Karaoke Pt. 2

I didn't perform karaoke again until halfway through my first year of college. I was a strange, American man in a strange, Canadian land. Everyday I was introduced to all manner of bizarre, Canuck delights. Labatt Strong. Tim Horton's. Poutine.

Delightful.

One night I was persuaded to attend a party at the Gladstone Hotel, a historically skeezy bar/performance space/drug den, to indulge in a little bit of the sung word. I promptly signed up to sing "Only The Good Die Young." Yes, again with the Billy Joel, and again, I was thwarted. The backing track jumped and skipped, probably because the sound system realized what evil it was partaking in. In a move of either inspired brilliance or brilliant inspiration, the KJ threw on "Uptown Girl," the mid-80's Joel pile of excrement known better as Homer Simpson's hippie freakout song than the original chart topper it was.

I crushed it.

I loved it.

I was at home on the stage. Later that evening I tore up Aerosmith's "Same Old Song And Dance," finally leaving my Billy Joel comfort song forever. After summer break, my Canadian college chums and I began to take over the James Tavern on Dufferin, where Brian the DJ, with hands like kielbasa sticking out of meatloaf, would let us sing all night long. It was there that I received my true karaoke education. I experimented, trying all manner of styles and rhythms, from REM's "Losing My Religion" to Bon Jovi's "Bad Medicine" to my beloved Elton John's "Saturday Night's (Alright For Fighting)." My roommate Gord serenaded me with "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother," and was tragically wrong on both counts. My hometown friends came to visit, and after a rousing group rendition of "Stairway," we found our group outside, freestyle rapping so all downtown Toronto could hear the greatest refrain in hip hop history:

"CHICAGO! CHICAGO! CHI-CHI-CHI-CHICAGO!"

Sadly, it was not recorded for posterity, and thus lost to the depths of my memory.

NOTE: William Turbyfill was also in attendance.

Most amazingly, at the end of every evening, Brian the Gigantic Handed DJ would sing Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Midnight Special," blowing our minds every time with his uncanny John Fogerty impression. Then, to cap off every lovely evening, the topper to top all toppers.

Donna Summer + "MacArthur Park" = Best nights ever.

My Toronto karaoke fun was not limited to the James, however. The Blue Lagoon, on Lakeshore, provided me with a front row seat to my first bar fight. On the night Ryan Hipgrave and I rocked/cocked out "To Be With You" by Mr. Big, on the night I finally tackled The Doors' "Love Me Two Times," Cody Mitchell sang "Under The Bridge" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. And when the chorus erupted with "Under the bridge downtown!," two men did battle in the bar, spilled into the street, took their shirts off, and brawled like wonderful drunken idiots. Later, we had a street fight versus some garbage.

Allow me to clarify: I'm not talking about stumbling about and drunkenly throwing some pop cans at each other. I'm talking "so drunk that the garbage was giving us the evil eye, and this aggression will not stand" fucked up. It ended with a mock wrestling match in front of Cody's apartment, with him screaming " I can kick all of Chicago's ass!" over and over. When a desperately tired mother leaned out her window and threatened to call 5-0, we stopped. Paused. Cody looked her dead in the eye, somewhat saddened, and pleaded his case as plainly as an inebriated Canadian could. "But I can kick all of Chicago's ass..."

It's one of my top 5 All Time Nights Out ever.

Before I move on, let me just reserve a moment of thanks for Mr. Ryan Hipgrave, for getting me out of my room, getting me off "Final Fantasy XII," and getting me in front of a mic. Ryan, you truly are...a King among Men.

By the way, I said that last part with a supernaturally bad Charlton Heston accent. Just so you really get the joke. I know Ryan does (or will).