Pinkerton's Weblog

Knowing When To Hold 'Em, Fold 'Em & Walk Away From 'Em: Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler" & Its Effect on Post-Modern Interpretations of Karaoke

Having spent the night in the company of the new Led Zeppelin DVD, I remembered around 11:30 that it was 2-for-1 wings night at Hoops, a local sports bar. I quickly raced over, grabbed a pint and ordered some wings, when I heard the ODDEST thing on the speakers. It was almost like music, but not quite. It had all the semblances of music, and yet managed to be as far away from something musical as a pile of rocks or a backpack.

I had gotten my first taste of karaoke. I assure you it will be my last.

To clarify: I am AWARE of karaoke. I've just never seen it before. This is because I normally avoid it like the plague. If I see a bar with a sign propped up on the sidewalk reading KARAOKE THURSDAYS!, I translate that to JAY WON'T BE HERE THURSDAYS! I've never been dragged along with friends to karaoke nights, because they're my FRIENDS. I mean, I've seen karaoke in like Rush Hour 2 and other movies. I'm aware of the existence of karaoke. I've just never been in a situation before where I've ordered food, gotten a vaguely unpleasant feeling I couldn't place, then realized to my horror that a man with mutton chops and a lazy eye was belting out the chorus to "The Gambler" with the intent to entertain. I blame Hoops for their shoddy advertising.

At any rate -- though my eyesight is almost gone, my taste dulled from cigarettes, and my hearing destroyed from countless nights of playing guitar next to a cranked amp, I somehow, through genes with a sense of humor, retain a sense of perfect pitch. I can sing a C or a D sharp at will.

I've since learned that many people don't possess this quality, and to be honest, it's the only explanation I can fathom for the continued existence of karaoke. Try to imagine someone blindfolding you, taping a piece of chalk to a chalkboard, spinning you around, then asking you to find the piece of chalk by scraping the chalkboard with a fork. This is the equivelant of someone with perfect pitch listening to a drunk idiot attempt to find a C sharp while performing a karaoke version of Shaggy's "It Wasn't Me".

To be fair, the singers I heard weren't awful. They simply weren't particularily good. As much as I could make jokes about, say, Christina Aguilera, I make these jokes concerning her body of work, and how it compares to an existing musical canon. However, I don't for a second doubt that the woman is a better singer than you or myself. If you took the worst possible NHL player, the person who scored the least goals last season, he would still most likely kick your ass at a game of hockey at the frozen pond behind your house.

And yet, I swear to god, women were choosing pieces by Whitney Houston and Aretha Franklin. My GOD, show some restraint. One lone man was the first to pick a song within his limits, choosing the one that starts with "I got beer in my truck and I don't give a fuck and I'm off to the rodeo..." Having performed this one in a haphazard but unembarrassing manner, he chose to follow it up by a piece by the Righteous Brothers. The RIGHTEOUS BROTHERS.

I ask you, all of you -- let karaoke die. It's maybe sort of entertaining for whoever's singing and their close friends, but I assure you it's unbearable for anyone else within a fifty foot radius. The sooner we all realize that professional singers are professional for a reason, the better off we'll all be. When I walk into H&R Block, I don't expect some guy they pulled off the street to be doing my taxes. Similarly, when I walk into a pub to hear music, I don't need to hear every tone-deaf moron in the house attempting to sing Unchained Melodies.

Sit down. Leave it to the professionals. There are much more productive and less excruciating ways you could be having fun.

Driving nails into my tear ducts, for instance.

However, if you're the sort of person who simply can't conceive of a night not spent listening to a listing, lisping stranger crank out a few off-key bars of Hank Williams' "Honky Tonkin'", might I suggest you get down to Hoops every Thursday -- where the singing's free, and the ladies are somehow even cheaper than that!