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Rico's roster: poets and fine tunes

By Adam Fish
   Argonaut Staff Writer
 

Photo by Adam Fish

Amy Davis and Tina Krauss read the poem"Dyke life in Pullman."

Below the ratchet-like racket of pool breaks, between brick walls and dart-boards, in a mist of cigarette smoke, gathered more then thirty musicians, poets, and their proponents.
This was not a film still from the San Francisco 50s.


It was the usual open-mike scene happening at 9:30 p.m. Monday night at Rico's in Pullman. Besides the price-tag of one's chosen beverage, the event was free.


Every Monday night for nearly three-years the inherent brilliance of human inventiveness has been celebrated at Rico's.


This Monday offered a tasty morsel to those who are hungry for alternative leisure activities. The performing roster included: chicken clucking folksters, bluesy ROTC guitar aficionados, and a poet who declared he had to wear a tin foil hat to keep the government from reading his brain.


Poems about gay-prostitution followed Modest Mouse covers; dread-locked soulful pianists proceeded sappy romantics with weeping guitars.


The crowd? Diverse, lively, and supportive of the 15 performers. Occasional random grunts of encouragement emanated from the delirious audience. The interplay betwixt the audience and the performers added to the overwhelming fluorescence.


The show was highlighted by the poetic duo of Amy Davies and Tina Krauss. Their most outrageous poetic outburst occurred when the couple assaulted the audience in tag-team fashion with their reading of, "Dyke Life in Pullman," a poem inspired by an Audrey Hepburn look-alike bartender.


"Once a week you get to sit in this swirling mass of creativity," said Davies, a WSU student who has been reading at Rico's for two years.


Kelly Crook was the witty MC at this week's event. An MA English student at WSU, Crook has been an important figure in the genesis and evolution of Rico's open-mike.


The professor who taught the beatnik literature class at WSU offered the students two options: one could either write a mid-term essay or read beatnik poetry supported by ambient jazz music. Alex Gonzalez, then a transfer student from the University of Oregon, asked if he could read his own poetry to the sax and trap-kit. After considerable deliberation the professor consented.


This was 1997, and according to Crook, Moscow proprietors and poets followed suit.
"Proliferation happened at Mikey's, the Vox, and at John's Alley, but now we are the only thing happening."


Crook encourages more participants from Moscow, "what we value is a creative force and a new infusion of energy."


If you too want to express your talents in prose and concepts, please venture to Pullman on Monday nights.

 

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