Like many other amateur troubadours out there, I enjoy singing. Whether it’s on the street, at the store or in the shower, any variety of songs can be heard from this songbird, or song-albatross, for accuracy’s sake.
However, I suffer from the typical singing skittishness found in the shower crooners. While walking back home, I frequently check behind me if an irresistible tune tempts my lips.
These part-time pipes aren’t to be heard in the wrong environment, just used for my own enjoyment. The knowledge that someone else is listening just makes singers dreadfully self-conscious about the imperfections in their voice.
It wasn’t always like that, however. I used to sing to crowds back in my younger days, but when the dreaded puberty hit, my vocal range began to fray at the ends. However, when the chance presents itself, this voice is ready to go to work.
Enter karaoke.
Through this wonderful technology, the normally worried warblers finally get a chance to shine.
The gamut of contestants run anywhere from the secret starlet to the guy fueled entirely by good ol’ liquid courage who picks out the longest song in the book, yet manages to forget 80 percent of the words, despite the cue screen in front of him. A true karaoke crowd takes all types.
Until a month or so ago, I hadn’t had the opportunity to attend such an event. Eventually, a group of friends and I discovered that nearby Antler’s Pub hosted karaoke nights every Thursday, even holding a multi-week competition. Soon enough, there we were, waiting for our names to be called out so that our performances could be judged.
Twice, I made the final four. The first was a surprise, as I hammed up a performance of Flight of the Conchords’ “Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymenocerous” during R&B and Hip-Hop night and declared that I was “so gangster that I had to rap battle against myself.” My faithful version of Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues” landed me my second top four, but I failed to make the finals either night.
This Thursday marks the champions round. Although I didn’t wow the judges enough to make it, I’ll still be rooting on two members of the “Glee Club” – as our group is affectionately called – Ryann Beaumont and Nicole Dohoda, the latter of whom besting me in R&B and Hip-Hop night.
I may not have ended up the big karaoke winner, but that doesn’t mean I won’t stop singing its praises.
