![]() ![]() Because neither one of them really like what I do.”Ĭontrast the professionals and the performers manufactured by the musical industrial complex for mass consumption – the shifty karaokeist is obligated to none. Actually, the beef I get most of the time is with real DJs and real musicians. “There are a couple other guys out there. Empty orchestra.ĭenise just laughs when asked whether other karaoke DJ’s might want to hone in on his turf. I used to carry crates and crates of CD’s, for like 80,000 songs. And carry the speakers and the equipment. “Oh yeah, CDs! When I turned 16, I was carrying boxes of CDs for him. My father started doing this about 25 years ago,” recalls Denise. Half a million songs on this little…” he points at an external hard drive, “I think that’s a two terabyte. With an average of 53 Fridays in a year, adding up Nick’s hustle amounts to 1 year and 60 days of Fridays setting up willing chanteuses, buzzy sirens, campy hotshots and disturbed loners, to cover everything from Billy Joel’s “Captain Jack” to the Darkness’ “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” and considering himself happy to do it. “I’ve been here every Friday almost eight years now,” says Denise, his voice raspy, with warm color. Indiscriminately, the spotlight transforms all.Īll that’s required to capture the attention of the room for the length of a song is a hot microphone under swirling party lights and a modest PA system.Īnd a DJ to cue up the tracks, like Nick Denise. Phil, a 56-year-old with a voice that communicated life’s experience brought low by twang and nostalgia, sang a country pop number, phrases unfamiliar, title never revealed.Ī plumber. Jimmy Ha, a 38-year-old bass player sang Barry Manilow’s “I Write the Songs. Max, a 32-year-old barback kicked off a round of songs with an unexpectedly spirited rendition of John Denver’s “I’m Sorry”. A vibrating glow surrounded each performer as consecutive rounds of booze had lubricated the momentum of the night. Up to this point, before the guy at the front of the bar went looking for an assault charge, the night had gone swimmingly. This all was happening at Chic’s Restaurant and Sports Bar down in the Kingston Plaza, next to where the off-track betting office used to be. Good luck if you don’t have Bill Wither’s baritone.īut a musical ear is not a requirement for fans of karaoke, and the crowd was disappointed all the same when the music cut off. “Use Me”, a song about sexual satisfaction despite the warnings of friends and family members sounds like an easy song to sing. ![]() Surging as a group of restraining hands and punching fists, they grabbed the attacker and hauled him to the parking lot outside. The Friday night drinking crowd took matters into their own hands. He hadn’t yet made it through the opening verses of Bill Wither’s “Use Me” and he was struggling gamely along when another man up at the front of the bar hit a woman and all hell broke loose. ![]() Too late, the man with the microphone realized the key of the song wasn’t great for his vocal range. ![]()
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