After I moved here from Florida, I'd always meant to go; I was invited many times by friends who liked to hang out and dance or perform there. As an amateur keyboard player and singer/songwriter, I really wanted to perform at the Mercury's legendary open mic, but an event starting at 9 p.m. on a Wednesday was just too late when my last job had me starting work early Thursday mornings.
In my mind, the place was one of a handful of remnants of the Denver I came here for, a cultural mainstay started fifty years ago by Marilyn Megenity where people could gather for food made from local, organic ingredients and then enjoy dancing, music, meditation, tarot readings, weddings and so much more. I always thought the Merc would be waiting when I was finally ready to go there.
But in 2021, worn out from the pandemic and ready to retire, Megenity sold the building and business at 2199 California Street to a team comprising entrepreneur Danny Newman; his wife, Christy Kruzick; and business partner Austin Gayer. Things just weren't the same, though, and in August, Newman said they were putting the Merc up for sale. Then, earlier this month, it was announced that Dom Garcia and Ashlee Cassity, who'd opened lesbian speakeasy Pearl Divers in Capitol Hill in December, would be closing that spot and leasing the Merc building, transforming it into the Pearl. They can't keep the iconic Mercury name, they said in their announcement, "due to the current owners shutting down the Mercury Cafe not only in business but in name." But they could keep the spirit.
People waited downstairs in the Rose Room before being let into the Ballroom for the open mic.
Kristen Fiore
Upstairs, where the open mic would be, tables and chairs were pushed to the walls to create a dance floor. Taking my seat, I counted over 100 people...and felt my stomach drop. This would definitely be the biggest crowd I'd ever performed before. But I felt encouraged by the diversity of the crowd — people from all different backgrounds and of all different ages who had been touched by the Mercury Cafe (or were taking advantage of a last chance to perform there, like me).
And then the hosts, Mercury events manager Alex Rizk and the venue's florist, Philip Tran, opened the evening. After a quick performance by Rizk, they called the first couple of names from the list of more than thirty people who had signed up early online, but those first few names were no-shows. So then they called the next name...and it was mine. Yes, to my horror, I would be the opener for the open mic.
My music partner, Michael Feldman, and I shuffled onto the stage and performed our original indie folk song, "Bad Dreams." For better or worse, people were still getting settled, ordering drinks, looking for seats, chattering amongst themselves. That, and the fact that my keytar wasn't mic'd up right, took some of the pressure off and concealed my nervous mishaps...I hope.
I returned to my seat and was just coming out of the daze from being called first when true Merc royalty, the Dead Sinatras, took the stage. The big band, made up of self-described lesbians and one man playing a huge, upright bass, had been performing at the Mercury since the '90s. The dance floor filled for the act's funky jams and amazing stage presence, which poured a lasting, jovial energy over the crowd.
Yes, Marilyn Megenity was there. Although I've never met her, I can't help but feel that a woman who once encouraged fresh flower arrangements all over her venue, and waited for things to align astrologically before signing over her place to new owners, is a kindred spirit. I started playing a game in my head akin to "Where's Waldo?" called "Where's Marilyn?"; I looked for flashes of her long hair and calm demeanor, hoping for a chance to introduce myself. But whenever I spotted her, she was hugging friends or holding their hands, always surrounded by admirers. The fact that I was not able to catch her before she slipped out is my biggest regret of the night, more so than my nervous keytar playing or even the part in my performance when I forgot a whole line of the song that I wrote and have practiced hundreds of times.
But I wasn't the only one who got nervous, blanked out and messed up. That's the beauty of an open mic. It's not supposed to be perfect (although some people were certainly close to perfection). Every time I go to an open mic in Denver, I'm wowed by the incredible talent in this city, and the open mic at the Merc was no exception. By the time I left the room around 11 p.m., only about half the performers who'd signed up had gone to the stage. For the three hours that I watched, the talent was mostly musicians; I only saw a single comedian and a couple of poets. (There will be a last Mercury Cafe poetry open mic tonight, starting at 9 p.m. Friday, March 28.)
All along, the crowd was supportive, encouraging people who messed up, cheering loudly and dancing when so moved. There were a lot of conversations about the Merc and the future of the venue, too. Rizk said the transition felt like breaking up with somebody or losing someone important, but added that out of the pressure and hardships would come the Pearl.
While the vibe was generally hopeful, I still sensed an undercurrent of discontent with what had happened after Megenity sold her place. Tran told me that Rizk had basically stepped up and become the defacto manager of the venue, and that he deserves a lot of credit for keeping the place going during these final iterations of the Merc. "I've been reporting to him," Tran said, adding that with the transition to the Pearl, Rizk would be losing his events manager position and is on the lookout for a job.
Still, Tran felt hopeful. While the Merc's florist position had been cut by the Merc's new owners, he said the Pearl would be bringing it back.
As an astrologist myself, I wouldn't make the Mercury-Cafe-to-the-Pearl switch during Mercury Retrograde (which started March 14 and ends April 6), but the poetry open mic is advertised as "retrograde into rebirth," and maybe a rebirth is in order. I just hope the sense of creative community and the celebration of being weird together don't go away. A change to soulless beige and fake plants crawling up the walls (an unfortunate aesthetic that Denver seems so fond of these days) would be devastating. But I'm going to choose to trust the Pearl people for now, given the knowledge that they're bringing flowers back and the fact that queer people have actual taste.
As I stared into the knowing eyes of the soft moon painted on the blue background of the Mercury Cafe's exterior before I left for the night, Rizk's words at the start of the open mic came back to me: "There's magic in the bricks of this place."
The Mercury Cafe will remain open through Monday, March 31; the building at 2199 California Street becomes the Pearl on April 1, but the new club plans to continue much of the Merc's regular programming.
Do you have any memories from the Mercury Cafe that you'd like to share? Email them to [email protected].
