This isn't what I expected.
A few weeks ago, I had planned to check out a Bells Corners brew pub, which hosted a weekly karaoke night, to see if I'd be able to practice singing new songs before I tried them out on my friends who are also avid karaoke singers.
The first time I arrived at Conspiracy Theory Brewing on my own, it was filled with people who were celebrating someone's retirement. I stepped in the doorway, saw all the suits and dresses, and did a 180 out of there.
I then learned that the brewhouse and kitchen was moving it's Thursday karaoke to Friday. I couldn't go for the first Friday because it was DW's birthday, but I promised myself that I would go the next week.
And that was last Friday.
As I had hoped, the spacious dining area was mostly empty. Someone was at the microphone: a man who appeared to be in his mid-60s, belting out a song I didn't recognize with a beautiful voice.
Stiff competition, if this was a singing contest. Luckily, it's not.
Five people were at one table, four at another, and a lone man was at a third. Looking toward the bar, there were about four people ponied up, and a couple of people were sitting at a small table, across from the bar.
Small crowd. Perfect.
The server who had looked after my friend, Perry, and me, when we showed up in late November, greeted me once more. When I told him that I was just here for drinks and to sing, he let me pick any table I wanted, and I chose one of the long tables near the booth where Perry and I had sat a couple of months ago. I wasn't too close to anyone else and not far from the exit, so I could leave, unnoticed by the other tables, when I was ready to leave.
Two-and-a-half mugs on my rating scale.
About halfway into my glass and between singers, I moved up to the KJ to put in my request. He recognized me from November and asked me for my name again. When I gave it, he looked me up on his computer. Apparently, he keeps track of the singers and the songs they had performed.
I had two songs from when Perry and I were here: "Behind Blue Eyes," by The Who and "I Am, I Said," by Neil Diamond.
I asked him if he had "Driver 8," by R.E.M. I had sung that song at the last karaoke night my friends and I attended, at O'Brien's, and thought I'd warm up with a song I had already sung, but this KJ didn't have it.
"I have 'Drive'," he said.
"Not the same song," I replied. I figured that I might as well get right into the practice and requested a song that I haven't sung before. Luckily, he had it.
I returned to my table and listened to others. Everyone at the tables in my section participated, and they all had great voices. As the people at the table with six patrons got up and down from their table, I recognized a couple of them from my November visit.
When it was my turn to get up, I realized that I'd be leaving my glass unattended. I don't have the same fears as I have warned my daughters about, when they leave their own drinks unattended in a bar. I was pretty sure no one would try to put anything in my drink, but all the same I was going to sing with my eyes on my table—I knew the words to my song so didn't need the teleprompter.
Song done, I sat down and added liquid to my dry throat. Within a few seconds of settling in, one of the men from the table of six approached me.
"Are you on your own tonight?" he asked.
"I am."
"Would you like to join our table?"
Honestly, I didn't really want to. My whole purpose for being here was to enjoy a brew, maybe two, sing a song, maybe two, and head out. No muss. No fuss.
The man sort of reminded me of one of my oldest buddies, Don, minus the silver hair. I pegged him to be in his late 40s to early 50s. His friends were all looking toward us, a couple of them motioning for me to come over.
"Sure, if you don't mind," I said.
"Yeah, come join us."
There were two other men and three women at the table, all of varying ages. One of the men was the guy who was singing when I arrived. His name was Jeff. The man who invited me was James. There was an April and an Annie, and unfortunately I forgot the other two names shortly thereafter the introductions were made.
"How do you all know one another?" I asked, once I had sat down.
They hadn't worked together, hadn't met one another before they got into karaoke. Many of them were hardcore, going to venues around the city: some, as often as five or six times a week. They got to recognize one another and eventually started meeting up. They're essentially establishment at Conspiracy Theory.
We chatted about the genres of music that we liked and what we disliked. I said that there were only two genres of music that I really didn't like: rap and country.
Some of them loved country music and I was told that I was being too simplistic in generalizing rap music, that there were different kinds.
"I've heard many variations and there isn't one style that I've liked," I said.
"Same here," said Annie, "rock and roll, all the way!" She gave me a high five.
"Should I give the KJ another song?" I asked.
"No need," said James. "He's got you in the system. He'll call you up when it's your turn and you can give him the song then."
We chatted about the different venues for karaoke around the city and I learned, from James, that there's a place next to the Nepean School of Music, under the Barrhaven Mall, that has karaoke every Wednesday night. I might have to check that out.
I also learned that James lives in my neighbourhood. Not just Barrhaven, but one street over, about a couple of hundred metres or so from one another.
I ordered a second glass, this time choosing the No Goal IPA. I was pleased to learn that it is very much like a traditional British IPA: no haze, no tropical fruit; just a clear, copper-gold, with notes of grapefruit and pine resin, but a bitter acidity that was a bit strong.
Everyone at the table had a turn at the mic and everyone was great. Jeff took the cordless mic and walked as far as the bar. In unison, the other man at the table (whose name escaped me) and I said, "If he walks into the washroom with that mic, I'm leaving."
"Jeff likes to wander," said James. "One time, during the summer, he walked out to the patio and then kept going, got halfway across the street before turning back."
"Good range on that mic," I said.
It wasn't until I was about three-quarters through my IPA when my name was called. "I'm going to try something that I haven't sung before, so I'm going to get my apologies out of the way now," I said, rising from my chair.
I asked the KJ about which platform he uses for his music. "I buy them from all over. I pay about $3.50 to $4 per song and have made my own list."
I requested my song and he acknowledged that he had it. Typing the title on his keyboard, he showed me the result. "I have two versions: a KaraFun and Zoom version."
I breathed a sigh of relief. I've tried singing the KaraFun version, through YouTube, at home, but I don't like it. You have to sing all the words and some are out of my range. There's also a line that overlaps another so it can't be sung very well.
The Zoom Entertainment version leaves the high-range lyrics up to the recording and the overlapped lyrics are also automated. I requested that one.
There's a part in the song where the singer sings a somewhat high note and sustains it for a few seconds. When I've practiced the song at home, I've chosen to drop that note to the way it's sung two times previous in the song, at a lower register.
As I sang the song, I tested my volume and thought about that one note. Should I attempt it? Everyone who sang, this evening, had done a great job. Did I risk cracking my voice toward the climax of the song?
I was here to practice. I wasn't here to make friends. If I crack the note here, I'd drop down for when I sang it at the karaoke night with my friends, at Stray Dog Brewing, on February 8.
I decided, as the lyrics came up, that I was going to go for it.
If I cracked the note, who cares? Sure, these new folks were nice, inviting a new stranger to join their crowd. If I really botched the song, I could find another venue. Maybe James didn't go to the place in the Barrhaven Mall every week.
I nailed the note. Back at the table, James confirmed it. "You nailed it."
I only had a mouthful of the IPA left, and I had already settled my tab with the waitress, so I didn't bother sitting back down. I gulped the rest of my glass, grabbed my coat.
"Going already?" asked Annie.
"Afraid so. I was great to meet everyone. Thanks for inviting me to your table."
"We hope to see you next week," said the man, whose name I'll need to get.
Next time.
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