I’ve never seen a karaoke book that offers King Missile’s “Detachable Penis.” But there it is, alongside songs by the Buzzcocks and the Cure, Dio and Judas Priest, on the menu at Rory Lake’s Karaoke Dreams. Lake started his karaoke night four years ago at the Prodigal Son on North Halsted, and now hosts it more or less monthly in the bright and smoky basement bar of the American Legion post at 1824 W. Cortland in Bucktown. On this particular Saturday night the folks on the mike are neglecting the unusual offerings in favor of more conventional selections. A grizzled man does a monotone “Reelin’ In the Years.” A young woman in a plaid miniskirt does an emotional “Keep On Loving You.”
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
Lake, who’s nearly tall enough to scrape his head on the basement’s low ceiling, is dressed in a track suit and (I hope) wearing Billy Bob teeth with braces. He occasionally pitches in on backing vocals, whether anybody asks him to or not. Around 10:30 he does his own version of “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)” by Looking Glass. Between lines he exhorts the crowd to sign up, sing along, and dance, and people continue to stream down the narrow stairs till the room is uncomfortably packed. The karaoke console is his own, and he treats it like the control panel of the Enterprise. He calls his regulars “Dreamers,” singling out some by name, others by their pigtails or the color of their shirt. He looks positively thrilled whenever he sees someone dancing, and if he doesn’t think enough people are, he’ll shake his own stuff to set a good example. He goads a fellow he’s nicknamed “Steal Thunder” up into the hot spot to mug his way through a hip-swinging version of “Jailbreak.” It’s hard to stay awkward and self-conscious here for long.
Lake composed and recorded the battle’s theme song, a sort of dirgy processional he plays on keyboard; for each night of the battle he tweaks the lyrics to include the names of the bands. He and a friend also shoot short introductory videos for all the judges, which are projected on a big screen before the music. Last year’s are archived at rorylakepresents.com: Poet Thax Douglas sits on a sofa, choking with laughter while struggling to hold on to a cat, and wanders through a grocery store. Tamiz, who performs weekly at the Note as part of the comedy/variety show Public Hair, uses a half dozen different settings and just as many ridiculous spangly costumes to reminisce about his fictional career as a Bollywood actor and electroclash artist. Velcro Lewis invites us into his glamorous life as a househusband and threatens to chuck his son’s dirty diapers at bands that suck.
As emcee, Lake is so blustery, enthusiastic, and unabashedly dorky that he can make the more naturally reserved feel churlish about their own temperament. It’s hard to describe what’s so special about the silly spectacle he’s put together, but Peterson is willing to take a crack at it: “It’s sort of like Tony ‘n’ Tina’s Wedding or something,” he says, “but with rock bands and more drinking.”
