Rise From the Ashes: The Mercury Café, Denver Slam, and a Three-Minute Spark
By Jason Van Tatenhove
I came down from my high-mountain hamlet this weekend and walked the streets of Capitol Hill, Colfax, and Broadway — leaves already turning, the wind carrying that first hint of colder days to come. The same kid who once prowled these blocks in a hand-painted black leather jacket now returns older, notebook in hand instead of a camera.
“You can’t be an artist,” they said. “Be a lawyer. A doctor. Anything but a writer…”
Those were the first lines of the poem I’d perform that night at the Pearl, rattling around in my head as I ducked into Capitol Hill Books. I found a gem there — The Beat Hotel by Barry Miles — a storied tome about Ginsberg, Burroughs, and Corso creating a community in Paris that would become legend to art-school kids like me in the ’90s. It sent me down a rabbit hole of memory.
One of my first assignments for Color Red — a rolling-paper-thin underground magazine — was shooting an unknown band in the attic of the Mercury Café. Holy ground for the mid-’90s Denver underground. The smell of black cloves and patchouli hung in the entrance as the door girl drew a heart on our wrists; the creak of the wooden floors upstairs, velvet curtains as walls. That night, the bagpipes were soft at first and eerily screeched out of the darkened attic as the band started their set, and then the bass and drums hit like sledgehammers. The lead singer, mirroring the building intensity, quietly chanted “Ring Around the Rosie” as the volume rose — Korn’s “Shoots and Ladders,” before anyone knew who they were. For me, it was the moment art, journalism and life fused.
Flash-forward to now. In the poem I’d written for the slam that night, I confessed:
My columns are gone.My partner in art and crime and lust and life — my wife — died in my arms.Loneliness is the real killer.Democracy feels cracked.My voice feels small at a time when history tells us true artists are needed most.
Inspired by that Beat book and a wave of nostalgia for my time immersed in the ’90s Denver counter-culture, I decided to do something Ginsberg himself might get behind: write a slam poem about the passage of time and my nostalgia-laced memories, then step onto the stage at the legendary Sunday slam at the Merc — now at the Pearl — and perform. Something I’d never done before.
When I arrived early, the room was nearly empty: a trio of aging hippie jazz musicians, the lead flutist barefoot, coaxing poets to the mic from hand-painted tables. I was sure everyone in the room was either a poet or with a poet. This time, instead of leather-clad scene-mates, I’d brought a doctor — the medical director of a children’s hospital — another sign of how my life has changed.
By the time my name was called, the room had filled. I stepped up, palms sweaty and unsteady, and gave it my best as adrenaline mixed with the vodka I used to steady my nerves.
Back then, the ’90s were golden.Music still felt like it could change the very world —and it did…One of my first shows to cover was here — right here — in the Merc’s attic,an unknown band from California, floor bouncing under our boots…
The crowd leaned in. For three minutes at an open mic, I still believed art could change everything. They actually clapped and cheered a bit. Luckily, I didn’t make it to the second round. I had lied when raising my hand to indicate I had been to a slam poetry event; I was on autopilot. With only one poem half-practiced, I’d be slack-jawed ad-libbing if I had made it to the second round.
The Mercury Café: Denver’s Center of Gravity
For nearly five decades, the Mercury Café has been Denver’s ‘gravitational center’ for counterculture. Marilyn Megenity opened the first incarnation of the Mercury Café in 1975 (in Indian Hills) as a vegetarian café and performance space, then, after several Denver locations, moved it to its now-iconic building at 2199 California Street on Halloween night, 1990. From the start, it was a magnet for environmentalists, punks, witches, swing dancers, and left-leaning politicos. In the 1980s and ’90s, you could see a poetry reading, a punk show, and a metaphysics workshop in the same weekend.
That eclectic spirit made the Merc more than just a restaurant. It was a modern rite of passage — Denver’s microcosm of the East Village — a living scrapbook of the city’s artistic and political underground. Slam poets, burlesque performers, environmental activists, and city council hopefuls all found a stage there. Even Westword itself, which I’ve always seen as a storied institution in its own right, chronicled the Merc’s rise and gave its outliers a voice — much as the Merc gave them a stage.
Marilyn sold the Merc in 2021; in 2025, new operators rebranded the space as The Pearl — same bones, same creaky floors — while keeping much of the community programming alive.
Denver Slam: From National Stage to Local Rebuild
The Merc’s upstairs stage also launched one of the country’s most formidable youth slam poetry scenes. Denver’s Minor Disturbance youth team — coached by Ken Arkind and Jovan Mays — won Youth Speaks’ Brave New Voices championship (the HBO contest that was the biggest annual competition of the day) in 2012 and returned to the finals in 2013, putting Denver’s scene on the national map. Alumni like Assetou Xango, now Aurora’s Poet Laureate, began here. For a while, Denver was a slam powerhouse, producing champions who traveled the country representing the city.
National competitions later collapsed — Poetry Slam, Inc. dissolved in 2019 — and funding dried up, but the community didn’t vanish. Today, the Sunday slam survives largely through the effort of Elijah Lynch — better known onstage as Smiley Gatmouth — who emcees, organizes, and keeps the lights on for Denver’s poets. After my set, he told me, “It’s still so dope. It’s such an institution. People just need to come experience it.” He’s part of a smaller but passionate crew rebuilding teams, raising money to travel, and keeping the tradition alive for a new generation — still gathering every Sunday to slam, compete, raise funds for regional contests, and, more than anything, to be heard as young poets.
A Spark That’s Still There
The Denver slam scene isn’t what it was, but it isn’t dead either. It’s rebuilding in fits and starts, forming teams again, still changing lives and crossing cultural lines — as my partner, another first-timer, discovered when she said, “We’ve got to do that again.”
Thirty years on, the names and owners may change — even the Merc itself recently sold to new proprietors who promise to keep its spirit alive — but the spark is still there. And as I walked back out into the Denver night, I thought about that kid with the homemade press pass and the permanent-marker heart on his wrist, and about the poem’s last lines:
And for three minutes at an open mic,I still believeart can change everything.
I stayed late that night, too, talking with poets about Denver’s slam legacy — conversations I’ll weave into a deeper dive on how the scene is rising from the ashes.
“Writing poetry isn’t therapy,” says Stone Bardo, 28. “But being heard is therapy.”
“It’s still sacred,” adds Silas Vazquez, who once drove an hour from Fort Collins as a teenager just to watch slams. “People all over the country know the Merc.”
“The Mercury is where I found myself,” says Matthew Brown. “Now we’re rebuilding the team from scratch.”
Listening to them, you could feel the old spark still flickering in the young — poetry striking like lightning, stitching together the frayed seams of a world coming apart, making it just a little more bearable, a little more human.
Mercury Café at a Glance (Sidebar)
1975 – Marilyn Megenity opens the first Mercury Café in Indian Hills as a vegetarian restaurant and performance space.
1980s–1990s – Counterculture hub: punk shows, environmental meetings, swing dance, metaphysics workshops, poetry slams.
1990 – Moves to 2199 California Street; becomes the iconic Merc known today.
2012–2013 – Denver’s Minor Disturbance slam team wins national attention at Brave New Voices.
2021–2025 – 2021 sale / 2021 Ownership changes; 2025 ownership changes again rebranded “The Pearl,” but slam and open-mics continue.
P.S. - My newest nonfiction book, AI Ink, hits shelves this Tuesday, November 4th. It explores the convergence of AI and the creative industries—part memoir of losing my lifelong wife, partner, and editor, and part guide to rebuilding a creative life in an age of algorithms. It’s also a hands-on look at how artists and writers can collaborate with AI without losing their human soul.
If you’ve enjoyed my writing here, I’d be grateful if you considered ordering a copy or picking one up at your favorite bookstore. AI Ink will be available wherever books are sold.
~JVT
