Just the other night, my friend asked me, “Do you ever run out of stuff to write about?” Funny he should mention that. I’ve been scratching my head all week about what debaucheries I should detail here, and now I sit, 30 minutes till deadline, with only three sentences written. So I’m going to revisit the conversation we had that night over multiple manhattans and two vats of Dundee Dip: constructing the ultimate band. The only rule: The musicians have to be alive (physically, not career-wise).
I manhandled my rocks glass and choked down the rest of the bourbon. This was going to be easy — easy like me after a Jodeci song and a bottle of Jagermeister.
Lead Singer: Susanna Hoffs (The Bangles)
Lead Guitar: Nancy Wilson (Heart)
Bass: Flea (Red Hot Chili Peppers)
Drums: Tommy Lee (Motley Crue)
Keyboard: Tori Amos
Backup Vocals: Tegan & Sara and Brandi Carlile
Wardrobe: Lady Gaga
Merch Table Duties: Debbie Gibson
I’ll call the band Better Than The Beatles, because it’s catchy, controversial and looks good on a T-shirt. I think I’ve rounded up a solid group here, and I know they’ll all get along on the tour bus. Especially Tommy and Tegan.
Now it’s your turn. Make up your ultimate band and send me the lineup ([email protected]). Since I clearly have a grasp on what constitutes great music, I’ll pick a winner, and maybe we can get together for a shot. Hell, I’ll even give you a pint glass and whatever else I have lying around my desk. Keep in mind what Keith Richards had to say about rock ’n’ roll — it’s “music for the neck downwards.”
Karaoke, like herpes, may never die. I’ve had a love-hate relationship with the sport for years. It’s kinda like laser tag or doggy style — it’s fun when you first try it out, but then it just becomes tedious and uninspiring. I did a story once for LEO’s Bar Guide where I karaokied all around town every night for a week. Perhaps that’s how I got burnt out. It’s been on the shelf ever since, until last Friday when I ducked into the newly renovated Germantown Café (1053 Goss Ave.) and was forced in front of a mic.
DJ Rick says he’s there every Friday night, and things get a little crazy at times. You put in a request to do some Bob Seger, and Rick might appoint himself your new duet partner. He’s definitely workin’ on some night moves from behind his DJ stand. It’s a festive environment at this small, Germantown pub. I was encouraged (by lots of bourbon) to revisit (read: butcher) some of my karaoke favorites. I dabbled with Reba, took a pinch of Poison, loved the ladies with some LL Cool J and even got bogarted from Barbra when my duet partner took up with someone new on “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers.”
I plan on taking it slow and steady with my rekindled love for karaoke. If I ever find myself singing “Love Shack,” I’ll know it’s time to hang up the mic once more.
Drunk Texts of the Week
• Cooking meth dont make u a KY chef
• I want a gaga mcmuffin
• I want to gaga your mcmuffin
• Smores over whores
• u dnt brng me whsky anymore
Check out my daily reasons to drink at barbelle.leoweekly.com.