PapaSweenBean’s Friday Night – Karaoke Killer

PapaSweenBean’s Friday Night – Karaoke Killer – by Liam Sweeny.

On the way to Albany and I’m watching the clock on the dash because I got familial commitments and I’ll be damned if I don’t also commit to the one place in the city of tulips that I haven’t been to and feel bad about it. Empire Underground. Vegas Nacy. Writer and contributor. Also, singer of Faded Line, who’s gathering the hordes of the valley to push their latest release, “ti condanno a morte.” I know I can’t stay for their set and it’s quite possible I’ll bounce before anyone goes on, but I’ll damn sure get a CD and at least something, be it a sticker or a hat or a freakin can cozy.

This is a loot run.

So I get there. Mike Valente’s got the door. I trade a fresh twenty for an even fresher Day-Glo orange armband. Place has got a few people. There are always the early risers, I used to be one even before I was on a clock. Guess I’m still one. Cool people chillin, grabbing beers and catching up with each other. Half of them are a half hour away from losing their shit on a regulation floor. That wouldn’t be me even if I could stay. If I throw an elbow, it ain’t coming back.

Faded Line merch is at the end of a long set of tables. I’m looking at a glamour shot of Aileen Wournos, serial killer and the scourge of the perverts of the Florida highway system. She’s got a part to play in the CD. I grab a couple of CDs because I have hungry mouths to feed, namely my car and my office.

I grab a pair of Faded Line shorts too. Summer’s coming.

So I’m floating. I walk over to a girl with tattoos on her head, good ink. She didn’t screw up the aftercare. Her name? Chris Salisbury. She’s trying to get people to get their cheek swabbed for bone marrow matching.

Bone marrow matching?

Reckon.

People go to shows to get away from their problems for a night. Meaning they’re coming in with problems and leaving them at the door. Means they gotta pick them up on the way out. So Chris is the 518 point person of Punk Rock Saves Lives, a national group that does outreach at shows, all different genres. Condoms. Narcan. Mental Health, more, and of course, bone marrow testing.

I had to know more. It’s my job, nay, my passion. I get robbed, I’m gonna ask the robber about his craft. So we go outside, and I interview her. You’ll get that if you’re tuned in.

So tik tik and I’m on the way out. Said later to Mike and explained my bounce. He gets it, and I get the feck out and in two shakes (cause three shakes is, you know…) I was in my car, pulling my homespun CD out and putting Faded Line in.

Someday I’m going to actually catch a show. Bet.

Over the years, I’ve learned the exact volume notch I can get away with without ripping paper cone, and on North Pearl and Broadway, I was dial up, windows down and two middle fingers hooked into the steering wheel. The people at the ice cream shop in Watervliet got metal sprinkles.

So I got where I had to go and attended my familial commitment (you need the Premium subscription if you want to know what the commitment was.)

Nine o’clock, and I’m free to hit the streets. Too tired for Albany. I’m an early setter and early riser. But Donnie MaGoo’s is pretty close. Matty D is doing a karaoke and he’s rocking out Scott Weiland and nailing it. It started picking up after that, and yours truly gets up and butchers Pearl Jam’s “Black,” thinking I, a baritone, can handle that. I forget the onslaught of falsetto “doo doo doo doo” that hits in the end.

Eh. Not bad for my first time.

So in attendance was Matty, of course, myself, Jack Kelle, Seth Casale, Xavier Morris, DebZep, and someone whose name I’ll have to get off his business card. Nice guy too.

David Sutliffe. There we go.

A lot of great stuff. Seth owns House of the Rising Sun. And DebZep sings something, don’t know what, but her voice is so powerful it causes my seltzer to stir itself.

Overall a long but good night.

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