Last night I was the featured act at an open mike in a distant town. It took place in a restaurant with a nice vibe, and at some point in the evening the restaurant owner got up and played a few songs, one of which she had written. Most of the people who played there were regulars, it seemed, and they all knew each other. And they were extremely talented. No one was polished, but everyone was great. There was the band that wrote beautifully-crafted songs about horrible topics (the first one started out something like “the first time I killed . . .”); there was the teenager with a voice that could sell a million country records, belting out songs backed by her father on guitar; a local guy who hadn’t played the open mike before but knew everyone and got everyone singing along on cheesy pop songs; among others. The hosts of the evenings were also amazing songwriters who drag out the sound equipment and bring out an audience every week to make this event happen. What struck me was how many people have the desire to make music. None of these people (except maybe the teenager) have any ambition to make music professionally or to reach people beyond the town we were in. But they write songs (and write them well), they play the guitar and learn songs by others and play them in their community. They make music and they make music happen. Because I’m a musician, I understand that impulse, and I live in a world in which a lot of people share it. But most of the musicians I hang out with, even if we all began simply for the love of music, are trying to make more of it – to earn a living from it, to reach more distant audiences with it. It was a great reminder to be in a place where no on was trying for fame or fortune but the urge was no less strong. I was grateful to spend last night in a world of people who make music simply for the love of it, and gain a reminder of what a wonderful aspect of humanity that love and creativity is.