Last night was karaoke. There happens to be a couple of extremely intense karaoke events around Minneapolis. Grumpy's, U Otter Stop Inn -- if you're half-assing your pop standard imitations you will be outright shunned by the local watering holers at these pinnacle outposts for weekend amnesia. You need to go all out: heteros turn into homos, homos turn into uber-homos, a shirt needs to come off, a vocal chord needs to be shredded, an eye needs to be at the breaking point of potentially popping out, sweat needs to drip, the backs need to be arched, and a beer must be drank during instrumental breaks with the face of a Scottish drunk ("FOOK YESH!!!").
I decided on David Bowie's "Ziggy Stardust" for my cheap imitation. But I have to say that my roommates, Louie and Adri, pulled off the greatest spectacles, followed closely by sista Kristen's ear-piercing howl of "YEAHHHHH!!!!" at the end of The Beatles' "Come Together". In my opinion, no one can hold a candle to Adri's Bukowskian butcherings of our favorite classics. Every song turns into an angry spoken word piece. The one song that will always be at the peak of his expertise is Sinatra's "That's Life". What ensues is not so much a Cookie Monster vocal, but Oscar the Grouch vocal shrapnel -- "I HATE CHRISTMAS!!!" He curls up into little balls along the wall, climbs on top of tables, one arm always raised. Little interjections of "MOTHERFUCKER!!!" always seem to break through to the other side for no apparent reason at all . . . yet they make all the more sense in the end. Last night Adri's "Purple Rain" was the Greatest Show on Earth, with Louie's "The Pretender" by the Foo Fighters as the opening act, turning Dave Grohl's scream into a baritone yelp more Fat Albert-ish in nature ("HEY HEY HEY!!!").
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The fixation of karaoke is really interesting to me. Primarily in the case of reality television. How is it that a show consisting of karaoke singers became one of the top rated shows season after season? It's a fucking phenomenon. American Idol makes karaoke singers into recording superstars . . . and the butt of pop culture jokes. Rorshach tests should only consist of a casting photo of Clay Aiken. The responses could be a great case study for social classes. I take it that the crowd I usually hang out with would probably not say anything so as not to offend karma. But a gay joke always looms . . .
You can be a great karaoke singer, ripping off artists in the confines of a dive bar. You start getting paid to do it, you walk a fine line between divine superstar and the most toxic poop not even the divine could have conceived.
Bowie's "Ziggy Stardust" talks about the end of the world, and a messiah chosen by pop culture to help people through the pain. "We've got five years!!" Bowie screams. Five years left to live. If we found out that the world was going to end in five years, who would be our messiah? The one to lead us into the next realm? The next Jesus, Muhammed, Buddha?
For Christians, you go to Heaven, you meet St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. My prediction is that most people will assume a being not unlike Judge Simon Cowell to be the one most likely to question the fearful Christians of whether or not they'd led a good Christian life. No wonder this country is in a mad war, between "Religulous" and the Bible leather Belt makers. Whenever a debate occurs dealing with religion, the words "Supreme Pop Culture" pop into my head. The cultures of the world subscribe to the magazines of doctrine. The bible was the Swimsuit Edition for the 2000 year old equivalent to Sports Illustrated, the New Testament the Seventeen or Teen People for the new generation who wouldn't be interested in Time or Life. I don't argue in the debates, I marvel at the spectacle of the Greatest Show on Earth. It doesn't get any better than that.
People say "God is black!", "God is a woman!", "God is all knowing!" Put it together and what do you get?
David Bowie -- "Ziggy Stardust"
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