Musicians Join Forces at Open Mic Night

Amidst the whirring of espresso grinders and sputtering hiss of steaming milk, the lobby of Recess Coffee echoed a musical mélange of some of the Westcott neighborhood's local talent this past Wednesday during an open mic event. Musicians trickled in leisurely, casually mixing their voices and instruments together rather than performing separately. Covers of "Piano Man," "Isn't She Lovely," "Radioactive," and "American Pie" fell into the mix as well as a few original songs.

The laid-back, communal vibe fostered a warm, inviting atmosphere where musicians were free to bear their souls to strangers without fear of judgement or criticism. Perhaps the setting lended itself too well to the comfort of a friend's living room, as two guests tested their luck by cracking beers on the couch while observing their comrades. The alcohol imbibers were promptly asked to leave, and the music carried on, ending the evening with a boisterous rendition of "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles).

A violist and guitarist collaborate while other musicians look on

Root SHOCK Rocks the Seward House Museum

At a museum fundraiser you might expect your ears to be caressed by the gentle, wooing sounds of a small stringed ensemble. This Saturday in Auburn, NY during the Culinary Expedition Fundraiser at the Seward House Museum, however, the humid July air wafted the crisp and charismatic tunes of Syracuse reggae group Root SHOCK. Event patrons munched on gourmet catered delights inspired by William Seward's travels around the globe as they contentedly hovered around cocktail tables, merrily swaying with wine cups in hand.

Jessica Brown's powerful leading vocals can strike suddenly like a bow to the heart as she expertly hits the higher notes, authentically pouring her soul into the mic. She makes you feel a deeper connection to the music. Though sentimental at times, Root SHOCK can also exhibit a more playful side, evidenced by the sporty shades rocked by guitarist and vocalist Phil Grajko during a Stevie Wonder cover of Master Blaster. Brown and Grajko were complemented by drummer Fa Fa Fain, guitarist Dan Valvassori, bassist Bill Eppel, and keyboardist Nick Czarkam, rounding out a tight crew as they fluidly jammed on the back porch of the historic brick mansion.

Travelling Home

Home is a relative term, and though I've grown and matured in Syracuse, I was born and raised in Rochester. Before a visit home this past weekend, I was sharing my plans with a friend, and referred to my hometown just as that: home. But I corrected myself immediately, realizing that I had misspoken. Although it's an impulse to call Rochester home, I haven't permanently lived there in five years. I have created a new home for myself in a new city, but have only recently felt comfortable enough to bestow this exclusive title.

I used to think home related to location, but now it seems to equate more with people. I feel as much at home with my 12-15 earth-loving roommates as I do in the musty dog-saliva drenched backseat of my grandma's white Buick Rendezvous. So what's the difference between feeling at home and being home?

I feel at home with people who understand and aren't offended by my sarcasm, and will eagerly throw it back in my face. And that's exactly what I got on this warm, sunny, Friday afternoon riding back to Rochester with mom and grandma in the front seat. After my mother's insistence that I wear more deodorant, we discussed the recent bike theft that took place in my grandma's garage. The culprit, a middle-aged black man, periodically knocks on her door to ask for money or her meager collection of empty bottles and cans. My sweet, innocent, aging grandma being the generous, upstanding lady she is, leaves the door open while he waits, and rushes to her bedroom to dump her change jar and offer her dusty assortment of coins to this desperate man. In her defense, she gives him the money so he will go away, not because she feels obligated to help him.

Things got out of hand the other day, however, when he asked to "borrow" the white Schwinn cruiser she stored, dutifully unridden, next to an antique wooden table in the garage. Giving a man a handful of change so he'll leave, almost justifiable. Lending him a bike knowing full well he's just using you for your stuff, c'mon Grandma, really?? After the initial shock set in and the fear of what else this man may attempt to solicit from my Grandma dissolved slightly, Mom and I had to take a moment to laugh at the sheer absurdity of this bewildering predicament. Clearly Grandma's no longer relying on street smarts to navigate these tricky situations. After Mom and I exchange a bout of nervous laughter, Grandma lets out a long sigh, calls us a couple of jackasses, and I feel like I'm home.