Framing the Sound

Author: TC Conner

  • Looking Back at My Love/Hate Relationship with Open Mic Nights

    Before “open mic night” was the thing where you nervously clutch a guitar (or your courage) while waiting for your name to be called, it was just a microphone in a coffeehouse, open to whoever dared step up. The tradition grew out of the 1950s–60s folk revival — places like Greenwich Village’s Café Wha? and The Gaslight Café, where singer-songwriters could play a couple songs, pass the hat, and maybe get noticed. By the 1970s, comedy clubs borrowed the idea, giving stand-up hopefuls a shot in front of real, often merciless, audiences. Fast-forward to today, and open mics have sprawled into every kind of venue imaginable — bars, bookstores, breweries, even Zoom rooms — still serving up that same unpredictable mix of brilliance, awkwardness, and “what just happened?” that keeps both performers and audiences coming back.

    And here’s where my love/hate thing kicks in. On the love side, there’s nothing quite like the adrenaline rush of playing to a room full of strangers who are actually listening. You can feel the collective heartbeat of the crowd, even if it’s only twelve people sipping lattes or nursing craft beers. There’s the thrill of meeting other performers — swapping stories, guitar picks, or mutual encouragement in the corner while someone on stage is absolutely nailing it.

    But then… there’s the hate side. The sound guy disappears mid-song. The guy ahead of you does a 12-minute free-form harmonica solo. The crowd thins to just the bartender and your cousin by the time you finally get called. And let’s not forget the mic that smells faintly of beer breath and mystery.

    Still, for all the unpredictability — the good, the bad, and the baffling — those nights left their mark. Somewhere between the awkward silences and the magic moments, I learned that open mics aren’t just about performing. They’re about belonging to this oddball little tribe of people who can’t help but put themselves out there, one shaky song or risky joke at a time.

    So maybe that’s why, even though I don’t go to open mic nights anymore, I still think about them. They were messy, unpredictable, and occasionally ego-bruising, but they were also where the sparks happened. Where I learned to roll with a dead mic, win over a distracted crowd, and sometimes, just sometimes, surprise myself. Love them or hate them, open mics are a reminder that art isn’t meant to stay safe at home; it’s meant to be shared, out loud, in all its imperfect glory.

  • Neglect

    It has such a negative connotation to it doesn’t it? I never think a positive thought when thinking about neglect. From where I stand, as an artist, the word is truly a bit discombobulating. So, I asked Nova (that’s ChatGPT, but I got his [its/their] permission and approval to call him Nova, he likes it) to offer a definition of “neglect” from an artists’ perspective. This is what Nova had to say.

    “From an artist’s point of view, neglect is the quiet abandonment of potential—a canvas left untouched, a vision unpursued, or a creative voice silenced by distraction or doubt. It’s not always intentional, but its effects are corrosive, allowing inspiration to fade and expression to wither. In this light, neglect isn’t just passive; it’s a slow erosion of what could have been art.”

    And yet, my neglect on blog updates can be justified using only one word:

    CANCER

    Not me, but my 43-year old daughter.

    I’ll quote my dear friend from across the Big Pond, he explains the “fight” much better than I.

    “I hate calling it a fight or a battle as that suggests there’s a loser. Nobody loses and nobody wins. You either survive or you don’t. And not surviving isn’t failing or losing. It just happens sometimes.”

  • Framing the Sound

    Camera and chords; two different subjects but one love for both. That’s my dilemma (it’s not really).

    I’ve been strummin a six-string guitar for over 50 years. My time pressin the shutter on a camera started around 20 years ago. I never thought photography would overtake my love of playin acoustic guitar.

    I wish I could say that I’ve played guitar in bands for most of those 50 years but I can’t. I’d guess 10 years, give or take, is about all the time I spent playin in bands. I still wonder where I’d be if, IF I had somehow managed to make a career of it. Not so much as a rock star, just a guitarist playin gigs, and earning enough for survival. And maybe, just maybe havin a chance to play with a national act once or twice.

    I also wonder what a career as a photographer might’ve brought. A chance to meet Ansel Adams or Diane Arbus? Perhaps. I’ve made a few dollars shootin a weddin or three and a few senior photo sessions for friends have been profitable. I made a weak attempt at startin a photography business but was immediately discouraged by the amount of time and effort required for self-promotion and gave up.

    So, I guess you could say I did what the average(?) American white male does – they either get a job right out of high school (I’m a Baby Boomer by the way), or they quit school and join the Navy. I missed the proverbial bus that might’ve carried me to a career in music or photography.

    In retirement now I spend time enjoyin both. They’re much loved hobbies, and every so often, I’ll make a few dollars at a gig or from a print. And that’s fine with me because I think doin what you love in retirement is just as enjoyable as the career might have been.

    That’s my dad on the left holdin the guitar, not sure of the year but lets just say it was a long time ago.
    That’s me on the left, playin djembe with a couple of close friends.
    Self-portrait, 2019, Winter.

  • No, it doesn’t look good there!

    I get that quite often from my wife when I suggest most any decorating idea. And this goes for outside decorations too, places she has flower beds are off limits to any planting idea I might present to her. “No, they’ll look like little soldiers lined up for inspection,” she’ll say when I suggest a row of zinnias here or there. Or, “No, hanging it that way doesn’t fit with how the rest of the room is decorated.”

    There must be something wrong with how I look at things. I had my eyes checked this year and, yes, I needed new glasses. I was also told that I have cataracts, but they’re not quite bad enough yet for removal, or are they? Could that be the reason my deco ideas don’t carry much weight? I don’t think so.

    I think it’s 34 years of marriage. Yes, that’s why I don’t have any interior/exterior decorating skills. But I decorated my recording studio all by myself. And I have a few garden beds where I can plant what I want, however I want.

    I think my straight row of zinnias look nice, and so does the framed photo I have hanging “that way” on the wall in my studio. Even if I’m the only one who thinks so.

    I reckon I’ll have those cataracts removed.

    Spiders can’t decorate either

  • Cancer Sucks!

    It’s difficult for me to talk about personal/family health issues on social media but I think I owe readers who visit an explanation on why I’ve been very sporadic with posting new blog content.

    First, a little back story.

    I moved from Kentucky to Pennsylvania in 1988, I needed a major change after going through a divorce, and a really good paying job was nowhere to be found in KY. We had made two beautiful children together before divorcing,

    I stayed in touch with both as much as possible, visiting and having them stay with me whenever they wanted and whenever I could have them when I was on vacation. I did not neglect my parental duties after the divorce.

    Recently my oldest daughter in Kentucky was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma and is in the University of Louisville Medical Center in Louisville. I have mentioned this in one or two of my YouTube channel vlogs. Her condition is very serious and she is now undergoing bloodwork testing to see if there is any infection on her badly damaged and cancerous right knee/leg.

    My daughter had been previously diagnosed with soft tissue sarcoma when she was 21 (she is now 43). She had surgery and went through radiation at that time. She had 2 additional surgical procedures, one to clean up an infection and another to cut into the muscle of her calf which was used to cover the wound in her leg with a skin graft. After a period of time, she was considered cancer free and in remission.

    My sister-in-law (the only sister my now deceased ex-wife had) lives close to my daughter in Kentucky and is acting as her advocate. Please keep my daughter in your thoughts and prayers as we wait to hear her prognosis and what steps we need to take going forward.

  • Generative AF?

    Generative artificial intelligence is taking over the world. I’m sure you’ve heard about it or seen it on the nightly newscasts and in newspapers all over the world and in every language. It won’t be long before humans become an extinct species.

    Generative AI has become the bane of all existence on our Pale Blue Dot. We will soon have no control over anything. Our lives will become meaningless and we will whither away and fade into whatever the Generative Bots decide is best for us.

    Because GB’s will be as knowledgeable and more powerful than a locomotive and faster than a speeding bullet, and they’ll be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, humans will run away as fast as they can. But of course the GB’s will catch us because, as I mentioned, they’re going to be faster than a speeding bullet.

    We have no recourse but to accept defeat, because those GB’s are as generative as fuck!

    They win, we lose.

    The End.

    This image IS NOT generative as fuck!

  • Inconsistent

    I’m wondering if I should set a reminder to write weekly. I’ve thought about doing this before as I’m a very inconsistent blogger. Do you use weekly or monthly reminders to help you structure a consistent pattern of doing something? It’s said that it takes approximately 60 days for any function or exercise to become a habit.

    Writing daily, a paragraph or two, for 60 days would then become a habit? I should probably set the reminder and give it a try. I’d need to decide on the best time, day or night? And what hour of the day or night? What media, pen and paper? If pen and paper, I’d need to digitize it here afterwards. Or not. If not, what’s the purpose of blogging?

    So many questions, so few answers. Unless I decide to just do it.

    Dayton Normal School (now closed)

  • When things change

    Adaptability. If we can’t adapt, it’s almost certain that any significant change we may experience could end up causing a negative impact on our lives.

    Negativity. It could very well be the most harmful stimuli we impose on ourselves. We are hardwired for negativity, we feel it’s sting much more than positive praise.

    The past traumas of my childhood still linger to this day. I remember those experiences more than positive ones. It’s how my brain is wired, and probably how your’s is too.

    What can I do to prevent negativity from creeping in and possibly ruining my day? First, take a more mindful approach and realize that it’s there. Pay extra attention when good things happen. Take a few minutes to think on the good feelings from the experience. Do this several times.

    And try to always tell yourself that tomorrow will bring more wonderful feelings from all the good things that will happen. Having more positive feelings than negative ones gives you a positive outlook on life.

  • Birth dates; just a meaningless reminder?

    69 trips around the sun. Do I need a reminder on May 12 every year? Are trees reminded yearly of their first glance of the world from their undergound birthplace? Are birds shown their yearly anniversary of when they hatched? Do whales, sharks, snakes, spiders and every other living creature on this Pale Blue Dot get a yearly reminder?

    I think there should be a law of some sort that states: “No person, animal, or any living creature past the age of 40 shall not be reminded of date of birth.” Call me a cynic if you want (I’ve had to deal with that recently) but I no longer want or need to be reminded of my age.

    It’s irrelevant. But thanks for all the birthday wishes anyway. Please do me a favor if you can…

    Next year, instead of sending “Happy Birthday” wishes, send me some cold hard cash, in paper form, not coin. A couple of Washingtons isn’t too much to ask!

  • You Go First

    How many times have you either said that to someone, or been told that by someone? I bet more than once for each. Probably more times during your childhood. But as I’ve aged, that question has been randomly coming to mind.

    Many years ago my older brother asked me this existential question: if I could choose to die first so that I wouldn’t be here for all the mourning, or be second and feel the grief and suffering of my wife passing instead of her feeling that pain for me if I died first, would I choose to go first or second?

    Yes, that might seem to be a rather morbid question to ask, and I don’t remember (many years ago in this instance was probably 40+ or more) what my brother and I were discussing before he asked but it’s one of those hypotheticals that when you chew on it for a while really starts to have merit.

    There are those who face death bravely, not fearing what may or may not lie on the other side. They may not even know if there is another side. And there are many who may not have had the chance to look death in the eye before passing. And some know their end is near and joyfully accept it, expecting and knowing of a wondrous afterlife.

    I’ve been by myself at home for five days while my wife is away with our daughter. A destination wedding seems to be popular these days. During this time alone I’ve been thinking about my upcoming 69th trip around the sun. I’ve also had the “you go first or second” question pop up a time or two. I try to answer it, and tell myself there’s really no right or wrong answer.

    Going first seems to be a more selfless answer, knowing that my wife would get to enjoy a longer life. Heading that way second seems like a selfish decision. What about going first together? That’s another existential question that deserves merit I think.