CARL
A great night! Not without trepidation of course however I cut my
karaoke teeth at The Family Bar on K' Rd. (motto: The House Wine is
Jagermeister) so I was feeling positive... that, and some sage advice
from GranMaster Jake along the lines of if you can't sing then at least
be sincere!. During my first encounter with a tape deck (last century) I
discovered that what I thought I sounded like and what I actually
sounded like were two very different things... I suspect it's the same
with most people however I never really recovered from the shock and
consequently I think I sound like a loon when trying to string a song
together. So the sincerity approach it was then... My singing might have
been crap, but at least I meant it!!
I was
impressed with the breadth of songs and genres... and pleased that we
were tending to steer to the 'alt' side of rock. There wasn't a track in
there that I thought 'maybe not' and some that I certainly didn't have
the courage to attempt... Who would have thought that the words King
Crimson and karaoke could appear in a sentence together without making a
story up. The only thing off the menu, in deference to Jake again for
his sage advice, was number 4476... an unconventional parable of sorts
made famous by an obscure movie called Wayne's World.
Oh, and the Beef Stew was pretty good :-)
CHRISTIAN
Once over the initial hurdle of self conscious doubt, the brakes were well and truly taken off - careening over cliffs of musical respectability with complete self abandon whilst creating aural carnage en route. Not even my very limited ability inhibited enthusiasm. The single song threshold was breached and it was all down hill from there on in:
I love metal but I realised, halfway through Pantera's This Love, that I couldn't replicate Phil's muscular growl; I couldn't even muster sounding slightly gruff - it was pretty pathetic! I moved on to some Ole Blue Eyes, keeping to a safer, sultry half an octave. It felt like I nailed Santana's She's Not There, which was a dangerous state of mind as it lead to complete overconfidence and me deciding to butcher Jamiroquai's Virtual Insanity. What the bloody hell was I thinking!?
I love metal but I realised, halfway through Pantera's This Love, that I couldn't replicate Phil's muscular growl; I couldn't even muster sounding slightly gruff - it was pretty pathetic! I moved on to some Ole Blue Eyes, keeping to a safer, sultry half an octave. It felt like I nailed Santana's She's Not There, which was a dangerous state of mind as it lead to complete overconfidence and me deciding to butcher Jamiroquai's Virtual Insanity. What the bloody hell was I thinking!?
Everyone had at least one decent song in them; Christel was probably the surprise package, making some meticulous style choices; Yet, Jake's ambition and confidence knew no bounds - adding shimmies, gratuitous gyrations and mesmerising fleet footed funky struts. The full package.
JAKE
I came to karaoke in my early 30s in Pittsburgh,
where a few spots around the Italian-American neighbourhood Bloomfield
would host regular nights. Thursdays were The Pleasure Bar, Fridays
Del’s, and Saturdays Nicos – each night was run
by the same guy with a laptop and access to 10s of thousands of mp3s.
There was no hiding in private rooms in these places – you were out
there, in the bar, in front of strangers who would happily provide you
with instant and unfiltered feedback on your performance.
My go-to was Take Me to the River, which despite my limited musical
talent tended to be popular with the crowd. At least that’s how it felt
in my American craft beer-tinged perception.
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