“I sometimes dance around in my underwear… doesn’t make me Madonna. Never will!”

So the lights are blinding you. You’re trying to remember the words or at least see them on the screen. Then you turn around and there’s a 6’6” drag queen in full gear, including a 12” pink beehive wig, being your backup singer. Huh? What funky Bali-Hai did I end up in? Nope, no one slipped magic mushrooms into your drink while you went to the ladies room… welcome to karaoke night in Provincetown.

I’ve always loved singing, as everyone who has ever driven in a car with me can attest to… good or bad as that experience may have been for them. It’s what I do when I’m in a car, or in the shower, cleaning the cat’s box or EEK!.. near a karaoke bar. No I don’t bring my own music or take it too seriously but it does create some fun stories along the way.

Now, at little background. I have the weird ability to recall the lyrics to almost any song that comes onto the radio… maybe a little less so with new-new songs but certainly up to about 5 years ago. Music from the 50-90s occupy a good deal of my long term memory. I’ve always said if I could wipe out song lyrics, movie lines, Brady Bunch and Bugs Bunny episodes from my mind that I could cure cancer. But it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen any time soon. The Nobel Prize for Medicine will have to wait.

I did try to put that knowledge to good use by trying out for the FOX television show “Don’t Forget the Lyrics” and got to the semi-finals, but unfortunately life circumstances caused a flat performance and I didn’t get on… the first time. Believe me, I’m going back the next time they do an open call and I will get on that show… if nothing else but for the blog that’ll come from it. The money wouldn’t hurt either.

Anyway, back to karaoke. Once I worked through my stage fright issues with my opera vocal coach, there really was no stopping me from going on anymore. With all the dumb faces and noises you make when you sing opera, you move way past feeling foolish in front of anyone… whether at karaoke or in a jazz club in Paris.

Ah Paris, that one was probably the scariest. I was there with my friend Kelly in 2000, or so, it gets vague after a while, and we ventured into one of the many small jazz clubs by the Latin Quarter. Yes, we’d had a couple of cocktails, and I semi-jokingly mentioned to Kel that I had always wanted to sing in a jazz club just like this… to roll around on a piano top just like Michelle Pfeiffer did in The Fabulous Baker Boys. I had memorized “Making Whoopee” because of that performance. Well, we continued to talk and she said, “Why don’t you go up there and ask them to sing?”

“No way, this is Paris. This is real jazz. What if I freeze when I get up there...” Blah Blah Blah – she wasn’t listening.

She said, “This is the perfect opportunity. No one knows you anyway. I’ll go talk to them and set it up for you.”

And with that she left me, giving me no choice but to give it a shot. The only good thing I could figure out is that most of the audience spoke French so if I screwed up the lyrics, oh well. Singing on key on the other hand… well.

I remember being in the bathroom (le toilet) upstairs shaking. I had a black turtleneck on with leopard pants and motorcycle boots given to me by my maid of honor at my wedding (another blog one day). Not exactly the long, beautiful red velvet dress that I had envisioned… but I looked REALLY American. The American rocker look is a GOOD thing in Paris.

So I left the bathroom and had a broken French conversation with the pianist of the quartet. He gave me my Madonna moment, “Madames and Messeurs… `Jennifer’ from America!” Gulp! I was up on stage in a Paris café singing Making Whoopee in front of a crowd during Fashion Week on a cold January night. It was insane and I still thank Kel for getting me up there. I wasn’t Edith Piaf, but it didn’t matter. I had done it (and have the pictures to prove it - now if I can ever figure out my scanner I'll add them to the blog).

I’ve brought the vocal chords out in many places since Paris… New York, New Jersey, Florida Capri and Amalfi, Italy, Germany – all the hot spots… hmmm just realized I haven’t done it in SD yet.

Anyway, one of the best was New Orleans this past December while I was on a business trip. I went out with corporate partners of my company and we ended up at the Cats Meow on Bourbon Street. I knew better than to try and get onstage with the fine jazzmen and women in NOLA, but I could handle being on the karaoke stage in front of people who’ve had too many hurricane cocktails.

I sang my standard, “Heartbreaker” by Pat Benatar and it was a blast, but the best part was the next day. I was at Café du Monde for beignets and coffee with work colleagues who hadn’t seen my performance the night before… nor did I mention it. However, fate is funny and brings up things when you least expect them. I’m enjoying my breakfast and all of a sudden a guy comes up to me and says, “You sang Pat Benatar last night.” Oh My GOD! “Yes, that was me.” And of course I had to tell the table what all had happened. It was the only time I’ve ever been called out on the street after the performance so I felt like Britney Spears for a good 5 seconds. Then it was over and we had to head to the convention center to sell vending equipment and pay my bills. Fame is fleeting.

Karaoke in Provincetown is a whole different scene. The crowd is very enthusiastic and more prone to jumping up on stage with you to dance as background singers. Everyone gets applause and it really is a kind environment to sing in, but it’s a big crowd if you go to the Crown & Anchor on Hump Day Karaoke Night. About 1,000 people can fit in this venue especially in season. Its intimidating, especially because you realize you’re one of the few who haven’t “costumed” for the occasion. Oh wait, I left my sequined bellbottoms and sparkler t-shirts at home – what’s a girl to do? Really, to get everyone on your side, all you need to do is belt out a Melissa Etheridge song and you’re golden… at least with all the lesbians in the crowd. It’s probably the best party atmosphere for a night of karaoke, and there are many talented souls who jump up to give it a try.

I’ve always loved a song by Harry Chapin called “Mr. Tanner” about a guy who is a dry cleaner by day and dreams of being an opera singer. Everyone in town encouraged him to go to Carnegie Hall and give it a shot. And “shot” was the apropos word, the critics killed him in their reviews. He goes home and never sings in public again, but he would sing at night when he was alone.

The chorus goes,
“Music was his life, it was not his livelihood.
And it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart. And he sang from him soul.
He did not know how well he sang.
It just made him whole.”

Well, I can’t sum it up any better than that. I may not do anything more than sing in a darkened karaoke bar… but it does make me whole. And there’s always, “Don’t Forget the Lyrics” auditions around the corner. ;-).