Page 18 of Wassailing We Will Go
KATE: Well, Daniel knows a karaoke guy and it’s all happening, god help us all
HARRISON: I was mostly joking but this is incredible I’ll be there in forty minutes
KATE: Is that advisable
HARRISON: Honestly, I was pretty much fine this morning but wanted to make sure I was 100% before i came in
And I think we’re there
Apparently the curse that was woven into that hell garment has been exorcised
So what do you think
Sweet Caroline, a true classic, or truly madly deeply by noted 90s rock band savage garden
I’m already having regrets, but the post is up, and all of Daniel’s friends have shared it. This is happening.
The karaoke rental guy shows up a little after six to start setting up, and I have reason to believe he is also a relative of Daniel’s. He sets up at the back of the restaurant, and as the hour goes by, the vibe starts to switch from a nice dinner service to something else entirely.
The patrons who did not come here for karaoke get their cheques quickly, and I don’t blame them, but soon, the room fills back up with a different crowd. In the off-season, our Thursday night open mic nights are made up of a pretty regular cast of characters, but this is more like a summer night. A few dozen people are here, and I don’t recognize most of them.
Hey, stranger, says a distinctly Australian voice. Harrison has arrived, wearing a matching tracksuit, for some reason.
Nice outfit, I say, eyeing him over. You really weren’t kidding about your nineties singing performance.
Gotta commit when performing karaoke, he says, and he stretches his hands behind his back like he’s getting ready for a workout. But nah, though I am really much better, I prefer the softer textiles at the moment.
The karaoke man is fully set up now, and the room is packed. Nearly every table is full, when I had anticipated maybe a third of the volume. As a result, I jump behind the bar to help—I’m not the best at mixed drinks, but I can help pour.
Can I help? asks Harrison.
You’re not even on the clock, I say while filling four pints of cherry cider and three of our ginger spice. They’re rushed off as soon as I finish them.
Daniel rolls up to the bar, grinning. So, uh, everything is set up. What now? Are you going to make an announcement or what? Get the crowd hyped?
I don’t know. This isn’t, like, a typical thing for me, I say. Won’t the karaoke guy just get things started?
Rodney’s just an equipment guy. He’ll put the songs in the queue, sure, but you do not want him in charge of anything else, and you certainly don’t want him speaking to the public, he says.
I groan. Fine, I say. I am okay at public speaking. It is a thing I can do. But it’s not a thing I relish doing, and I will not be winning any awards for it. What do I say?
You just ask how everyone’s feeling tonight and who’s ready for some karaoke, says Harrison. Ask who’s brave enough to start us off, and then off we go.
Listen, I know I said three minutes ago that you’re not working, but…how do you feel about doing this? I ask. I mean, you’re dressed for it.
Point taken, Harrison says, looking down at his own outfit. Alright. I’m in. But maybe pour me a glass first, though. I oblige, and he downs it quickly.
Harrison then leaps onto the makeshift stage that Barb throws together for such events and grabs one of the two microphones that Rodney has set up.
G’day, g’day, all! Welcome to Sparks Cidery’s very first karaoke night. It’s November, it’s cold—God, it’s so bloody cold all the time—but we’re all warm and cozy in here! And about to get warmer because we’re about to welcome up our first singer!
The crowd, now similarly loosened up by strong cider, is absolutely thrilled at the appearance of Harrison and his tracksuit. I am also thrilled by the appearance of Harrison and his tracksuit, if I’m being honest. He is a natural at this. I could have done the intro, sure. I just bring a sort of Zoom call energy to the function that likely would not have brought the energy up in this room the way he did.
Alright, we have Gloria coming up first. So brave! I won’t tell you what song—it’s a surprise. It’s a good one, though, he says. Ah, here she is. Take it away, Gloria.
Gloria has a surprisingly good voice as she belts out a respectful rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart, and I can’t help but smile. This is going shockingly well. Look at me, taking a risk on something new, and it’s paying off.
I bartend my way through a few more songs of varying singing quality but with good commitment to the bit, which appears to be the main driver of crowd enthusiasm. A man named Greg with the worst voice I’ve ever heard air-guitars his absolute heart out to an AC/DC track, and he gets a standing ovation, and I think that I’m beginning to understand the appeal of karaoke. Greg may have spent his workday as—I’m spitballing here, but let’s say customer service representative at a bank (he gives me that vibe before he goes onstage), but now—now, Greg is a legend. Greg can’t sing a note, but by God, that doesn’t stop him. When he gets off the stage, someone hands him a drink.
