The world will little note, nor long remember, the perfectly pleasant open mic hosted at Last Ditch in Greenfield on Sept. 29.
I do not quote Lincoln here because Last Ditch’s patrons and management are in a civil war of sorts; it does not quite meet that muster. I use it playfully, but deliberately, in order to describe the quality event of local writers and speakers that I saw, and to allude to the fact that the national media and culture war vultures alike will give exactly zero attention to what I attended.
I have done open mics for at least 20 years. They can be talkative and noisy affairs where the audience is seldom silent. There are great ones out there where the crowd waits on every word, but they’re infrequent. Plus, chatting over music is nice. My life is a hunt for the happy middle.
But Last Ditch’s stood out. Take my word for it — our world is a garbage place for sensitive people. Without mentioning the material on stage in too much detail, the stories told made me feel it was OK to get my feelings hurt, to struggle, to be angry, and to have grief. Perhaps most importantly, they made me remember that it is OK to laugh about that stuff sometimes.
To cut right to it — I dislike wearing a mask, I really do. But I followed the venue’s request, knowing full well I have been subjected to far more unpleasant things at live music and arts events than choosing to follow an establishment’s policies out of respect for their business and their wholly harmless ideological expression.
With the fracases of the last few weeks set firmly aside, I think the argument is strong that Greenfield and its surroundings are better off by Last Ditch continuing to “do the thing.” Though I am not a “dyke, transsexual, or genderfreak,” as the bar bills itself as a safe place for, I still see that the lives of our neighbors and fellow community members are enriched by their events. I know mine is.
Oh, and put your phone down.
Brian Dickens
Turners Falls