2004-09-26
I got a fever. And the cure is karaoke.Cases of illness reach their collective crest during the changing seasons, and apparently I'm not immune. I got it way down in my gut, nay, my SOUL. I can't get enough. I've even downloaded karaoke tracks from Kazaa. Which I sing on occasion in my car.
I do this because I love to sing, and I could spend my entire life in front of a crowd if given the option. I do this because of the community, the small, supportive karaoke community that forms early in the evening and whose bonds grow tighter with each beer and will clap for you and pat your back regardless of whether you wailed out "All I Ask Of You" from Phantom of the Opera or grew just enough cajones to get up there, grab the mike, and squeak out "Blackbird." These are my people.
Of course, I do this because I guiltily admit that I love to sing AFTER "Blackbird" guy because "Blackbird" guy couldn't carry a tune if it fit into the sewn-on pocket of his sweatpants. But I still tip my hat to "Blackbird" guy for just having the guts to get up there in the first place, and I will never fail to applaud him as if Pavoratti himself strolled in, bought a Budweiser, and waited to take his turn at the mike and moniter. And then sang "Friends In Low Places."
My routine is, by definition, the same. Stroll in, always with company in the form of a small army. Depending on the venue, order a gin martini, or straight whiskey: the music potion. Sit down, flip through the book and make sure they have "Piano Man." "Piano Man" is my standard. I don't smoke much anymore, but I always enjoy a cigarette when I do "Piano Man." Not so much for creating some sort of cool lounge singer persona, but because there are several sets of 12 measure breaks and I need something to do besides... wait to sing. Scan the crowd, get a feel for the mood of the masses and pick song selection accordingly. After that, the drinks come, the songs come, and the magic is never rushed.
I have four favorite haunts.
OLD CHICAGO, PEORIA: Tuesday night karaoke in Peoria is a pleasure that I seldom get to enjoy because, well, it's 180 miles away. Still, the music selection is constantly updated and beyond compare to my other joints. Beer and whiskey are the poisons of choice, and Old Chicago holds the distinction of being the only karaoke place where you can actually SEE the crowd collectively become more intoxicated as the evening ambles on.
THE ELBO ROOM, PEORIA: Seven nights a week, more karaoke, gin and lesbians than are fit for human consumption at this little hole in the wall on Main Street. Carolyn is perpetually emceeing with her sparkly black cocktail dress, and Notre Dame alumni abound on the weekends. Two words - two words! - on why the Elbo Room is an unbeatable karaoke bar: cordless mike. Essential for effectively working the crowd and rocking out without tripping over the cord.
THE JUKEBOX, ST. LOUIS: If neon hurts your eyes, you'd be well-advised to keep a mile's distance. The cocktail waitress has a superhuman talent for remembering peoples' drinks of choice. On only my second visit, she came up to me and said, "We have olives now!" regarding my previous visit where I had a martini without any olives. Despite the fact that it's the only karaoke club in town that cards at the door, there is a strict no profanity rule which I was kindly reminded of by the bouncer after drunkly telling everybody to "Get up and fucking dance!" before ripping into Stray Cats' "Rock This Town." You figure it out.
O'LEARY'S, ST. LOUIS: If karaoke is my heroin, then O'Leary's is my favorite needle. By day, it's an unassuming restaurant in a strip mall on Lindbergh, but every Thursday and Saturday night from 9 to 1, it is an amateur singer's HEAVEN. The clientelle consists mostly of 50 year old women, so they adore anybody under 25. O'Leary's is my favorite place to karaoke because I am a god there. No kidding! The first time Rob and I ventured there and sang "Purple Rain" and "I'm Already There," the manager got Rob's number and said that she'd call us any time they were doing karaoke. If we came and sang, she would buy us a drink. Simple as that. The owners, Jan and Kevin, buy me a drink every time I come in, usually with the Webster forensics team in tow, and Jan gave me a gift certificate so that I would come back and sing with her daughter. My last two visits, I drank all night for free. The regulars know my name, the waitresses and bartenders know my drink, and last night when I sang "Everything I Do (I Do It For You)," (no kidding, cheesy, but it still rocked) they actually turned the house lights down. They like me. They really like me. And I like it when people like me.
I'll never be a rock star, but it's the next best thing. Come and join me sometime. I'm giving you a 100% kick ass guarantee.
-Andy