At 7 p.m. on Thursday, Oct. 26, PRISM and SOL Studios hosted an exciting collaborative open mic night, one specifically for queer-identifying students and allies. PRISM, across its years of bolstering inclusion on campus, hosts events to nurture community for LGBTQ+ students and allies alike — tea parties, proms and movie nights, to name a few. SOL Studios likewise uplifts students’ voices not only with their welcoming, on-campus studio, but also through their semi-frequent open mics. As a queer musician myself, this dual showcase of voices — both vocal and instrumental, both queer and allied — was in keeping with the nature of each student organization.
Many performances throughout the night featured some dimension of camp, kitsch or irony. The charismatic emcees introduced acts with a passion that colored each act. Obscure Cavetown covers with only a thousand views on YouTube; soundcheck tunes about squirrels divorcing their wives; infamous Wonderwall jokes and Nirvana parodies; singalongs about celery allergies and the woodblock game Jenga. The whole affair was full of hilariously talented performers. Improvisation also took center stage across many sets, performers navigating through nonsense lyrics and witty chord changes. And, of course, other songs offered many sapphic interpretations and trans* allegories.
However, underneath the performance-oriented side of the night, there was a consistent undercurrent of tenderness. Between emotive piano ballads and excellently plucked guitar, each individual act provided some sense of community in their work. Some sang of lovers — doing laundry with them, looking at artwork together, even just sitting in silence — while others recounted their histories with intimacy. Every story shared was funny, yes, but incredibly genuine — and at times, heart wrenching. Electric guitar tones filled the room with a buzzing, electric warmth. The aforementioned singalongs even got the audience involved, folks cackling from their seats while also still supporting unabashedly.
As the evening began to come to an end, I felt that the rigidity in the performer and audience dichotomy began to unravel in the best way possible. Especially once the formal set ended and anyone could walk up to perform, the intrinsic and communal support both organizations held came to full fruition. The night read more like a group of good friends sitting around a campfire, sharing stories while tuning their instruments, singing to the stars with laughter. Truly, the smile on my face never quite left: it is incredibly powerful that queer students and allies can share their voices in such a safe and supportive space.