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A Day In The Life Of A Karaoke Singer
Don't Date The Customers...
She woke up thinking a seldom thought. There must be something wrong with me she thought; I better write that down before it slips away.
Before it slips away the way my life has. Then she wrote in the 3rd person; it was a way to not have to accept responsibility. She could observe that way. The observer was never guilty of something. It works OK.
She had been unconscious of being unconscious. What a twist her holographic selves could spin on her. She didn’t want to think about it but it was 1 AM, she couldn’t sleep and there were these words that wanted to spill out on paper…perhaps for someone else who couldn’t sleep, who would read them and be glad to get sucked into the words if ever so briefly, glad they had something to read.
She was remembering the serious singer. He was entirely uncloaked what he was doing. The man seemed desperate even. He went from female to female like a dog looking for a bone to chew on, night after night, he just never gave up.
Life was just a chess game; the queen was knowing she wasn’t really in the game at all, it just looked like she was. She played the game on two levels but her time was running out, she was about to close up shop, put up the sign be back shortly, only she wasn’t coming back.
He walked over to her table where she sat alone, awaiting her number to come up, so she could sing a song. Life was OK when you were singing.
On his arm was a brunette that had once been quite a looker. She still retained just enough of her former beauty to make a person look closer to see if there actually was a soul in there somewhere. The more I looked the less I found of a real person. She was drunk out of her soul.
Dude, It's Not You. It's Me
He led his girl friend over to the table. She weaved a bit before ungracefully slipping into a chair. As I recall I think whats his name introduced her to me, but I can’t be sure, as she was staring off into space. She was not playing the game and if he’d planned on making love to her I knew she didn’t have a choice about anything at all and he simply had a blow up doll on his hands without a mind, a will or any fire left to fan.
He seemed to be throwing her in my face. As if it was my fault he couldn’t get a real woman. He wanted the last word. I just stared. This was only another facet of the game humans played and it was annoying to watch it.
He sat there all arrogant, making his point while I stared at the former beauty and knew she’d disappointed him by turning out to be a drunk. Real life was never like the fantasy you have. Maybe it was during a full moon, for just a second, but this was it sweetie, what you see is what you get.
We didn’t say these things, we just projected over the thoughts and feelings. Rather, he did, I was just waiting for my number to come up. It usually took far too long to come up, long after the desire to sing started to slither away.
What did you expect? I’d wanted to say. You find someone in a bar, take them home get intimate, then you’re disappointed when they turn out to be a drunk?
Same thing had happened to me, only I’d married the man. He was after all, my soul mate and I had no doubt about us being together. It was only a few years down the line I somehow managed to give him the perfect excuse to turn into an alcoholic full on and before I knew it, he’d checked out of life. Meaning he was dead. Dead, but not really gone. So where you find them, that’s most likely where they will return. The bar because that’s where it’s legal to poison yourself, only we call it not knowing when to quit.
We'd Chit Chatted ONLY
Now I thought how liquor was going to destroy the last remnants of her beauty and I told him she needed to be put to bed immediately and possibly vomit before that.
He and I had talked maybe twice before. We’d shared a smoke on the patio of a bar. Again, I was there just waiting for my number to come up. I was sociable type. I was to learn it was better to be anti-social really, if you're just there to sing a number. Too much shit happens while you’re just waiting for your number to come up.
Most people in the karaoke circuit had an agenda. They were looking for a relationship; singing was just a way for them to get a lover; someone to take home and put the squeeze on. Nothing wrong with that. It’s just that I wasn’t there for that reason. When I grabbed a male to do a duet on stage, automatically the crowd got it all mixed up. They thought the love song we did was just between the two doing the duet. Not so, music is for all people. We sing about love that we've never known, love that we've known, love that we wish we could feel. Jealousy was carefully restrained for stage performers by the lovers of the singers, but at any moment things could get out of hand after a drink or two.
I tried to get over my shock that he had dragged the beaten down, intoxicated woman over to throw in my face the fact that he felt rejected by me, after only 2 conversations and a smoke.
It was like he was saying, “look what you forced me to do. You made me sink to this level to have someone in my life, so look, it’s your fault I have to put up with her.”
I felt sorry for the drunk lady. Maybe life had made her this way. Maybe this guy needed to crack a psychology book if he was going to keep her. Right now, she needed a bed and I mentioned he’d better get her home. I knew she wouldn’t remember meeting me the next day. She may not even remember him. He continued to cast daggers in my direction while my silence must have spoke everything that needed to be said. I knew from the start he'd never find love by looking for it on the outside.
There was no denying he was good looking and that he sang well. What he didn’t know is I was a good actress. That’s what you do when you sing. You act out the part in your emotions. You’re playing. A musician plays the emotions. It’s a fantasy about how the human is always chasing love, and it’s love’s purpose to not get caught or else there would be nothing to make up a song about.
Karaoke for me meant playing for free. But it was dangerous territory after awhile when your audience thought you were serious and that you’d always be there or worse yet, you were free to take home and bed, or take to Mexico and put up in your vacation home.
We’re not always going to be here but those of us who are here, we have our reasons and it’s not always what you think it is. We’re not all guilty by association. However, you can be out numbered in this industry by the trending thought.
Some of us just sing a song because it’s there to be sung. Soon enough you pick up pen and paper and you write your own words to a song. You find your own melody and put a patent on it.
No matter if it sounds like another tune back in the 1800’s. Originality is a joke in the music business. When you get as old as I am, every tune begins to sound like another tune you’ve heard before. To you of course, it is your masterpiece for whatever it’s worth because you wrote it down with the objective of sharing it.
My would be lover got up from the table and led the lady out the back door casting me one last reproachful look for the job that he now had on his hands, literally. I was glad when my number was called, he wasn’t there to hear me sing.
If you're celibate do you have to mention this to every guy you meet?
- Who original song by Laughing Rain - YouTube
A song I wrote and played in my living room with my guitar and Peavey Amp in 91. Sent the cassette to a friend for his advice. He liked it and said I should ...