My first mistake was to drink four sweet, strong,
fruity boat drinks. With not one inhibition left
to my name, I thought it would be a great idea
to sing some Tori Amos tunes. The KJ plugged
in my request, and in two seconds I had gained
the attention of the entire bar with my off-key
screeching and tone-deaf impersonation of my
idol. When the song was over, I insisted on singing
another. At the time, I didn't know that
I was breaking one of the karaoke commandments
-- thou shalt not sing two songs in a row.
But I didn't stop there. When the next person
in line -- a coworker from another office whom
I had met only that morning -- tried to take
his place onstage, I hit him in the head with
the microphone. Repeatedly. Despite my abuse,
or perhaps because of it, he followed me back
to my hotel room that night. At our meeting the
following morning I couldn't decide what
was most embarrassing -- my frequent vomit-visits
to the bathroom, my questionable singing ability,
or the fact that everyone knew exactly why I
was avoiding eye contact with what's-his-name.
The Charcoal House
"Come on," I whined. "We don't have to stay
all night. I just want to see what it's like." With
each word, my partner David received a poke in
the arm. Finally, he looked me in the eye.
"Fine." Though the word came out as blunt and
forceful as a hammer to the head, it was good
enough for me. As much as I wanted to check out
the karaoke contest that evening, I couldn't
get up the nerve to go alone.
I had heard about the contest being held at
the Charcoal House Restaurant in La Mesa from
Linda, who would be competing. The seven-week
contest, sponsored by the restaurant and a local
radio station, would bestow upon the winner a
professionally produced CD and the chance to
sing "The Star-Spangled Banner" at a Padre game
at Petco Park.
"I always practice my songs before I go out," says
Linda, who has not one but two karaoke machines
in her home. "I try to actually memorize the
words so I don't have to look at the screen.
I try to be a performer and be interesting. I
look at the audience, but I usually never lock
on to their eyes, because I realize sometimes
that can bother a person -- they can feel challenged
-- so I look in their direction, ten o'clock,
two o'clock, but I rarely lock in on them
unless I know the person really well."
I met Linda through my piano teacher, Frank.
Every time I've seen Linda she was wearing
something flashy -- a red scarf, matching cheetah-print
leggings and top, a white pantsuit with a brightly
colored floral-patterned jacket. On her toes
she might be five foot two, but you wouldn't
know it to talk to her. Linda's presence
is ten feet tall.
Karaoke is Linda's passion. She told me
how, last year, she wowed judges with her version
of Tina Turner's "Proud Mary." "I sort of
became Tina with a Linda twist to it. I had a
wig on, a short dress, and did some of the Tina-like
moves. But I really love to moonwalk, so I threw
in a moonwalk all the way across the stage, and
the audience went nuts." Linda won that contest,
the "Best of the Best" at the Viejas Casino.
The Tina Turner 'do is one of 15 wacky wigs
in Linda's 400-square-foot costume closet.
The Charcoal House was already packed when David
and I arrived almost an hour before the contest
was scheduled to begin. The large barroom was
located to the left of the entrance. I chose
a booth in the restaurant directly to the right,
which granted me a clear view of the stage across
the way. Reminiscent of my high school choir
performances, the red curtain behind the stage
was adorned with giant stars and treble clefs
cut from a yellow fabric and covered in glitter.
A woman named Leslie was letting contestants
warm up. While David and I picked our way through
overcooked chicken and soggy veggies, the bar,
populated mostly by white people in their 40s,
was alive with the sound of "music." Soft rock
seemed to be the popular choice, and I was surprised
at how many songs I knew by heart.
I was excited to see the name "Dido" appear
on one of the screens, but my feeling was soon
one of torment as the woman onstage proceeded
to destroy everything I loved about the song.
She mesmerized me, though, because I could tell
by her stance and facial expressions that she
believed she was nailing it -- standing there
screeching, this woman thought she was Dido.
This was my first glimpse of the impressive Karaokian
ego, which I had yet to experience in its maniacal,
delusional entirety.
David and I paid our dinner bill and took our
place in the standing-room-only bar, where we
ran into Linda. She had already warmed up with
a country song I didn't recognize (I don't
think there are any I would). Linda had been
animated during her warm-up. She left the elevated
stage for the dance floor (making it difficult
for most patrons to see her), boogied back and
forth and, more than twice, waved the microphone
in the air as though twirling a lasso.
Before Linda performed her song for the competition
(a slow LeAnn Rimes number called "Blue"), we
watched a man who couldn't have had more
than three teeth in his skull jabber his way
through another tune I didn't recognize (probably
a country song). Despite the sentences rolling
by on the screen above me, I couldn't understand
a word he said.
A skinny little woman followed next with a frighteningly
accurate impersonation of Céline Dion.
Then, just as I was beginning to drift mentally,
a young guy took the mike. His voice was a salve
for the auditory abrasions inflicted by the string
of people who sang before him. His was a slow
R&B song that I later learned was first performed
by Luther Vandross. The singer's appearance
was jarring in this environment; he wore an oversized
jersey, and his dark hair was pleated in tight
cornrows. I couldn't guess his ethnicity,
maybe an Asian and African-American mix. When
he finished his song, he put his hands to his
face as if in prayer and thanked the cheering
crowd. Tony T. was his name, and he is well known
by Karaokians throughout the county.
Neither Linda nor Tony T. placed in the contest
that evening. That prize went to another young
man with an excellent voice who sang the top-20
hit "I'll Be" by the Goo Goo Dolls. "I'm
going to come back every week until I win," Linda
said. "This is political bullshit," said Tony
T.
The following week, Tony took first place for
the evening after singing a popular Bon Jovi
song. Unfortunately, no one would win the seven-week
contest. After a few weeks, it was inexplicably
canceled.
