Rameoke: Where stars are born and dignity lost. Where that fine line between poor singing and crimes against humanity becomes blurred. Where people who are much too drunk sing/songvomit Journey.
And sometimes they’re not even drunk.
And this Friday was no exception; what started as some friendly drinks at the Ram eventually led to a collective loss of faith in God’s decision to create human life, brain function battered into simply staring agape as that guy gets on stage again. And again. And again. Virtually every performance devolving into some kind of sick, alcohol-fueled parody of the very concept of music. All set to fucking ‘Uptown Girl’. Surely there’s some kind of circle of hell that’s just bad kareoke, Dante must have just blocked it out; you can only assume even the Renaissance had some kind of unholy ancestral precursor, this kind of evil is eternal.
Even when there is a rare glimpse of hope, like the sight of Bohemian Rhapsody on the song list or a performer who actually has functional vocal cords, all it does is remind you of the horror that surrounds you, hammered home as that old favourite gets up once more to drunkenly mumble something before vocalising a brain haemorrhage to some Elton John. It’s like in their drunken, perma-blurred state they reason(or attempt to) that if blindness gave Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder super-human talent maybe tone-deafness will too. They are wrong in that assumption.
But the weird thing is, the thing that makes me suspect some kind of sheepy sorcery, is that it’s kinda fun. A weekly testament to the idea of ‘so bad it’s good’, Rameoke provides constant background amusement. Got nothing to say? Just turn round and laugh at the person eating the microphone. Cold rendered you too poorly to dance and drink to often equally awful music in a club? Fear not, you can just go and watch music destroy itself onstage, locked in some kind of rhythm black hole. Feel a bit dead inside? Think no one else relates to your misery? Well then you probably shouldn’t be around alcohol. But if you must then go get some good ol’ soul-nourishment by watching people sing as if, as one noted analyst opined, they’re hostage victims, forced to sing as some kind of message about the decadence of the West, possibly whilst singing ‘We Didn’t Start The Fire’ if these hypothetical terrorists are into irony. I doubt they are though. Hypothetical terrorists are renowned for their seriousness and absolute devotion, which is why a nail file is considered a dangerous weapon on a plane.
So yeah, I’m not really sure if this is an endorsement or a scathing criticism. All I can say is, if you are that guy defiling everyone elses ears you’re probably having a hell of a lot of fun; I’ve been there, group kareoke is awesome once your body is 23% alcohol, even Uptown Girl is. *Shudder*