One of the ways I earn my keep as a party-band groupie is by helping out with their live karaoke night. I help with the sign up process, man the songbooks and coax people onto the stage – in exchanges Hunt pays for my drinks, and the band always lets me sing.
Usually I earn my keep, and end up running around as if I’m on roller-skates. I laugh, I sparkle, I flatter, I dance in my chair – all of which usually results in a page or so worth of sign-ups. In short, I usually earn my Brown Cows.
Except last night.
Full lounge, great band, new piano player. Nada as far as participation. Seriously, I was pulling every trick in the book I could think of to get someone up there and no one was biting. Worse than pulling teeth. And I was getting told off – not in blatantly nasty terms, but told off none-the-less.
More than once Hunt looked at me from the bandstand and silently asked if we had any one and all I could do was shake my head and spread my hands wide.
I got nothing!
Nothing?
I’m trying my best out here!
Goddess bless oil’n’water cruising. Never before have we had a group who hit the bars so hard, give us so little back and want so much. The singer and I were hiding in the dressing room after the set commenting on how drastic the difference is, and it seems to have happened almost overnight.
Did we really survive this night?
Yeah, I think we’re all still alive
You think?
Yeah…I *think*…