Sunday, 27 July 2008

World Of Whatever 2

Here's my second RWD column for your perusal, un-edited version below for ease. The new issue of RWD, with Sway adorning the front cover is out now. And don't forget it's now available in Footlocker nationwide. Big.


Seeking some self-improvement in her life, journo, consultant, blogger, mentor and Barbie fanatic Chantelle Fiddy (tries to) find a a life. This month: Hip-hop karaoke.

I hate karaoke. Like really hate karaoke. Unless it's good. But then there aren't many people at the local with lungs like Leona or a range like Rover (or Mariah). Ever heard of Simon Cowell snapping up Lucy Few-Notes who sang a rendition of 'I Will Always Love You' at The White Horse? No? Exactly. And that's the problem. The world of karaoke is filled with people like Lucy, resigned to exercising any vocal control they actually possess in the form of karaoke because that's the only way they'll ever get heard. I look at the Lucy's and while a tear may form in my left eye, it's a result of the sad thoughts that envelop me. "Poor Lucy, she never made it, now she has to sing karaoke, but she's like soooo good. I wish I could sing like that."

But worse than the Lucy's, who are tolerable when under the influence, are the group of singers referred to as Carol - these singers know all the words but can they sing in tune despite having rehearsed the song like 20 times? Hell no.
The final group are Terry Tune-Out's, the rowdy, pissed up party people and tourists who in a 20 strong crew, shout the lyrics to 'Valerie', further killing Amy Winehouse and any chance she has of recovery in the process.

But the one thing that unites all the karaoke massive is the need to sing the same songs. All. The. Time. So on a recent trip to Portugal, ear drums ruptured and sick to the tonsils with covers of 'Angels', 'American Pie', 'How Deep Is Your Love' any anything by Frank Sinatra, I decided to flip the karaoke bitch on her back.

The nerves kicked in after I put in my request to do a Snoop Dogg classic. When someone asked me where I was from I replied "Compton", just to get into character ahead of my mic onslaught. Having slowly realised that this was going to be the clean version, which I didn't know, I decided to throw caution to the wind and opened with a gnarly "What's my mother f**kin' name?".

The clientele at Monty's didn't know what had hit them. Stood still, mouth's open, we were either really damn good or shocking beyond belief. With RWD editor Hattie Collins chucking in hype man antics, Miguel, a local bar man, grabbed a mic to deal the ad-libs and as far as we were concerned, Monty's could bar us if they were some elite anti-hip-hop establishment. Looking into the eyes of one discerning OAP i dropped "she wants the guy with the biggest nuts..." Tell me that mo fo won't be forgetting this night or holiday for a while. Having been faded out before Collins could let rip on the "Doggy Dogg" part, the Karaoke gatekeeper pointed a finger to Miguel and said something which roughly translated to "If only I'd known." Which is the point exactly. The karaoke guru only knows about 20 songs because that's all that ever gets sung. Please, we can't beat them so join me in this karaoke revolution and put the outcasts back on the pad.

If you fancy a go at Hip Hop karaoke check

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