Tag Archives: music

#64 The Karaoke Superstar

I've never wished for AutoTune.  Except for right now.

I've never wished for AutoTune. Except for right now.

As the saying goes: there’s one in every party. There’s always one person or group intent on ruining a good time. In the past, I’ve seen it in the form of police at a house party, or police at a wedding, or police at a soccer riot, or police at the bar. But at karaoke bars, it’s never police. It’s the Karaoke Superstar– that one person who looks at the beer-stained machine and microphone in the back of the bar as their window of opportunity to get discovered by a record executive.

And why wouldn’t they? It’s common knowledge that all music industry moguls spend their Tuesday nights outside their mansions, in the back booth of a sketchy Irish pub drinking $3 tall boys of Naddy Ice. The Karaoke Superstar truly believes this and uses it as a mantra for what he or she will do on Tuesday night for the rest of his or her life (for the sake of misogyny, let’s use “she” from now on).

Karaoke Superstar is the embodiment of the insecurity associated with the female gender, specifically middle school girls and all aspiring actresses. She believes that by using the esteemed principles of her grade school voice coach, she can impress that one person at Sonny McLean’s Publick Drinking House who has “contacts” to the music biz. While other folks are throwing back pints and belting out their favorite Elvis Presley or Three Dog Night song, Karaoke Superstar is sticking solely to what fits in her range, specifically LeAnn Rimes’ “Can’t Fight the Moonlight.”

For a moment like thisThe Superstar comits their acts of “kareokicide” under the dodgy pretense that she’s a good singer. And maybe she actually is alright. But instead of cutting her chops at a local live venue or at the “Dress Like Susan Boyle Night” in the Rec Center, she finds the Tuesday bar crowd less critical and easier to appease, which isn’t hard considering most of the male bar attendees looking at her imagine the microphone as their penis.

In fact, it’s quite common for K.S. to undergo a minor sexual encounter with a bar fly after he tells her he once worked in the same office as Russell Simmons, a half-truth, in that he mopped the floor 2 hours before Russell walked on it in Fat Farm sneakers. These sexual encounters can become a deadly game for Karaoke Superstar, as she’s bound to have a sore throat or oral herpes for a few weeks, both malaises causing major damage to her social life and her karaoke career (both one in the same).

If you come across Karaoke Superstar, be sure to not buy her a drink and not compliment her until she tries to sing something by Queen. There’s no way she’ll reach Freddie Mercury’s pitch, and it will be fun to see her get down on herself. It’s during this point of low self-esteem you’ll be able to go down on her. Even if she’s not into the whole cunnilingus thing, you’ll sleep nicely knowing she’s probably going to binge and purge tonight due to her un-Mercury-esque rendition of “Fat Bottom Girls”.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: Fiona Crapple, American Idle, Amateur Hour, Stage Fright, Karaoke Dookie, Karaoke vs. Bukkake: The Showdown, Microphone Fiend, the Middle Child, Chris Snornell

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Filed under annoying people, awful, chicks, entertainment, friends, music

#61 The Aged Metal Head

I'm gonna rock your flapper dress off!

I'm gonna rock your flapper dress off!

Unlike the sharp cheddar they stink so badly of, the Aged Metal Head is not something that gets better with age. They are as nostalgic as seeing a Native American behind the wheel of a Studebaker; once you witness this rare site you’ll be forced to think of a time when such a thing propagated the American landscape (just like Long John Silver’s). The AMH is from that last bastion of 80s rock, so caught up in his statement from high school that he’ll “forever rock” that he’s forgotten about the social standards that come with growing up — namely the “job” and “not wearing mesh-t-shirts” part.

Key traits of AMH include a receded hairline with the remaining hair shoulder-length, a love for denim vests and black denim jeans, and black wristbands (ironic considering his inactive lifestyle requires absolutely no athletic garb whatsoever). Unfortunately, for all the enthusiasm and innovation behind this get-up, his Sam Ashe sales position doesn’t allow such wardrobe freedom in the workplace.

'Ol Dirty RockerAged Metal Heads are generally white men with ratty upper lips and form-fitting clothing. Fading tattoos of dragons and the usage of ladies spandex are also key. Nonetheless, AMHs see nothing wrong in their out-of-date appearance. Whereas metal gods like Dave Mustaine and James Hetfield have adapted to life with children, wives, and a career, the Aged Metal Head has not (in his defense: he has neither children, a wife, or a career).

The AMH would be someone you’d like to high-five, maybe even jam with, if he wasn’t such a pretentious smarmy employee. They hate this “new” rock ‘n roll, where people don’t have frizzy hair, and are incredibly disheartened by the rising sales of certain consumer purchases, namely Rock Band, Guitar Hero, and turntables. But what they hate even more: when customers practice blues riffs on one of the several Fender Stratocasters they’re trying to pitch on the selling floor. All this adds up into a boiling rage that’s only released during basement guitar sessions when his parents leave the house, or during his drive back to the house, where he has all the time in the world to air drum to Metallica’s “One.”

The Aged Metal Head can be found working at any Sam Ashe or Guitar Center across the nation or in any city that has a steady denim provider. If bored and looking for a fun activity, look for Aged Metal Head and ask him about his “old girlfriend” and why they aren’t together anymore. Unlike the AMH, that story never gets old.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: Lars Ulshit, Heavy Mothball, “To Those About to Age, We Salute You”, Satan’s Class of ’86, Death Gip, Am I Cool Yet?, Queens of the Stone Age, Jon Bon Blow-Me

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Filed under clothes, music, old people, piercing

#54 The Robot-Voice Guy

 

The Ghost of Robot Singers Past & Present

Michael Jackson & Akon: The Ghost of Robot Singers Past & Present

Synthesized pop music of the ‘80s lead the Robot-Voice Guy to bust onto the music scene with a metaphorical raging hard-on, reaching his pinnacle with Michael Jackson’s “PYT (Pretty Young Thing)” in ’83. But since his Thriller apex, Robot-Voice Guy has slowly subjected himself to lower and lower levels of pop music, from the theme of the Transformers cartoon to, most recently, anything Kanye West, T-Pain, or Akon-oriented.

Nonetheless Robot-Voice Guy has become quite the popular singer despite his douchebag-by-association moniker. His secret: disguising horrid R&B vocals through robotic enhancements made in the studio. Just think of him as HAL from “2001” if HAL were programmed by Uncle Luke of 2 Live Crew.

Robot-Voice Guy’s popularity has come with several hit singles in recent years, most of which are thoughtless masculine mantras. Such notable lines include, “Work it, make it, do it, makes us harder better faster stronger,” as well as “Shorty got hips and shorty got ass,” and of course, “I want to fuck you—fuck you.” I know, it’s poetic.

Yet, despite the success of Robot-Voice Guy, he remains largely a mystery. This is moslty due to the fact that the Robot-Voice Guy is not a known person. Because of this lack of physical appearance, Robot-Voice Guy has caused many music traditionalists to speak out, believing the absence of human life makes Robot-Voice Guy a complete bullshit artist rather than a musical artist.

The only known photo of Robot-Voice Guy

The only known photo of Robot-Voice Guy

RVG is a master of catchy choruses, a direct catalyst for the crowded dance floors and excessively loud pubs all across America; although in his defense, his choruses have resulted in a plethora of wet vaginas and the occasional public finger bang. Unfortunately, the cumbersome pussy provided is of no use to him for the obvious reason that he’s not a real person but rather a vocal booth entity created by hi-tech Japanese gadgets.

While listening to Hot 97 or an equivelent shitty rap station, you may find it difficult to discern one Robot-Voice Guy’s song from another. This is normal, as they all use the same Pro Tools effect called “Taint”, which turns their R&B mumblings into a Wall-E-esque garbage heap.

Robot-Voice Guy can be found in all places where velvet ropes, $9 Bud Lights, and attention seekers all conjure together, AKA anywhere in Los Angeles or Manhattan. These places follow a strict rule in that their name can only be one syllable, not unlike the Britpop bands of the mid-90s. Robot-Voice Guy can be found ruining hip-hop music at Club Tryst, Krills, or Crème, or as I’ve recently found out, the Goldfried bar mitzvah.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: Kanye’s chorus, Akon’s album, T-Pain’s career, Britney Spears’ Comeback, Stephen Hawking

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Filed under awful, douche, entertainment