FIRST PERSON: AN INSIDER'S VIEW
Local Karaoke Nights
by Veronica Seda
Issue date: 2/1/10 Section: First Person
It's a disappointing night for business, because there are only about fifteen people in the back. Of those, maybe half are buying drinks, and only a third are singing. They're the regulars. And, of those regulars, we have a couple of Karaoke Junkies, who are happy, because the lack of singers mean they get to sing more times than they ordinarily would at the popular hot spots on a crowded, crazy, karaoke night.
Rob leaves the Song Books out on the table, and makes sure that there are slips and pencils in the pockets of the binder for people to fill out. Participants must fill out a slip and hand it to the K.J. when they choose the song they want to sing from the Song Book. Dene', one of the regulars, strolls up to me with a tower of her own discs, that have her own paper slips in between. I already know I had to save her slips, instead of playing trash-basketball with them, because Dene' reuses them every night that she sings, with the same collection of discs. She walks back to the same seat, in the corner of the third table with the grace of a penguin, where she munches on chips, looks through her disc collection, and sips on a glass of wine.
Tulio is in his late fifties, with silver hair and light hazel eyes. He doesn't need any slips or song books either. He has his own personal "greatest hits" pre-printed, with his name and the name of the artist and the title of the song and the disc number. We all know what he's going to sing. He's like a professional karaoke singer (a professional-karaoke-singer is an oxymoron), performing oldies like "What Time is It?" with lots of delicate gestures, like moving his free hand side to side with the rhythm of the song. He loves the VIP privilege of sitting as close to the "stage" as possible. He'd hung out with us about a week before, at Pompeii on East Tremont, and tonight he showed up at The Redwood again, to show us some support. He wears tan slacks and a polo shirt.
Linda places some pretzels, chips and dips next to my laptop. She is a regular at the Redwood, but only watches - never sings. She is tall, with short blond hair and glasses. She wears a yellow sweater with a silver broach and a black skirt and black opaque tights and heels. I try to use the empty seats as an excuse for Linda to pick a song, but Linda makes it clear that it's never going to happen. She sits at a table with a group that includes Sean, another regular, with a powerful voice. He always sings tipsy, and pulls off a good Billy Joel or a standard.
Rob leaves the Song Books out on the table, and makes sure that there are slips and pencils in the pockets of the binder for people to fill out. Participants must fill out a slip and hand it to the K.J. when they choose the song they want to sing from the Song Book. Dene', one of the regulars, strolls up to me with a tower of her own discs, that have her own paper slips in between. I already know I had to save her slips, instead of playing trash-basketball with them, because Dene' reuses them every night that she sings, with the same collection of discs. She walks back to the same seat, in the corner of the third table with the grace of a penguin, where she munches on chips, looks through her disc collection, and sips on a glass of wine.
Tulio is in his late fifties, with silver hair and light hazel eyes. He doesn't need any slips or song books either. He has his own personal "greatest hits" pre-printed, with his name and the name of the artist and the title of the song and the disc number. We all know what he's going to sing. He's like a professional karaoke singer (a professional-karaoke-singer is an oxymoron), performing oldies like "What Time is It?" with lots of delicate gestures, like moving his free hand side to side with the rhythm of the song. He loves the VIP privilege of sitting as close to the "stage" as possible. He'd hung out with us about a week before, at Pompeii on East Tremont, and tonight he showed up at The Redwood again, to show us some support. He wears tan slacks and a polo shirt.
Linda places some pretzels, chips and dips next to my laptop. She is a regular at the Redwood, but only watches - never sings. She is tall, with short blond hair and glasses. She wears a yellow sweater with a silver broach and a black skirt and black opaque tights and heels. I try to use the empty seats as an excuse for Linda to pick a song, but Linda makes it clear that it's never going to happen. She sits at a table with a group that includes Sean, another regular, with a powerful voice. He always sings tipsy, and pulls off a good Billy Joel or a standard.
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