Yes, yesterday I had my first official school day and it was awesome. I can feel my neurons and synapses waking up from the long slumber called the past six years. Last night, I decided to go matriculate myself (not as dirty as it sounds) by indulging in a bit of pop music nerdery: karaoke! (And this was extra-special karaoke, since it was hosted by Ms. Raised By Bees herself.)

I love karaoke. It would be nice to be in a band, but I am essentially talentless and unimaginative. You might tell me the bar for what’s deemed acceptable in this musical universe is very, very, very, very low. You’re correct on that. But I guess I’d prefer to skip past the years of heartbreak and “makin’ it” to doing karaoke in a bar.

One of the reasons I think Philadelphia is a great karaoke town is thanks to the overwhelmingly supportive audiences at these events. I’ve never heard anyone get booed, etc. Quite the opposite. So if you’re the type of person who’s terrified to sing because of negative feedback, no worries here.

Over the weekend American Idol had tryouts in town; last night a few of the rejectees came to sing and exorcise their hatred of Simon Cowell. Now, if these folks were rejected, then I really have to wonder how amazing the finalists were, because these people were just absolutely knock-down phenomenal. So phenomenal, in fact, that I had the largest bout of performance anxiety since my days as a competitive figure skater. I knocked down a couple of mic stands, couldn’t sing along, couldn’t hear myself and lacked zero stage presence to work the room. In short, I turned in probably the worst karaoke performance of my amateur career.

Dear All-American Idol Rejects, while I loved your performances, please stay away from karaoke. Bolstering your own deflated ego by making other people feel inadequate is just so uncool. Nobody likes a sore loser, y’know? (Trust me, I speak from experience.)

And to the Khyber, a space which I still love even though this city’s nightlife scene has essentially ditched you for a prettier, younger girlfriend that cleans up real well, get some fucking locks for your bathroom doors. I know you might think disgusting stalls are “punk rock” and “edgy”, but the world doesn’t need to see my most private moments nor do I need to contract a disease from the mess in there.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 28th, 2007 at 2:15 pm and is filed under local, music.