anyone of Mos Def, they were right on time.

At another Minneapolis open stage, I remember two gentlemen who always dressed like Axel Rose and Slash from Guns 'n' Roses, and they did a heckuva job on Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" and the Doors' "L.A. Woman." Then they moved to California. Go figure.

Trust me — talent abounds when you go to open stages — on the right night. But you never know until you go.

Are you convinced? Then check your local arts paper and meet me at open stage. You're sure to find a neighborhood star. And you can always tape "American Idol" to watch on the weekend!
Jones, a professor at University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, is a 2005 Pioneer Press community columnist. E-mail him at daveyj@amblues.com.

Ghettoes on my mind: Reflections on a visit to the King Memorial, David M. Jones 

Posted on Sun, Apr. 17, 2005

I took my first trip to Atlanta about a week ago, traveling there for a meeting of university educators. I always enjoy working with colleagues to improve my teaching skills, but I was more excited about seeing Atlanta, a city renowned for its black middle class and its role in civil rights history.

I sometimes find it challenging, though, to spend time in large cities. After living in Eau Claire for five years, I have grown accustomed to the pace of life and even the cultural environment of the Upper Midwest. These environments are not free of racism; only two weeks ago, I heard the N-word yelled at me from a passing car. I am often the only African- American in a classroom or a bar where I'm playing the blues, and I can't always predict when I'll be met with courtesy, curiosity or hostility. Fortunately, previous experience in urban settings prepared me for the unpredictability of living in America while black. My current life in Eau Claire, however, did not prepare me for my visit to Atlanta.

The conference was great. Session topics ranged from university-community partnerships to the issues faced by older and returning students. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting members of the National Black Caucus and fellow faculty and administrators in the University of Wisconsin system. On the fourth day, Saturday morning, I decided to visit the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial, which included his birth home; Ebeneezer Baptist Church; his tomb; a park service museum and the Center for Nonviolent Social Change, all on one expanded campus. On first coming to town, I noticed there was a commuter train stop, King Memorial. On Saturday, I took the train to that stop, having read that a shuttle bus ran from there to the memorial.

Much to my surprise, the street around the train station seemed isolated, without prominent signs to direct a tourist like me. The bus booth was shadowed by the train station and had no posted schedule. I left the booth because of its isolation. A man who appeared to be homeless walked by me, chattering; he sat on a bench at the end of the block, and I heard his imitations of a machine gun sound. A young man, barely 20, asked if I had a transfer. I said no, and then oddly, our eyes met and we stared at each other wordlessly until he walked toward the bus booth.

After a few minutes, I returned to the train station, finally found a schedule, and learned the bus to the Memorial didn't run on Saturdays. So, I caught a train downtown to the conference center and took a cab to the memorial to make sure I'd have an opportunity to see it.

I watched a film about Dr. King's life at the National Park Service Museum at the memorial. I sat in the pews of Ebeneezer Baptist Church, listening to a recording of a sermon by Dr. King. At last, I visited his tomb, saddened as I always am that such a renowned man of peace was murdered in daylight.

How can I describe my feelings about the tomb itself? His tomb is located in a courtyard, set in a pool of cascading water. The pool's concrete bottom is painted an aqua blue, reminiscent of city wading pools. Water cascades from the top of the pool — near the memorial center — past his tomb. The concrete needed repainting in some spots; a grate had come loose in another spot. The eternal flame, which I had heard about on many occasions, was separated from the tomb by a sidewalk, hardly visible except at a close distance. A few visitors were taking snapshots of each other as they stood near the tomb.

I ended my visit quickly after that, catching a bus bound for downtown. Soon I was back at the hotel, discussing educational policy, sitting by my well-dressed colleagues. I was still wearing the black T-shirt and pants I use for urban wanderings.

Now I'm back in Eau Claire, urban ghettoes out of sight but on my mind, wondering what to do.

Jones, a professor at University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, is a 2005 Pioneer Press community columnist. E-mail him at daveyj@amblues.com.