Karaoke New Year's Resolutions

I know it has been a long time since I've posted to my blog, but hopefully that will change in 2015. In fact, that will be my first resolution for the coming year.  Write more!  Anyway, here is my list of resolutions for 2015.

1) Don't date singers anymore. Even though karaoke is the primary vehicle for me to meet new people, dating karaoke "clients" hasn't worked out.  One time, I even had to call the police.  If this leads to celibacy, so be it. It's a state preferable to dealing with demonic ex-lovers. To quote Woody Allen - "Don't knock masturbation.  It's sex with someone I love."

2) If Sabra, one half of the Sid and Sabra Show, gives me relationship advice when asked, then listen!

3) I pledge to try not to roll my eyes whenever someone hands me a request slip for "Don't Stop Believin'." This might be a hard one.

4) Always remember to turn up the reverb for Johnny Salka.  He loves that shit.

5) Learn a new rap song already!

6) I pledge to stop blaming political opponents for killing my dog.  She died of old age.  We'll see what happens when the next election cycle rolls around.

7) Do not play N.W.A. in the current climate.

8) Give people named Al, Alan, Alex, Alexandra, Alexandria, Alyssa, Allison or Allie new names. It can get mad confusing when all the "Al's" are there at the same time.

9) Punch the next person who asks me if there is any wait to sing when the bar is packed.  Okay, just kidding, sort of.

10) Be more patient with the poor fools who want to give me a dollar tip to get bumped up 10 spots in the rotation instead of thinking - "Are you fucking kidding me?"

11) When someone asks me if I know where they are in the rotation, I pledge to say more than just "yes."

12) Stop associating every song over 5 minutes long with a cigarette,

13) Stop getting stressed out when what's her name comes in to haunt me. (see #1)

14) Write a letter to the Governor calling him chicken for not coming to karaoke since he's been elected.

15) Lobby the legislators who come to karaoke to pass a resolution recognizing "Karaoke Day" and the importance of karaoke in facilitating cooperation at the Capital.

16) Always wear my knee brace when  Samantha Fox comes to dance.

17) Get the City of Albany off our backs with its idiotic restrictions in the Cabaret License Law. The city is facing much bigger problems than people singing all night long.

18) Continue doing what I love.  Karaoke Forever!

Sid Stein Vs. The State Police - A Classic Sid Stein Tale

A Classic Sid Stein Karaoke tale before the DJ years

Although I am not exactly proud of the circumstances which led to my confrontation with the New York State Police (the actual confrontation was quite exhilarating), and just as I am not proud of what occurred after, neither will I shy away from sharing this incident. Just be prepared. Have some mercy. Even Sid Stein is susceptible to making mistakes. I had just gone through a divorce, don’t forget. The irony of my present journalistic integrity will soon become apparent to you. The truth of the matter is that a lapse of my personal integrity, impaired as it was by personal frustration and alcohol, fueled this melodrama. I was prepared to apologize to the aggrieved party, but she refused to believe that it actually occurred. Oh well.

Even though I have handled many divorce cases, I was not immune to certain behaviors common to men who suddenly find themselves living alone after many years of marriage. As is typical in most scenarios, the mother retains primary physical custody of the children. My case was no different, especially since my ex remained in the marital residence, our only child still at home was a high school daughter and she naturally wanted to stay with her mother most of the time. They have female issues to share, after all.

One such behavior engaged in by men is diving head first into the dating pool. And why shouldn't we? We suddenly find ourselves living alone. Why not meet some new women?

Soon after I found myself out on my own, I started dating. I like company.

Anyway, I met a nice woman and started seeing her on a regular basis. She was pretty and smart. We got along very well, with a few caveats. One stumbling block was her political orientation. She worked for Republicans. Not just any Republican. She worked for the governor of New York, George Pataki. Ugh! Even though I may be sexually bipartisan, her party affiliation rankled me at times. Most times, however, her long legs helped me forget that she voted for George Bush. (Ed. Note – Since that time, I have learned that Republicans are people too.)

I mentioned that there were a few caveats. Another was that she was very kind-hearted. Normally, this would not be an impediment in a relationship. This woman, however, was so nice that she always felt compelled to help those less socially fortunate than she was. That included her supervisor, Louise. In other words, if something was going on around town, like an outdoor concert, my friend, Elizabeth, would drag Louise along. Louise made atrocious company. She was socially inept and physically unkempt. She laughed at her own jokes but really did not have a sense of humor. In a word, the woman was bizarre. And, as far as I knew, she was still a virgin at age 45. Although I fear sounding like a complete snob (I really am not, at least not completely), Louise once asked a bartender at one of Albany’s most upscale restaurants if he had a chilled cabernet. More likely, she just asked for chilled red wine. As magnanimous as I tried to be, as accommodating to Louise’s plight that I was, there were times I wished I had Elizabeth to myself. Like 99% of the time and especially this particular time. Why did I need to be embarrassed by Louise at my hangout? I didn't want to feel regret for inviting Elizabeth out. I still remember the look the bartender gave me. He was very gracious and suggested an ice cube, but I could tell what he was really thinking. "What the hell is wrong with this woman? Doesn't she know how to drink red wine?"

Elizabeth was a busy person. She worked long hours for the Republican governor. As a result, I didn't see her as often as I would like. Adding Louise into the mix only served to increase my mounting frustration. When I asked her why she always had to drag Louise around, she would explain that even as a child, she always took in strays. Did she have to perform her humanitarian functions on my time?

There was one other minor problem. Even though we generally planned to be together on Thursdays, Elizabeth sometimes canceled because something had come up. And what was that usually? If it had to do with her kids or something like that, it wouldn't have bothered me. Instead, it involved my other pet peeve with her. No matter what impact it may have had on our relationship, Elizabeth always seemed to have time for the many Republican fundraisers which take place here in the capital of New York. I thought she should be spending time with me instead of raising dollars for corrupt public officials. Call me selfish.

As much as I enjoyed her company, my relationship with Elizabeth began to sour. I don’t mean to say anything bad about her. I attribute our problems more to circumstances than anything else. She needed her job more than she needed me. I understood that. She was estranged from a husband who didn't pay child support. She lived in fear of being fired if she didn't tow the party line or attend their functions. Still, I was unhappy with the situation.

It was a Thursday night. Elizabeth called earlier in the day to tell me that she had to go to some mandatory party function. She wouldn't be able to see me. I wasn't happy. I started to seriously reevaluate my relationship with her. Maybe the disappointment wasn't worth it. So I did what I usually do on Thursday nights. I went to Pinto and Hobbs to sing karaoke.

To be perfectly honest, I did more than sing and hang out with my karaoke friends that night. I drank. Ketel One on the rocks with a slice of lemon. I had more than a few. After all, I was feeling a little put out, so to speak. By midnight, I was feeling no pain.

If I was writing a novel, then I would have written that Elizabeth and her large entourage rolled into Pinto and Hobbs right at the stroke of midnight. In reality, it was about five minutes after.

Elizabeth swept in and brushed right by me. She was followed by Louise, two black men and a few female co-workers. I felt as if my sanctuary had been violated. Pinto and Hobbs was not a place frequented by Elizabeth. She came there solely because she knew I would be there. I was at a loss to understand Elizabeth’s motivation for bringing her crew to the P & H. Did she want to show off the fact that she was accompanied not just by Louise, but by two tall, good-looking men? I knew it had something to do with the displeasure I expressed about Louise tagging along everywhere and my disappointment over the fact that we didn't spend much time alone. Thinking back, I may have put my feelings in the form of an ultimatum, as in: "Liz, you have to make a choice. Me or Louise." In other words, I could interpret her decision to descend upon my sweet bar as nothing less than rubbing salt into my perceived wounds. I shot her a dirty look without even saying hello. She just tossed her head back defiantly.

As I assessed the situation, because it was a situation as far as I was concerned, I continued sipping my vodka. I wasn't sure how to react to this post midnight development. As it turned out, I didn't have to do much. Elizabeth walked over to say hello. After exchanging uneasy pleasantries, Elizabeth told me that she had been to some party. Governor Pataki had been there as well. She said something about knowing that I would be at Pinto & Hobbs, but I already knew that. I can be predictable. If I am not at home on a Thursday after midnight, chances are I am at the P & H. And the two men? State Police. They were assigned to the Governor as his body guards. One doubled as a helicopter pilot. I didn't have much to say because I was somewhat nauseated by this police presence at a place I go to in order to escape from the daily grind. Perceiving that I had nothing to say, Elizabeth went back to her friends.

So far, I have omitted one important detail about Elizabeth’s posse. It included a very pretty, busty blonde named Katie. I would place her in the Marilyn Monroe genre. I am not saying she was that beautiful. She was attractive, but only Marilyn Monroe was Marilyn Monroe. Rather, she was a slightly ditzy and very curvy, not quite platinum blonde. She was employed as a secretary in Elizabeth’s office.

Katie is a staunch Republican and was blindly supportive of her boss, the Governor. I found out just how loyal she was to him during the summer of 2006 at an outdoor concert when I made a disparaging remark about how the Governor talks out of the side of this mouth. Although that is usually a metaphor, especially for a politician, Pataki actually talks that way. You should see him. It really looks weird. After the concert, I was admonished by Elizabeth for insulting the Governor. She told me that I had upset Katie. She also volunteered that Katie said I was an asshole. Oh well. She wasn't really my type anyway.

That almost sounds like sour grapes. "She wasn't really my type anyway." Well, things were different this particular Thursday night. Maybe there was a full moon. It might explain my subsequent behavior.

It was my turn to sing. I chose one of the first songs I had ever sung at karaoke. "Walk on the Wild Side" by Lou Reed. I always introduced the song with a nod to Lou Reed as the coolest Jew on the planet. As you might have guessed, I wanted to sing especially well considering the company at the bar. The song went well, but the attitude was dead on.

As I stepped off the stage enjoying the polite applause of the crowd, Katie was standing directly in front of me. She was smiling. She was drunk. She was flirting. I glanced quickly at Elizabeth and flirted back.

To be honest, while I am being honest here, I was caught off-guard by the level of Katie’s show of affection even though it was obvious she was hammered. After all, she did call me an asshole a few months earlier. Could alcohol change a person’s opinion about someone to such a degree? Whether it was the alcohol or a change of attitude, I didn't let her flirting go to my head. I figured she was just drunk. By the same token, I had been drinking quite a bit myself. Maybe it went to my head just a little bit.

Anyone who knows me well knows this about me. I am not one to pick up women at bars. That has never been my style. I was prepared, however, to make an exception in this case because I had been introduced to Katie outside the bar.

You may be thinking, what about Elizabeth? She was watching, of course - intently. I caught her sneering at me. And to continue this stream of honesty pouring out of me, I admit that my primary motivation for flirting with Katie was not sexual. I just wanted to piss off Elizabeth. Shameful, I know. Taking advantage of a human being for a nefarious purpose. I proposed to Katie that we leave. She agreed. Boy, that was easy. Maybe I should rethink my policy about picking up women at bars.

With Katie in tow, I turned toward the door. I didn't bother looking back at Elizabeth. We emerged into the cool, dark night. We were followed.

No, it wasn't Elizabeth coming out to yell at me. In her place, she sent a representative. The Governor’s bodyguard. Oh no, I thought. I’m in trouble.

All kinds of thoughts raced through my mind. I was preparing to cower, but before my face even had time to turn pale, the bodyguard grabbed Katie’s arm and started talking to her, not me. He tried to convince her to go back into the bar. He didn't want her to leave with me. Suddenly, I became indignant. What was wrong with leaving with Sid Stein? I can barely believe what happened next. I really don’t know what came over me. I walked up and faced the trooper. I stared him right in the eye and said: "Don’t interfere!" I used my best command voice. I immediately noticed something in his eyes and came to a startling realization. He can’t touch me! He works for the Governor. The Governor doesn't want any bad publicity. How would that look in the paper? "Governor’s bodyguard beats the crap out of local Jewish lawyer." I became emboldened. I repeated my command: "Don’t interfere!" The trooper didn't know what to say to me. I think he was in as much shock as I was. He continued trying to convince Katie not to leave with me, but I was too determined and she was too drunk. With one more "Don’t interfere," Katie and I were gone.

I don’t see any need to revisit the details of what happened next. I will, however, mention a few things. About three hours after Katie and I left Pinto & Hobbs, her cell phone started ringing. Apparently, someone missed her. Who? No one except her fiancé! Well, my dear readers, you will have to believe me that I really didn't know she was engaged. I can’t say at this moment if it would have mattered to me then, but I really didn't know at the time. The frequent phone calls were a source of consternation for Katie. I could only shake my head. But wait! As the sun came up, Katie asked me to drive her to her car. One problem though. All she knew was that it was downtown somewhere. It would not be an exaggeration to say that we drove around for almost an hour looking for her car. We eventually found it and so ended my night with Katie.

My phone rang the next day. It was Elizabeth. Katie didn't show up for work. Everyone was worried. I assured Elizabeth that Katie was fine, but no, I didn't have any idea why she wasn't answering her phone. Elizabeth shared something else with me. Katie’s co-workers and fiancé weren't the only ones who were worried about her. Her mother-in-law to be was also concerned. In fact, unbeknownst to me, Katie’s future in-law, the mother of her irate fiancé, was at the P & H as a member of Elizabeth’s party. I was stunned. Katie was out with her future mother-in-law and still left with me. That’s incredible. Even for Sid Stein.

I don’t know if Katie ever got married. For her sake, I hope not. I don’t think she was ready. As for Elizabeth, our relationship tailed off. She never believed that I had sex that night. She thought it would be impossible for Katie to ever sleep with me. Katie hated me too much. After all, I am the guy who wrote the book about how to get away with cheating. And, I mocked the Governor. 

The Meanest Thing I've Ever Done At Karaoke Or The Ties That Bind

It should come as no surprise to you that I am a karaoke addict. As far as addictions go, it's not a dangerous one. Nevertheless, karaoke, like anything else in life, often presents its own dilemmas from time to time. How we deal with these issues is part of character building, assuming we have any character to build. As many of you know, my motto is - "better living through karaoke." However, sometimes the path to "better living" takes odd twists and turns. This is one such tale.

As a karaoke DJ, I sometimes work four nights per week. As a result, I have had to sacrifice some nighttime activities I would otherwise pursue. Concerts and plays have been missed. Having learned there are trade-offs in life, I am still happy with my choice to be a DJ. So, when I do have a night off, what do I do? The choice is often karaoke! Call me insane. My kids do!

For the past number of years, I have spent many Sunday nights at a bar in Latham, New York, which has karaoke. Except for the fact that there is karaoke, I really don't remember how I ended up there. It's a wholly different crowd from what I am used to. First of all, I am among the younger customers. I know, hard to believe for many of you. In many ways, I have little in common with them, politically or socially. That being said, they are nice people, and most importantly, nonjudgmental. It took them a while to warm up to my antics, but to their credit, they did. They made me feel welcome and now even look forward to my "different" sense of humor. The food is good pub food, so I go to eat and sing. And relax! I am not the DJ, so I get to chill and wait for my turn in the rotation like everyone else. I think by going there, it helps me to center myself once a week - a different perspective or lens through which to see my life.

Among the other customers, there is a high functioning, developmentally disabled adult who comes to sing. Let's call him Adam. He's about 60 years old. He's a big fan of karaoke. I don't know what his specific problem is, but he likes to be social, to the extent he can be. His social skills are hampered by his condition, yet he has a clear need to be part of a group. He can't drink alcohol, presumably because he is on some type of medication. He has a car and a job. All in all, he does very well for himself and should be admired, except for the fact that he is so fucking annoying.

I am especially sensitive to the developmentally disabled. I have a brother who fell off a cliff in 1981 and who can no longer walk or talk. He resides in a nursing home because he requires a lot of medical care. He understands a lot and can communicate with limited proficiency by signaling yes or no with his one hand that is not paralyzed. Still, it's hard to fully assess his cognitive functioning. He doesn't always respond and it's sometimes hard to know if his answers are trustworthy.  Heavy seizure medication can do that to a person. He knows who everyone is, has discernible moods and loves to give hugs. He is clearly proud to be an uncle to my children and a granduncle to my granddaughter.

When I meet someone as high functioning as Adam, I have mixed emotions. My first impulse is to be sensitive because of everything I have witnessed over the years with my brother's condition. A part of me is jealous - wishing that my brother could be as high functioning. Although my feelings don't translate into actual resentment of someone like Adam, I do think of my brother with a kind of remorse. I also get defensive when people make fun of the "Adams" of our world. It hurts to hear when people call Adam a retard because I wish my brother could be as much of a "retard" as Adam.

Adam, though, is quite annoying. It's not his fault. He can't help himself. As a DJ, I deal with annoying people on a regular basis. I have less sympathy for them than for Adam, but I understand that it's part of the biz and I deal with them the best I can. I have learned to have a lot of patience. If  I didn't, I don't think I could do what I do. However, there is a limit to anyone's patience.

So, you wonder, how annoying is Adam? What exactly does he do to piss me off? It's mostly a lot of little things. If I am there with a date, he waits until it's my turn to sing, then hits on my date. Since I am usually the only one there with a date, I do feel slightly singled out. Adam, however, is not an actual threat, just annoying, like a mosquito. My dates are able to laugh off his advances but also tell me that he talks trash about me. One woman related that Adam told her that I have been to the bar with a lot of women before her. Who does that? At first, it was good for a laugh, but over time, how many mosquito bites can one person tolerate? Once, I walked by him and heard him mutter under his breath - Sid the Squid. I thought that was pretty funny too, even though I am sure he meant it as a diss. After a while, Adam's behavior changed. While I was singing, he would walk by and bump into me, pretending he wasn't doing it on purpose, but he clearly was. I never said anything, but it was getting to be a hassle of sorts. I can only speculate why Adam was engaging in this new behavior. Perhaps he was jealous. Perhaps he just couldn't help himself. Nevertheless, his actions were directed at me, not anyone else.

After a while, I felt like I was going to need an "ocean of Calomine lotion" to deal with Adam. I really didn't know what to do with him. All I did know that I was losing my patience. I tried my best, inspired by the other people at the bar who tolerated him with what only can be described as charitable hearts. But was Adam deserving of my charity? He was a pain in the ass and I was the focus of his antics. And even though Adam is developmentally disabled, isn't it better to treat him like a ""normal" person? Should his disability require that I treat him differently from any other pain in the ass? Simply, yes. As much sense as it might make to treat Adam like everyone else; to integrate him into society as much as possible, he has a disability which cannot be ignored. Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and respect. But what an ass!

Adam clearly has a strong ego. He thinks he's a great singer. He's not. Nor does criticism register. I have tried to encourage him to sing one song rather than another, hoping that positive reinforcement, rather than criticism, would help. It didn't. Asking him to stop bumping into me didn't seem to help either.

One day I had enough. I just couldn't take him anymore. And in that instant, I knew just what to do. Adam was always telling me about local sporting events at which he sang the National Anthem. Why anyone would choose him to sing the "Star Spangled Banner" is beyond me. I narrowed down the reasons to two. Either people felt sorry for him and let him sing, perhaps to promote awareness for the developmentally disabled or Adam paid them (bought multiple tickets for the game?) in exchange for letting him sing. So I said to Adam: "Hey Adam, guess what? They asked me to sing the National Anthem at Yankee Stadium." Adam's head nearly exploded like the "fembots'" in "Austin Powers." Knowing that his favorite team is the Red Sox, I added: "Against the Red Sox!" He asked me when. It was still May, so I picked a date in August out of thin air. How did I know that a schedule of Yankee games hung on a wall in the bar? Adam raced over to it, proudly proclaiming that the Yankees were playing the Orioles that day. I laughed and told him that I was just teasing him about the Red Sox. At least I actually chose a Yankees' home date!

Weeks went by and Adam peppered me with questions about my "gig." How did I get it? Could I introduce him to the person who hooked me up? I kept the charade going through May, June and July. It was driving Adam nuts. I felt a little guilty but it felt better getting Adam to stop bumping into me. It was early August when I ran into Adam quite by accident. He told me that he had bought tickets to the game. "WHAT? Why did you do that?" His reply was perfect Adam. "I want to see you sing the National Anthem." When asked why he just didn't watch it on television, he claimed that they don't always show the National Anthem. Know this, though. He didn't want to see me sing because he was happy for me; he wanted proof that I was actually singing. Now I really felt guilty. I never predicted that he would spend money on my practical joke. I told him that he shouldn't have. What if I get sick? What if it rains? I learned that he had bought tickets through Yankee Trails, a bus/travel company which sells trips to the stadium. I suggested that maybe he could get his money back or switch his tickets to a Red Sox game.

For a week, I was in a quandary. I decided that if he couldn't get his money back or change his ticket, I would give him the money. A joke is a joke, but not when it costs someone money. When I saw him that Sunday, he told me that he was able to switch his ticket to a Red Sox game. He was going to go anyway, so I was relieved. And with the money issue resolved, I felt it was okay to continue my ruse.

The day of my debut at Yankee Stadium came and went. Adam "missed" me on television, so when I saw him at karaoke, I told him it was fantastic. He had a hard time believing it, but I finally convinced him. I felt accomplished in a way.  I told a joke which lasted from May into August! Magnificent. It totally rattled Adam and he left me alone after that.

Time went by and Adam's questions about my performance became fewer and fewer. Karaoke life went on without Adam's intrusions into my space. Yankee Stadium soon became a memory.

One of my favorite movies is "The Aristocrats." Not Disney's "Aristocats," but a documentary about an old joke comedians often share with one another. Some turn the joke into a contest, the winner being the one who can stretch it out the longest. So it came as no surprise to me when I decided to tell Adam that I would be singing the National Anthem at the opening ceremonies of the London Olympics. I wasn't sure that he would believe me because national anthems aren't sung at the Olympics, but he seemed to accept it. After all, I had already performed at Yankee Stadium. He had a lot of questions which I answered to his satisfaction.

Months went by. As the Olympics approached, Adam seemed to be getting more and more jealous. Yes, friends, I had gone over to the dark side of karaoke. Sith Sid returned. I wasn't proud of myself, but I was having fun teasing Adam. I also felt secure knowing that Adam wouldn't be buying a ticket to London. What could be the harm? At some point, he would watch the Olympics and find out that I really wasn't singing.

You can imagine I was quite curious to discover Adam's post-opening ceremonies reaction. When I saw him the following Sunday, he told me that he fell asleep and didn't see me. A stroke of luck! I had "actually" performed at the opening ceremonies of the London Olympics! And although Adam was jealous, his jealousy didn't seem to hurt him in any way. In fact, he renewed his requests for help with getting him his own big gig!

I figured that would be the end of it. The joke had lasted over a year at this point. I had charted a new course at the expense of a developmentally disabled adult. I know. I'm an asshole.

Karaoke went on normally until the winter. Even though karaoke was the primary entertainment, Sunday night football played on the big screens. So, I thought. Why not sing the National Anthem at the biggest sporting event of the year? The Superbowl!

Adam couldn't believe my luck with bookings. The Superbowl?! Holy cow! By the same token, I knew that my joke would finally come to an end. The Superbowl would be on television on karaoke Sunday. I would be there. Adam would be there.

Superbowl Sunday came and Alicia Keys did a fine job with the National Anthem. I told Adam that it was really me dressed up like Alicia Keys and he laughed. I told him it was ridiculous for him ever to have believed that I would be singing the National Anthem at the Superbowl. After all, they only have major celebrities at the event. I learned something though. He still believed I had performed at Yankee Stadium and the Olympics, although his level of skepticism was heightened.

At some point, I decided to go for broke. I was hoping that I could make this joke last over two years. I decided to sing the National Anthem at the World Series. I picked Game 3 in St. Louis because it was during the week and not on a Sunday when I would be at karaoke. Maybe Adam would miss it. He already fell asleep once already trying to watch me.

When I arrived at karaoke that following Sunday, Adam came up to me and asked what happened. He saw the game and knew that I hadn't sung the National Anthem. I admitted the truth simply by saying: "I didn't sing." Before I was able to speak another word, he asked: "Did you get there and they wouldn't let you sing? That happened to me once at a game. I got there and they told me I wasn't good enough to sing." My heart broke. Adam was empathizing with me. I told him that's exactly what happened.

It was an opportunity. After more than two years of my "joke," I finally found a way out of it. It was a two year journey ending in humility. As intellectually disparate Adam and I are, we bonded in disappointment. Both of us had been "humiliated" at a sporting event. Sure, my disappointment was only virtual, but Adam didn't need to know that. We now had something significant in common. He felt badly for me.

I learned a great and sweet lesson that night. As different as two people might be, they can still share feelings. Empathy is possible. It's more than that though. Adam and I are both karaoke addicts. We both love to sing. We will have that in common forever. So Nation, look for the ties that bind and not for the things that make us different. Adam and I are friends now. A happy ending. Whether you seek better living through karaoke or some other medium, it is out there to find.










  

Songs I Love To Hate

Let me start by saying that there are very few songs I actually hate. I may not love or enjoy them but hate is a strong word. There is even a song called "Hate" by a former local group, China White, which I actually love. Rather, this post will be about songs which a lot of people actually love, but which as a DJ, I often wish would go away. Every karaoke DJ knows what I am talking about. Each has his or her own personal list, but the point is the same. When someone submits a request slip with one of these songs, it makes the DJ cringe.

There are different reasons why I might "hate" a song. If it's a busy night and someone wants to sing a very long song, it creates a dilemma for me. I want the customer to be happy, but if the song is twice as long as an average selection, it's not really fair to the other singers. It's akin to getting two songs in a row. On the other hand, if it's a slower night, I don't mind at all. Then there are songs which I have simply heard way too many times. I am sure you have all suffered from the "overplayed song" syndrome on the radio. Before you start worrying, I am not talking about your own "go to" songs that you sing every time you come into karaoke. Rather, I am referring to certain songs that people everywhere want to sing over and over, especially because they think they are "awesome," "great" or better than the original. They usually aren't. The people who sing these songs usually aren't karaoke regulars. If they were, they wouldn't pick these songs anyway. The latest hit song is also dangerous. It might be popular but beyond the ability of most singers. That might get me thinking - seriously?

Before you get your panties all up in a bunch, sing whatever you want. Unless there is a real issue, like a time constraint, I will let you sing your song. A long song even helps me sometimes. I might need a bathroom break or want to get a drink from the bar. So don't worry. I love you and I love karaoke. At the end of the day, I just want you to have a good time, even if I hate what you're singing.

So here is a list of some of the songs which are my pet peeves, in no particular order. And again, just because one of them happens to be a favorite of yours, don't worry about it. It's just karaoke.

"Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey
     Depending on who sings it, this song can either be a lot of fun or excruciatingly painful. It's also one of the most popular karaoke songs of all time, which means I have to hear it a lot. I'll admit that I have never been a fan of Journey, but no one can deny that Steve Perry could sing the shit out of this song. Very often, a group of people gets up to sing it, so I don't mind too much. I like to see a lot of people having fun at once. Unfortunately, it often leads to screaming because most people can't reach the high notes. Where is Steve Perry when you need him?

"My Immortal" by Evanescence
     It's a song which starts: "I'm so tired of being here.." DJ's should pass out razor blades when someone gets up to sing this song. It's not just sad, it's nauseating. There are some great sad songs. This is not one of them. And if you're "so tired of being here," then maybe you should just go home. Maybe this song shouldn't be on the list because I don't really love to hate it. I just hate it.

"American Pie" by Don McLean
     Growing up, I loved Don McLean and this song. I still love the song but I almost always hate it at karaoke, even though the crowd loves to sing along to the chorus. First of all, it's a very long song, so it takes time away from other singers. It's also deceptively hard to sing, especially for most of the people requesting it. Bye, bye Miss American Pie.

"Ice Ice Baby" by Vanilla Ice
     There are plenty of reasons this song could be on the list but I don't have the space to discuss them in this blog. I guess I do because it's my blog, but who would want to read a treatise? Since the bass line is stolen from Queen and David Bowie's "Under Pressure," it's undeniably catchy. The real reason I hate this song at karaoke is because most of the people who sing it really can't keep up with the lyrics. Ed, if you're reading this, you are always welcome to sing it. Unfortunately, many people have come up to me guaranteeing that they can "kill it." They usually do. R.I.P.

"Killing Me Softly" by The Fugees
     I love this song. I sing it at karaoke. I love the Roberta Flack original too. That one even has an extra verse. Lauryn Hill, who sings it in the Fugees version, is a magnificent talent, as crazy as she is. It's no wonder that so many women love this song. Unfortunately, as much as many of the singers attempting to sing this song love Lauryn Hill or fantasize about being as talented as Lauryn Hill, they don't come close. In the hands of the right singer, it's a pleasure. However, every time someone new comes into karaoke and requests this song, I pray that they don't ruin it for me. Another problem with it is that so many women consider it their "jam." "This is my jam," they shout.  Then they try to sing over the person on the mic. Lauryn Hill is one of the biggest divas of all time.  Having ten divas all "singing" together can be maddening.

"Piano Man" by Billy Joel
     Another great song by a great artist. I even have the single on 45. I'm old. Deal with it. I hate this song at karaoke for the same reasons as I hate "American Pie." Both often end up as a shit show.

"Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-A-Lot
     A very fun song in the hands of the right person. Like "Ice Ice Baby," it's a novelty song loved my many. Why so many people think that they can pull it off well just because they like it is due to only one reason. Too much alcohol.

"Wannabe" by The Spice Girls
     First of all, it's usually misspelled on request slips because most people want to spell it correctly. And trust me, there are a lot of bad spellers out there. The Spice Girls were hugely popular and this is their biggest hit so it makes sense that it is requested fairly often, especially by young women wishing to relive their high school years. You might think that this is a song I hate to love because it's usually sung by a quartet of cute girls, and now that I think of it, maybe you're right. Who doesn't like excited beauties belting out a song? On the other hand, it's usually chosen by inexperienced karaoke singers. Because there are two singing parts and usually four singers who get up together, the song often becomes a confused mess and devolves into shouting. Every now and then though, "Wannabe" is perfect guilty pleasure. Spicy!

"Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard
     Although I understand that "sugar" refers to the woman being sung to in the song, it just sounds all wrong to me, especially the lyric: "I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet." Although it's a fun song, it's often requested by guys who have drunk too much cheap beer in their life and are somewhat unfamiliar with personal hygiene, begging the question why anyone would want to pour sugar on them. I guess you could call it the "gross" factor. On the other hand, it's quite delightful when a woman sings it. "I'm hot, sticky sweet" takes on a whole other meaning.

"American Trilogy" by Elvis Presley
     This is another song I love to hate because I just hate it. Although it was a huge hit for Elvis and is quite stirring musically, it starts off with "Dixie." You know - "wish I was in the land of cotton..." "Dixie," as the unofficial anthem of the Confederacy, makes me cringe, and if a song can make Sid Stein cringe, it must really be cringe-worthy. I think it's racist so please don't request it. I won't play it. Sometimes, I just have to exercise disc jockutorial discretion. Shout out to Jesse Calhoun for coming up with that term.

"What A Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong
     Without dispute, this is a beautiful song and Louis Armstrong is one of my all-time favorite musicians. Unfortunately, it's often requested by people who insist on mimicking Armstrong's unique voice. Plenty of people strive to sound like Elvis or Sinatra, but this is the song most caricatured at karaoke. When sung by a white person mimicking Armstrong, the song takes on a minstrel show quality, which like "Dixie," makes me cringe. If you want to sing it, go ahead.  Just lose the Louis Armstrong voice.  Thanks!

"Total Eclipse Of The Heart" by Bonnie Tyler
     First of all, it's a long song which can make singers who are waiting get antsy. That being said, it's not a bad song. It's a good sing-a-long. On the other hand, it often gets mangled by overzealous drinkers. When I originally posted this, I called the song "Total Eclipse of the Sun." I am sure I have seen that on request slips more than once. Still, I should have caught that mistake. Thanks for pointing out the error, Chris! It's good to know I can rely on my karaoke nation!

"Creeep" by Radiohead
     Please refer to my previous post about this song which was published on October 13, 2013.

"My Way" by Frank Sinatra
     I don't think there is a Sinatra song that I don't like. Some are better than others, but none are bad. I absolutely love Frankie. Sometimes it comes out great. Other times, I wonder if we shouldn't restrict our 2nd Amendment rights. I read in the New York Times that some singers in the Philippines have been murdered for murdering this song at karaoke.

"Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond
    Another catchy song gone awry too many times. It's a huge crowd-pleaser and everyone loves to sing along. Unfortunately, it's beyond the range of many who choose it. It's often sung by novice singers who think they can "kill" it, not realizing that the crowd loves the song no matter how poorly it's sung. I can't tell you how many times someone new to my show has come up to me and told me that they are going to bring the roof down with this song. Truthfully, there have been times when I wished the roof really did come down.

"Summer Nights" from "Grease" by Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta
     First of all, get the name of the song right.  It's "Summer Nights," not "Summer Loving." It's a great duet and I will sing it when someone needs a partner. Here's a tip. If your karaoke DJ doesn't have this song, then the DJ has no business doing karaoke. We all have it. For some reason though, it's the song which most frequently is requested by people who don't look in my songbooks. The songbooks are there for a reason. You can browse for a song because you aren't sure what you want to sing or you can check to see if I have the song because you already know what you want to sing. When you come up and request it verbally (not submitting a request slip, that is), I might answer yes, and the bar serves Budweiser too. Too often I am asked, "Do you have Summer Loving?" I answer politely, "No, but I have "Summer Nights." "Ok! I'll sing that one." Then they "sing" it. Oy!

"Picture" by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow
     Although I am not a fan of country music, it does have a place at karaoke. It's a very singable genre and this song is beloved by country fans. It can also ruin an otherwise upbeat night because it's so slow and on the long side. And, it's often sung by people who think they know it well but really don't. I often find myself thinking that I can't wait for it to be over.

"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen
     I love Queen and I love this song.  Unfortunately, it often turns into a total "shit show." And it's a long shit show, to boot. If you're going to request it, please include at least one person who can carry the group.

"Paradise By The Dashboard Light" by Meatloaf
    Most times, I would rather die. It's a very long song, hard to sing and almost always gets mangled. On rare occasions, it has been awesome. More often than not, it's the shittiest of shit shows and totally unbearable. And it goes on forever and ever. If it's a very busy night and a lot of singers are in the rotation, don't be surprised if I ask you to choose another song. It's not paradise for me. It's pure hell.

That's my list for now. It's not complete, but I think you get the picture. And just because I don't like a song, you can still sing it - most of the time. It's karaoke! I love you, Nation, with all your warts.

One In A Million

If you have been following my blog, then you've learned that as much as I love karaoke, at the end of the day, it's still a business. Nevertheless, business does not exclude giving back to the community. On occasion, I have just that opportunity.

For most of my karaoke career, I have worked in the more urban areas of Albany, New York. It's where the majority of the bars are. Panhandlers and homeless people are part of the scenery all too often. I definitely saw an uptick in traffic during our Great Recession. Why do they call it great?

The homeless or borderline homeless generally ask for two things - money and cigarettes. One guy in particular, who I call "The Preacher," asks for something else. He wants to sing.

I first met "The Preacher" years ago when Pinto and Hobbs was still at the corner of State and Dove. He's an older, tall black man who would come in on occasion soliciting money for his charity. He looked the part of a preacher too, complete with black clothes, the white priest collar, a big cross around his neck and a bible in hand. He claimed that he ministered to underprivileged youth and had developed a program for them. Hence my name for him, Preacher. He was always well-mannered and soft-spoken. We developed a special bond, probably because I gave him money. I didn't buy the ministry bit, but what's a few bucks to someone in need? And he was always nice.

He never stayed for too long but always wanted to sing the same song - "One In A Million" by Larry Graham, a great soul classic from 1980. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SxCBu45HgjE The Preacher sings beautifully. Transcendent really. Once in a while he would stay to sing a second song - "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong.

As I moved around from bar to bar, The Preacher always seemed to find me. He no longer solicited money from other people - just from me. I would help him when I could. And he still wanted to sing. And I would always let him. He never bought anything, but hell, what's one song in a night of singing?

No one seemed to mind when I called The Preacher up to sing. He never bothered anyone and usually stayed close to me until it was his turn. And he could sing the hell out of that song. A win-win, right?

Well, at some point, I had a gig on Lark Street. The Preacher found me there too. He came into sing. He looked a little older and it was apparent that he must have had some rough times with his health. He told me that too. There was no reason to doubt him. Still, he was his same sweet self with the same sweet voice.

Unfortunately, not everyone in business feels the same way I do about karaoke charity. The owner of that bar chased him out and admonished me for letting him sing, claiming he was a crack head. I had never seen any evidence of drug use. He was always lucid, and as someone who has seen actual crack heads, he wasn't one of them. There was no point in arguing - business is business and a gig is a gig and I needed the gig. I apologized to him. I felt awful.

One night as I was dj'ing, I saw him through the window. He wanted to come in; he wanted to sing. I shot him one of those "I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do" looks. It broke my heart and really made me question myself as a person. I am just the DJ. It wasn't my business. I didn't set the rules. Should I have quit? In a perfect world I would have, but I still had bills to pay. I'll never forget the way he looked at me through the window - a combination of betrayal, confusion and maybe even love.

As I am writing this, I have been asking myself why I keep referring to The Preacher in the past tense. He's not dead. I just don't see him much anymore. He came in to sing a while back and sounded as good as ever. Even if he has forgiven me, it's just not the same between us anymore.

Halloween 365?

Back when I was a kid, when mammoths and saber-toothed tigers roamed the earth, Halloween was a holiday for children. Adults didn't dress up. Hell, they even stayed home during trick or treating because parents didn't have to worry about the safety of their children. Well, times have changed for the better, especially for DJ's. I celebrated Halloween for an entire week this year. Although I don't want to credit the first person who slipped a razor blade inside an apple, sometimes you have to give credit where credit is due.

I suppose I could google the year when Halloween became an adult holiday, but I won't. It doesn't really matter so long as everyone has fun dressing up and going out to drink and listen to music or sing. And who doesn't like slutty nurses and cops?

No matter how we celebrate Halloween these days, it only comes once a year, right? That's true for most of us. However, there are those who walk among us who seem to celebrate Halloween all year. I'm not talking about those denizens of suburban malls who can't seem to get enough of Hot Topic. You know them - the Goth Kids. They're usually just going through a phase. After all, it's not easy growing up in the suburbs. And I bet that even Marilyn Manson doesn't dress up as Marilyn Manson every day. I'm also not talking about hipsters or even people who dress hip-hop every day. That's a cultural fashion choice, really. Rather, I am talking about Elvii, those guys with the hair and the sideburns who worship everything Elvis.

If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery (I have always maintained that it's vanity), then Elvis Presley is truly the king of Rock and Roll. You might say that Elvii are a dying breed, men dedicated to a dead rock star who are growing older themselves. If you think that, you'd be partially wrong. Check out the annual Elvis festival in Lake George, N.Y. or any other Elvis festival around the world. I did and I was amazed. Elvii come in all shapes and sizes AND ages. Long Live The King!

If you want further proof, then you should come with me to Dee Dee's, a bar in Latham, New York. I go there just about every Sunday night for karaoke. I am not the DJ, although I have filled in on occasion when the regular DJ had a conflict. I just go to hang out, have a few drinks and sing. Sometimes it's fun just to be a customer. It's also a great place to run into Elvii.

Big Mike is the resident Elvis who you are most likely to see. He's got the hair and all the Elvis moves when he sings Elvis. He also brings in his own Elvis tracks on CD.  He doesn't just do karaoke.  He does Elvis. He is also the guy who suggested I go to the Elvis festival.  I even sat next to him on the Saturday night when Shawn Klush, who some consider to be the world's greatest Elvis impersonator, performed. As I watched Klush perform, I kidded Big Mike. "Hey, Big Mike! That guy is stealing all your moves!"

Big Mike is not the only Elvis who comes to Dee Dee's. There's a "Little Elvis" and this other guy who gives me the creeps. I try not to interact with him that much. He's not a very good Elvis anyway. I call him "Creepy Elvis." From what I observed, you wouldn't want to give this guy your address or phone number. There is also semi-Elvis, who has the hair, but I am suspicious of his commitment. He doesn't come too often anyway. By the way, we also have a Fonzie at Dee Dee's!

Before I knew that "Creepy Elvis" was actually creepy, I had a chance to DJ at Dee Dee's one night.  All three of the primary Elvii were present, which is rare. It's not unusual to see two of them, but this night was special. I knew I had to do something as the DJ. So, I made all three get up to sing "Suspicious Minds." It was hysterical, although Big Mike later grumbled to me about "Creepy's" singing. Nevertheless, it was a great karaoke/Elvis moment. The crowd loved it.

The Elvis moment I engineered happened during the summer sometime. Months went by until Halloween came. Like every other bar, Dee Dee's had a Halloween party for the karaoke crowd. The only Elvis that night was "Creepy Elvis." No one likes him, but since he hasn't posed a danger to anyone at the bar, he's tolerated.

I was standing there chatting when "Creepy Elvis" walked in.  I started laughing, making sure that "Creepy" didn't know I was laughing about him. I was suddenly struck by a funny thought. What does a guy who looks like Elvis all year round get dressed up as for Halloween? Elvis? That's not really a costume for these guys. I imagine they can't go as someone else because that would be some kind of betrayal to Elvis. I concluded that the only holiday that these guys can't really celebrate is Halloween! Kind of ironic, if you ask me. I shared my thoughts with some others at the bar and we all had a good chuckle.

I didn't want to ask "Creepy" about Halloween because he is, in a word, creepy. I have no idea what could set this guy off and I didn't want to find out. So it goes, sometimes.

As luck would have it, Big Mike came in the week after Halloween. I figured I could ask him about Halloween because we're buddies and he's not creepy. So, I asked him what he does on Halloween, considering he always looks like Elvis. I asked him if he could even celebrate the holiday. I was a bit concerned that he would be offended at the question because he might think I was ridiculing his life-style choice. He wasn't.  He's a really nice guy and he knows I love him.  He didn't answer the question verbally. He took me over to a corner of the bar to show me a picture. Big Mike in drag as Marilyn Monroe! Happy Halloween!! Sid out!

Sid Stein Cashes In One Of His Nine Lives - A Sid Stein Classic Tale From The Archives

Before I was a DJ, I was a lawyer who enjoyed singing karaoke.  Here’s a 2007 tale pulled from the Sid Stein archives.

Today is my birthday. Although it’s a time for celebration, I like to devote a portion of the day reflecting on my past. It’s not the same brand of intense scrutiny required on Rosh HaShanah, the Jewish New Year; rather, it’s a time to remember some close brushes with death. I can only hope that I really do have nine lives.

It was Thursday - a cold winter night. I started my evening in downtown Albany and eventually made my way up to the Bleecker, at the corner of State and Dove. It was karaoke night and June was still the bartender. June always took good care of me. Maybe she cared too much for me on occasion. I probably shouldn’t have left her such good tips.

Thursday is my night to go a little wild. It’s my favorite night of the week for going out and this particular Thursday was no different. And yes, I knew better than to drive. Still, finding a cab in Albany is sometimes tricky. One has the option of calling a cab from the bar. Depending on availability, it can take a long time before one arrives. On the other hand, it’s fairly easy to flag one down on Lark Street at the corner of Madison. There are over six popular bars near that corner, not to mention the queen of the capital region’s Dunkin Donuts, where Maria and Belinda, members of the Latin coffee cartel, serve coffee, donuts and breakfast sandwiches to cops, drunks and bums. I usually get a Coolatta and a coffee cake. Maria sometimes treats me when she has questions about Family Court. She often does. My destination this Thursday, however, was on the opposite corner. I wanted a slice of Romeo’s pizza. I was hungry after a night of singing - and drinking.

From the Bleecker, it’s a solid 15-20 minute walk to Romeo’s. That’s how long it usually takes me anyway. I walk slowly after a few hours of strenuous karaoke. I remember that I was in a good mood, singing softly to myself as I made my way, west up State Street, past brownstones, and then south on Lark. Lark is an eclectic mix of bars, restaurants, shops and apartments. I would always pause and reflect at the pink-painted brownstone formerly owned by Char until she had to file for bankruptcy protection. Her former home is still pink. Apparently, no one has brought it out of foreclosure. I have no idea why. Maybe it has ghosts. I wouldn’t be surprised. Char is an Albany icon. A stunning blonde with pale yet luminous skin, and always dressed in gothic black, Char owned the QE2, Albany’s premier punk/hardcore rock club. She hosted some great bands over the years. Char wasn’t a great business woman, but she knew music like no one else. A lot of great acts performed there before becoming famous. She even had a double bill of Soundgarden and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. My personal all-time favorites were the Genitorturers and Jonathan Richman (he sang "There’s Something About Mary). They each made annual visits. But, I digress. What I want you to remember is that it was very late at night, close to 2 am and I was minding my own business.

About halfway down Lark, I was confronted by two men, both in their thirties. "What the fuck is your problem?" the bigger one barked. Apparently, he was not in as good a mood as I. "I have no fucking problems," I confessed. With that, the bigger and uglier one got right up in my face. "You want to start something?" He was full of questions. "Just get the hell out of here," I countered.

To be honest, I can’t recall the exact conversation after this point. I do remember that I was in imminent danger of getting my ass kicked. There were two of them, but even one could have accomplished the feat without breaking a sweat. Sid, I thought, you’ve got a problem - a big fucking problem.

All of a sudden, a tall black man came bounding across Lark Street. He immediately positioned himself between me and these rude and confrontational cavemen. "Why don’t you just turn around and keep walking," he suggested. The bulkier Neanderthal responded: "It’s not your fucking problem. I wasn’t talking to you. Stay out of it." My rescuer remained calm and replied: "Listen, this is a black man telling you to turn around and keep walking. I recommend that you do just that." I was impressed by his quiet power. The two thugs stood their ground. "Once again, this is a black man telling you to just turn around and keep walking."

My would-be attackers appeared to reflect on the moment and then turned and walked away. Even before I was finally able to catch my breath, my savior put his arm around me and in an almost innocent way, inquired: "Are you a top or a bottom?" "Sorry," I replied. "I’m not gay, but thanks for coming to my rescue." "No problem," he responded. "Glad I could help." And off he went.

In Albany, we have a saying just for these moments - "Only on Lark Street."

I continued on my way to Romeo’s and ordered two slices. Why not?