We went to Karaoke on Sunday night instead of watching the Oscars. For you. Yes, we are that dedicated to you. We love you and would do anything for you. Anything. Weird things. So click the link and read about it after the jump. Prove that you love us back. Earn this.
Disclaimer: We here at the mishap press take our jobs seriously. So when I was told that karaoke started at 9 o’clock, I waited until 4 to start drinking. I am a professional. Unfortunately, the start time got pushed back until 11 because of an earlier all ages show (science fact: It takes exactly 2 hours to chase a horde of 12 year olds out of a bar after you’ve let them get a taste for it). And so, a standard 5 hour drinking head start, or what we in the business call research, turned into a 7 hour holy shit why am I still standing string of bad decisions that all made perfect sense at the time. So, uh, this is gonna be a short and somewhat generalized review and it’s everyone’s fault except for mine. Luckily, fellow Mishap Presser Owen never misses an opportunity to be loud, so he was in attendance and will be co-handling the details and latter half of this review. We’re going to double handle it. And you are going to watch.
The Review: The Barbary doesn’t take itself too seriously. They have dance parties, karaoke, all age shows and probably get up to all sorts of other shenanigans when I’m not looking. They’re not going for any specific identity other than a place where something is probably going to be happening when you show up and flashing lights will most likely factor heavily into whatever that thing is. If we’re being honest, that’s kind of a cool identity to have.
If you’re not into whatever’s going on when you do show up, you can usually just head to the upstairs bar and commence normal bar related activities. So there’s a built in escape route if you’re the type of everyone that gets bored of karaoke after a while. Side note: the upstairs bar has the most level pool table that I’ve been able to find within walking distance. This is a big deal to some people.
But thats not what I went for, I was there for the karaoke. I craved it. And when you’re there for the karaoke, here is what happens; First you’re just drinking at a mostly empty bar. Then you’re drinking at a mostly empty bar with a DISCO BALL! Then you’re drinking at a mostly empty bar with a disco ball while someone is screaming at you and everyone else is not giving a shit….and then everyone gets drunk. And then more people start wandering in. And then there’s a duet of a meatloaf song. And then you have fun. You have fun even if a bunch of the dancinest mother fuckers you’ve ever seen squeezed into the snazziest digs $5 can buy at a thrift store need to jam it down your god damn throat.
Everyone is there for karaoke. If they weren’t, they’d be upstairs. No one accidentally wandered in, and no one was just at a bar when some karaoke broke out(which is a terrifying thing that happens too often). Everyone showed up on purpose, ending in a room full of people dead set on having a good time and not caring at all wether or not they looked like an ass while doing it. Its really hard to say anything negative about that. Perhaps Owen can? We’ll see. But before I hand this off to him, I’ll say three quick things.
-If you’re gonna show up in costume, I applaud your enthusiasm, but know the words. Costumes raise the bar. In literally any facet of life, if you come wearing a costume, you better straight up run that shit. If it wasn’t a costume and you just dress like a school girl all the time, never mind, keep doing whatever the hell you want, you’ve obviously got your own agenda.
-There was a guy who sang ‘True Faith’ by New Order. There is no sarcasm whatsoever in my saying that whatever he thought he was doing when he was violently rocking back and forth, sloppily fucking the air in as selfish a manner as possible, is the best dance move I have ever seen. I don’t know if he was that into Barbary karaoke, that drunk, or just a genuine god damn showman, but it was by far the best performance in my opinion.
-The photo booth smelled like farts.
Owen go now!
Thanks Jason, that was some fine reporting. For a GIRL. Now it’s time to run a train on this review.
When I arrived at the Barbary around 10:30, it was indeed to a room full of nothing and a fucking disco ball. Fancy lights and disco balls really throw into sharp relief the fact that there were hardly any people there, doing hardly any dancing. This is something I’ve become accustomed to in my numerous visits to karaoke sunday. Shit really gets poppin’ after midnight, when it often turns into a god damn whirling shit tornado of drunk dancing and screaming.
Alas, not a big turnout when I arrived. Relatively chill, save for Jason, who was blinking stupidly and grinning through 7 hours of straightup tequila madness. His girlfriend and caretaker was speaking in tongues and hissing at anyone who got between her and her gatorade martini.
I paged through their impressive selection of songs to choose from (a WHOLE PAGE of mariah carey!) and got myself a beer.
The first act of note was indeed, the Meat Loaf duet that was already touched upon. The one dude had the pipes for it, which is always a pleasant surprise.
Yeah so as for the whole costume thing Jason mentioned up there. That was really something. What happened next was this girl gets up and performs “Hit Me Baby (One More Time)” by celebrated has-been Britney Spears. I don’t know if it was a coincidence or not, but she was indeed done up in her finest schoolgirl garb (no pigtails though MINUS TEN POINTS). And wouldn’t you know it? She butchered the damn song. Growing up having heard that song beaten to death at grade school dances and the like, even I know all the words to this song. The assed up rendition took the whole costume thing from being totally novel to just kind of weird. Whatever I still looked so i guess you win, Lolita.
A few less-than-memorable/bad karaokes on down the line, and Everyone’s starting to loosen up/get drunk enough to dance. It seemed like as soon as that started to happen, the guy who sang “True Faith” started his hypnotic, snake-like gyration. Jason stood transfixed, a river of drool sloshing down his lobster bib that he always wears “just in case”. The singing portion was a little off, but I give the guy a pass, maybe his girlfriend just dumped him.
Jason’s girlfriend slurred her way through No Doubt’s “Spiderwebs”, a rather fetching blonde girl did some Queen, and then it was my turn.
Now, there may be some of you out there who have never heard me sing, but take my word: my voice gives animals within a four-block radius shuddering orgasms. My voice gave the pope a boner and made the devil take a day off. I am a moderate to good singer.
Having even gone so far as to WIN LIKE CRAZY on a previous occasion (by the way, the prize for winning is fifty bucks! do YOU have fifty bucks? yes? well FUCKING CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU daddy warbucks!) I gave it my damnedest with a searing rendition of “Possum Kingdom” by The Toadies off of their acclaimed(?) 1995 album Rubberneck.
But wait. Looking around the room, It dawned on me: Jason had left. In my hour of need, that tequila-swollen bastard had left me. Hey Jas, it’s called “The Mishap Press”, not the “Mis-Owen’s-Rendition-Of-Possum-Kingdom-Hap Press”. So, stricken with anxiety, maybe I didn’t give it my all. No amount of over the top floor pounding or doing the running man could have filled the void that Jason, that bald-headed sleazebag, left in my heart when he walked out that door.
Maybe I’m being overdramatic. Maybe I should just kill myself. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? God, nobody gets me.
I soldiered on however, because it was right around that time shit started to really go all full-tilt. Maybe it was the booze, or the big threatening man finally leaving, but it was then that the dance party started.
The overall enthusiasm of the room took a big shift and just as I thought, everyone started bumpin’ up on each other. This is the high point about karaoke The Barbary, because it’s hard to have an ego or even a modicum of self-consciousness, let alone self respect, when you’re dead set on singing The Rolling Stones to a room full of people who either don’t know you or are better than you. Dancing is just the next logical step in the “Oh Fuck It” mentality.
Around 1am, they announced the finalists. With baited breath i waited to hear my name, desperate to be chosen to win that sweet sweet fifty dollar prize and all the glory a man could stomach. And you know what? Didn’t even make the finals. Thanks a fucking lot Jason. You cost me GLORY. You’re dog shit and your whole deal is dog shit.
So, cut down in my prime, I said “fuck this” and walked before the finals. Barbary karaoke nights are fun if you have the stones to go out on a Sunday, maybe have too many beers and end up dancing with cute people, but please, I implore you: never rely on your so-called “friends” to stay and support you. Friendship is just another sad illusion that we cast over the true form of this dark, ugly world.
And yo seriously the photobooth smells like farts. Don’t sit in the booth next to it.
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