I Won't Quit My Day Job

As many of you probably know, video games have really taken off. Quite like this handy Internet thing.

I've never been a big fan of the gaming world, however. Yes, I fell into the spell of Super Mario back in the day, but wasn't quite cool enough to get past that game or Duck Hunt. I think we had four games total including Top Gun, which was mostly for my Dad's benefit.

So, it came as no surprise that I've not bought a Playstation, or a Wii, or an Xbox, as these systems continued to grow, expand and get even more complex.

However, I must come clean on this one.

I am quite a fan of Rock Band. If you're not familiar, then you're truly missing out. It is like karaoke for your home. Yet the best part is that you can involve others—there's someone on guitar, someone on bass and someone banging away on the drums. That even have a foot pedal!

While I've tried all of the instruments (miserably failing at each—it was worse than trying to pat my head and rub my belly simultaneously), I must say that singing sure is my bag.

Before you get all excited and send me items to autograph, let me be clear. I'm terrible.

But oh is it fun to wail and screech and stretch for the high notes and sink into the low notes. It is a total gas to sing along with the words as they jet across the top of the screen, matching pitch and annunciation and holding notes as needed. All while being backed by a real life band! One with plastic, color-coded instruments, but who's judging. A real life band!

The microphone feels good in my hand, and the volume controls allow me to turn up the sensitivity when I'm confident about my skills on a certain song, and turn it down to allow the backup track to overpower me if I'm not so sure.

It is a powerful thing, that rush.

Many of you were there, or have witnessed on YouTube the joyous disaster that was my 30th birthday in Chicago. A surprise weekend that included my favorite cover band (who has since retired!?) dragging me on stage at Joe's Bar to sing, not accompany, to SING the LEAD on "Every Rose Has its Thorn" to more than 1,000 drunk strangers.

I didn't know the words and the lead singer had to feed them to me line by line. I blame that on the fear, or the tequila shot that my friend T-Money had just bought me. I was mortified and thrilled all at once. Just recalling the story sends thrills of adrenaline pulsing through my body. Jill totally orchestrated it so I could live out my "dream."

It was fantastic, and the culmination of many years of saying, "Man, I wish I was a rock star." Now, I don't really mean it, but sometimes watching the VMAs or the Grammys did I wish that I could pull that off. Wearing the cool outfits, jamming with a great band, belting out the notes to a perfectly written song, watching the fans sing along with me—that was heaven.


My experience at Joe's wasn't quite like that, but time has allowed the memory to gel into what I want to remember. People were gleefully singing along with me while I held their rapt attention in my sparkly top and hip jeans. They liked me, they really really liked me!

Anyway, more to the point, and the recent past, Rock Band has allowed that feeling to not be so fleeting. Now I can experience that joy and that rush every weekend! In my friends' home! With a real life band! And wigs! (Sometimes I raid my Halloween closet and bring them over. Everyone loves wigs—you'd be surprised.)

This past Friday was no exception. We gathered about 15 people or so at about 7 pm, and the games began. Taking turns of course, we rotated through old classic rock songs, newer pop songs, alternative hits and other great covers. We handed the mic around and took turns cheering each other on.

Brett held the crowd's attention while mastering The Talking Heads' Psycho Killer and managed to slip into the low notes with ease. The middle lyrics in the chorus, however, did throw him for a bit of loop.

You see, part of that song is in French. And, despite his pretty good vision, when those strange words started running 'cross the top of the screen, he was confused. Dismayed. Though temporarily.

Before I knew it, he'd turned the French phrases into his own comedy routine—saying, "Psycho Killer, here comes French, Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better; Run run run run run run run away." and "Psycho Killer, this part is French..." and "Psycho Killer, here comes French, obligatory weird sounds...Run run away."

We were dying laughing and could barely make it through the song. I'm pretty sure David Byrne (the lead singer) would have rolled over to hear it. Though he's not dead, just hasn't been heard of since 1988.

Otherwise, I'm certain we made him and all of the other aging rock stars proud. I must say, Rock Band has made my (pretend) dream of being a rock star come true.

If only on Friday nights on W. Diversey.

Singing the Blues

Last night, Brett* and I were watching American Idol. It's my guilty pleasure, and I'm dragging him into it full speed ahead.

I don't hear him complaining.

In fact, we got into a healthy discussion about what this contest, or similar types of reality-TV based talent shows, are doing one of two things to American music culture:

• They are creating a culture of "instant stars" who wouldn't normally have been famous, haven't earned it and probably aren't ready for the success, and they sell albums and make record producers happy and rich, but they are just overproduced, slick pop stars with little to no true musical talent.
  
  
• They are an example of mainstream cultural musical taste, and whether you like it or not, this is what the public is buying. Evidenced by the Billboard sales, music award shows and tour records, shows like American Idol seem to be generating a product which America wants, and therefore, proves the artist in question is "talented."

We debated, and it was clear that both things are true.

The reality-TV atmosphere, and the "fan voting" and the sugary-pop nature of the artists churned out by American Idol isn't necessarily a barometer of long-lasting, historically relevant musical talent. However, you'd be hard pressed to argue against the success (and dare I say skills) of artists like Kelly Clarkson, Daughtry and Carrie Underwood. All three have had a few great years, and their bank accounts and fireplace mantles are better for it.

The true comment thread during last night's Hollywood show—for me at least—was the blue tongue syndrome. Each contestant came out to audition, sang their lungs out (for better or worse) and showed the audience (millions of Fox viewers as well as the three cranky judges) their blue tongues.

We also had a few theories about this:

• There was a huge bowl of blue Jolly Ranchers backstage and no one can resist a good Jolly Rancher.
  
  
• There is a new brand of throat lozenges for singers that is tinted a lovely shade of cyan.
  
  
• A sneaky production assistant doused the craft services table with invisible-to-the-naked-eye powdered blue food coloring.
  
  
• American Idol is a cult and they gave them all blue Kool-aid backstage to make it all hazy and interesting, and to ensure that no one leaks Paula's real addictions to the press.

But, seriously. Didn't these kids look in the mirror? Or, more precisely, didn't it occur to someone at Fox that this would undoubtedly look strange on television?

It gave me the blues.

Or maybe that was just the TERRIBLE performance by the southern pageant queen and the even WORSE argument she got in with Paula to give her another chance. In that whiny "I'm pretty and used to getting what I want so give it to me now!" voice that makes my skin crawl.

Sing your way to the door, babe. Don't let it knock off your tiara as you leave.


*This is Brett's first mention by name. And, a sneaky test to see if he's reading this. More likely, his mother will read it first, and will mention it to him, and he'll come to me in protest. She's already a fan, or so I hear. Pass the blue blog Kool-aid, please.