When a friend texted that her niece had signed up for open mic night at the Ark and invited me along, I said sure. Despite proofing the Observer’s listings for the event for nearly a decade, I had never checked it out, and I thought it could be an interesting way to spend a rainy spring evening.
The drill was simple. Aspiring performers literally threw their name in a hat—in this case, a red-and-white striped Cat in the Hat affair that the emcee brandished with aplomb. If you came with five or more people, you automatically got a slot. There were only four of us there for Zoe, so she sat there, fingers crossed and guitar case by her side, anxiously listening for her name.
The emcee drew names twice: once at 7:55 and again halfway through the evening. Each person got eight minutes to perform up to two songs. As the emcee pulled names out of the hat, you could feel the anticipation. He verified that the person was in the house, inquiring what they were going to do and how (sing, play an instrument, stand or sit, electric or acoustic).
The reactions to being chosen ran the gamut from surprise to elation to almost lackadaisical indifference. One young woman exclaimed “Oh!” in the same kind of shocked tone that Dorothy uses in The Wizard of Oz when her house lands with a thud. The emcee asked if she was okay and we all laughed. A minute or two later, a young man slouching in his seat with a newsboy cap pulled over his brow mumbled, “Uh, sing a song, I guess” when asked his intentions. The first round of names came to a close without Zoe getting the nod, so we settled in to listen.
As one might expect, the quality and variety of the performances was all over the place. There was some discordant piano playing and unintelligible lyrics. Two performers lost their way mid-song and had to start over or switch gears altogether. Some came to the stage with no clear plan and made a game-time decision. One entrant took her seat at the piano bench, admitted that she wasn’t sure what to play, and then commenced a languorous rendition of John Lennon’s “Imagine.” Her next selection was a decided 180: a boisterous boogie-woogie ramble that would have made Mr. B proud and had audience members shimmying in their seats.
Many of the performers were social media mavens with Instagram pages and Spotify channels. They weren’t shy about telling us where to find them, and I found myself making notes on those I wanted to investigate further, especially the beatboxer and the opera singer.
When the second round of names came and went without Zoe being among the anointed, she was a bit crestfallen. Then the emcee said, “Wait, is there somebody here from Wales? Come see me.” Zoe jumped out of her seat. That was her! (A college student who lives in the UK, she was in Michigan on her school break.) He agreed to make an exception for this far-flung hopeful, and told her she could perform two songs at the end, but only with the piano. They were going to be cleaning up the stage and unplugging amplifiers while she did her thing.
Afterward, we all agreed it was worth the wait. Zoe apologized in advance for her “shitty piano playing” (which it was not) and she played and sang two songs—one of which she’d written herself—sounding more than a little like Adele.
The Ark holds open stages at 8 p.m. on select nights throughout the year (see Nightspots). This month, you can catch them on July 1 or 9. You might just hear the next big thing.
Nice write-up on our beloved Ark activities
This article leaves out one piece of information, which is that all players are required to pay admission, and if you bring 5 people (who also pay), you get a slot. That is called “pay to play” and frowned upon by real open mic musicians. And, unlike real open mic nights, the people who play the Ark split after their turn, so there’s no sense of community. Hard pass.