Life Is A Song

 

By Rick Boettger

 

OK, this column may be read as my making fun of myself, because not only am I going defend my descent into the underworld of Karaoke singing, but I am going to praise it as an art form in ascendance, ready to replace real musicians in bars and clubs around the world.

I wrote last year that my own nascent vocal aspirations disappeared when I heard local teen Liza Catana sing a single song last October. I had progressed nicely, late in life, replacing daily tennis with daily singing and lessons. I sang and soloed in the Keys Chorale and my church, actually got paid to sing a couple of songs for a local club, and had the thrill of “winning” the Roman Idol Karaoke competition at a fund-raiser for the Chorale against four professionals. The next step would be finding more gigs.

That changed when I heard Liza. I realized it would take me about seven years to advance professionally to a point worth reaching, meaning around $100k/year for 20 hours/week of real work. That’s what it took for me to become a business professor in a research university. So, with singing, using the same devotion would, at best, granting the dubious possibility I were good enough, leave me be a new face on the music scene at 72. Both my parents were dead by that age.

But Liza, on the other hand, would be 22, with a full career ahead of her. The money and professional skills I would waste on promoting myself would be more wisely spent on Liza. Since I came into my money in the mid-1990s, I have loaned or invested an average of $11,200/apiece on 10 younger people. I’ve actually averaged getting $12,300 back, mainly because one big one paid back triple.

But I assure you it’s not the money, and with Liza I’m not writing any contract. It is so satisfying to see people succeed, that’s what rings my bell at this stage in my life. I was set to take her and her “Mom-ager” to Denver for The Voice auditions in June, but a family medical emergency intervened. We took a breather, and now we’re planning another northern adventure in the music biz this week.

So that leaves me doing Karaoke. I tried singing at local venues with pianists and guitar players, but Karaoke gives me the greatest challenge and the biggest rush. Why? Variety and difficulty. Real performances with a human keep you in a small range of oft-repeated songs. I’d be stuck on Sinatra and the American Songbook.

At the 801 Bar, I’ve got U2 and Pink Floyd backing me up, or I’m channeling Adele and Pink, doing four new songs every week. The other singers at 801 on Sunday between 4-6 p.m., when I go, are on average at least as good as I am. Mostly this is because the Karaoke is run by Jeff and Gassy Winds, brilliantly seasoned professionals, who take a turn with us every half hour. Whatever we amateurs are singing, they balance off with something different, as they know literally thousands of songs, many of which I’ve never heard before.

But my fellow amateurs are the best surprise. It is amazing how much talent there is out there, at least in the early hours, before the booze takes effect and everyone thinks they can sing. One guy did “Wonderful World” with a better rasp than Louie Armstrong. One gal did an amazing double entendre about her kitty, with it being hot, wet, bald and free (using the other word for kitty), that brought down the house and would have had a million YouTube views. Then the very next gal did a great Janis Joplin.

What house band can match this? What normal performer could approach such range? Add to that you get to join in and be a part of the show. In this new world of selfies, blogs, Facebook pages, Twitter—a new way to be out there every day, it seems—the way we entertain ourselves best is by ourselves being the entertainment.

We have the poetry at Blue Heaven. New theatre groups springing up to give more people a chance to write plays and act. Literary seminars that give hundreds the chance to write with their fellows. Painting and pottery classes that allow hundreds more to be practicing potters and painters.

Yes, we’ll always pay to watch the rare Jimmy Buffets of the world. But for the rest of us, I say, find some way, as I have, to quickly join the parade. We can’t let only the real professionals have all the fun!

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