Musicians unite for Motherjudge
March 3 concert to celebrate ailing icon’s love of open mic talent
One night last month at Mcgeary’s Pub, Caroline Isachsen approached the microphone to address the crowd.
It was a little after 8 p.m. on a Wednesday; Isachsen, known throughout the music community and to much of the general public by her stage name, Motherjudge, was hosting an open mic night. That’s what she has been doing for more than two decades — approaching perhaps 1,000 nights — at multiple Albany bars, often with the title Best Damn Open Mic Ever.
And yet that night, Jan. 9, was like no other.
“I have pancreatic cancer,” Isachsen said, revealing news previously known only by family and her closest friends. Her skin pallid, she leaned on the microphone stand for support. Cancer had made her too weak
to host any longer, she said, but she assured the audience that BDOME would continue, and she introduced two new pairs of musicians who would rotate hosting duties.
“It’s time to let somebody else take over and keep it going,” Isachsen said.
Many musicians who have worked with Motherjudge — at open mics, in formal groups and pickup bands, in the recording studio and other contexts — will come together on Sunday, March 3, at Mcgeary’s in downtown Albany for a fundraising concert. Proceeds will go to Isachsen and her family, including her husband and fellow BDOME co-host, Sten Isachsen, for medical and other expenses.
Called “For Motherjudge: An Afternoon of Fundraising and Celebration,” the event will run from noon to at least 6 p.m. and will feature, among others, The North & South Dakotas, Jim Gaudet & the Railroad Boys (Sten Isachsen’s band), The Ramblin’ Jug Stompers, and a band — created during open mics and called The Hits — comprised of former Motherjudge open mic cohosts, among them John Brodeur, Albie von Schaaf and Bob Buckley.
There will be more, asyet-undetermined attractions and entertainments. The suggested minimum donation at the door is $10.
“She’s been at the center of the music and art worlds for so long — right there in it, helping everyone,” said Tess Collins, owner of Mcgeary’s and a longtime friend of Isachsen.
The two became friendly soon after Isachsen, then the mother of two young kids, arrived in Albany in late 1987. She quickly began performing, making a name for herself at open mics and official gigs. Her open mic was at the Lark Tavern with Collins for many years, moving downtown to Mcgeary’s when Collins did, in 2010.
Possessed of a natural vocal gift, Isachsen’s first impression on many is her singing. In her throaty, sensuous lower range, she can seduce or belt ferociously enough to set eardrums and walls to trembling. But Isachsen’s upper register floats and caresses, higher and gentler than you think it could go.
Singer-songwriter Michael Eck first heard Isachsen perform in an open mic night at QE2, a Central Avenue club now called the Fuze Box. “I remember thinking at the time, just from her voice — smoky and so full of life — that she was somebody I knew I needed to watch,” Eck said.
Isachsen later hosted an incarnation of BDOME at the Fuze Box. Eck, himself a decades-long presence in the Capital Region music and art scenes, estimates he has performed with Isachsen hundreds of times, from pickup situations to joint bills to a band called Wood, an acoustic quartet from the early 2000s that also included von Schaaf and guitar player and songwriter Mitch Elrod.
“You could tell right away she put her heart into her singing,” said Elrod, also a veteran of innumerable shows and recording sessions with Isachsen. They often played as a duo, or sometimes with other musicians, or as a double bill, or sitting in on each other’s shows. Last year, they performed multiple gigs in support of the release of a CD of a dozen songs they co-wrote, called “Cold Warrior.”
Elrod noted that the open mic format, in which a veteran musician could be followed by newcomers whose talents are not as immediately as apparent as their eagerness, requires a certain temperament from a host, particularly if one does it for decades.
“I think that’s the appeal for her — that it’s always changing,” he said. “She’s always a great supporter, encouraging musicians to get out there and do their thing.”
Her stage name — a slang term for a madam in a brothel — summed up Isachsen’s alternately nurturing and bossy sides.
Eck recalled many open mic nights when he saw her take aside a musician who had just performed.
“One of the reasons I have so much respect for her is she really wants to do whatever she can to make the community and the people in it better, to make the music better,” Eck said. “It might be tart criticism, but after they heard it, they wanted to do the hard work and improve their music and their performance.”
Among those Isachsen mentored was von Schaaf, a guitar and bass player who came of age in the punk and metal worlds. He credits Isachsen with widening his musical influences and focusing his professionalism.
“One of the best things she ever did for me was put me in this position where I had to listen to everybody I was playing with, improvise, learn in the moment,” said von Schaaf, who played in bands with Isachsen and was an open mic co-host for more than a decade before moving from the area in 2013.
He remembered complaining to Isachsen while trying to learn styles he’d never played, including country and bluegrass. “She wouldn’t let me get away with any excuses,” von Schaaf said. “She told me not to be a wimp and to learn it anyway. She always wanted it to sound right.”
“Caroline freed my mind,” he said, “and helped me open it to all kinds of new and different musical experiences.”
Now director of contemporary music for a church in Lancaster, Pa., and a member of multiple bands, von Schaaf said, “I never would have been able to develop any of those skill sets necessary to become the professional musician I am had I not had her as one my mentors.”
“She’s done so much, and she was always there for people,” Eck said. “No matter what we can raise (at the benefit), it will be so infinitesimal in comparison to what she deserves.”
Breaking the news of her illness last month at Mcgeary’s, Motherjudge talked for just a few minutes on the microphone, shared tearful hugs and — steadied by her husband on one side and a cane on the other — she left.
She could have stayed to listen; it surely was her right. But it seemed she knew her presence would draw attention away from those who had shown up, unaware of the devastating news that would be delivered, with the hope to perform for a supportive audience.
It was the Best Damn Open Mike Ever, and though Motherjudge was stepping aside, she made sure the show would go on.
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