My Dark Twisted Sinful Sinister Admire… Karaoke!

There are those who seek their manic highs from the bowl end of a pipe or the bottom of a bottle. Some hazardously tempt their euphoria in private – on sketchy blacklisted sites incognito mode – while others get off in more prideful ways like on the driving and shooting range. Whatever gets you in that giddy mood, like someone tickling your undercarriage, is your own personal business, as long as it’s legal. Obviously, I’ve listed the most extreme of cases, but when it comes to a guilty pleasure of mine, it has been standing in front of a drunken bar crowd belting out whatever hair-metal anthem I can muster. You know it, you love it (or hate it): it’s karaoke!

Amongst the nightlife’s riff-raff activities like billiards and darts, karaoke remains the most oddball choice — and I honestly can’t get enough. First of all, your diverse cast of contestants are all over the map in skill and talent. You’ll have your stage-fright reluctants who need a few Pink Whitneys to even play with the thought of submission. Your enthusiastic, give-’em-hell attitudes who treat their tone-deaf rendition of “Pink Pony Club” like an American Idol audition. Your sleepy hitters who you never expected to hit every pitch and ballad in “Through The Fire and Flames.” And of course, like any great playable sort, you have competitive types ready to perform…which some of my colleagues would argue I teeter-tatter in this territory. Well, when I hear about my local bar 7Sins having routine karaoke competitions (on a very poorly AI-generated flyer, mind you) that operate on a “first come, first serve” basis, I was licking my chops for a beer-belch microphone and a sure-shot to finalist week.

My “training” was prolonged and extensive. In a cleared-out Seattle dive bar, I worked up the gusto to test out my lung capacity while singing Tom Jones’ “Delilah” and My Chemical Romance’s “Teenagers” back-to-back. It was a night of endurance: My sister fought through a stick-and-poke smiley face, her boyfriend battled a Shorty’s chilli dog and I was warding off a swinger couple from taking me home (because I was that good). I practiced all calibers of equipment, from a short-circuiting speaker box from an office Christmas party to wireless mics synced to a home sound system. When it came to stage presence, we needed an actual stage to practice footing. Luckily, the local juke joints like Ice Haus and A Bar Named Sue have sturdy little platforms just for the occasion. With a gargle spray to loosen the vocal cords, an open bar tab and my favorite Hawaiian shirt, I walked into 7Sins like a riled-up rookie boxer… only to catch a southpaw at the entrance.

Right at the ID checkpoint, the gothic ambiance was crowded in 50 shades of white due to an after-party for a wedding at the Hyatt Hotel next door. This influx of suits and dresses, along with the short staff, resulted in a saturation of participants. A few of them picked impossible mumble tracks, while others picked heavy gangster rap, with one blond airhead having no problem shamelessly dropping an N-bomb to “Ni**as in Paris” (yikes). I still had a blast, whether with a rallying war cry of a generation that was Starship’s “We Built This City” or soothing the crowd with Seal’s “Kiss from a Rose.”

For some odd reason, karaoke will always contain a bit of social taboo amongst your bar-crawling friend group. Like bowling or silent disco, the act has become an activity out of irony. “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if we did karaoke?!?” I can hear the snickering judgement now… However, without realizing it, karaoke is communal. It’s the only time I’ll ever see an entire bar, full of strangers with nothing in common, come together to sing along to a timeless classic and, for a second, believe the world is a-okay.

I’ll get my trophy one day, though…

Read more of Alton’s interviews & escapades:
Darkest Prime: Chelsea Wolfe Is Still Hauntingly Rocking
Affordably Avant-Garde: Fashion On A Budget

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