Friar Tuck's

Lindsay, Amy, and I went for a ride late Thursday night, looking for something fun to do. We passed a bar, Friar Tuck's, that looks like a castle from the exterior. For years now, my friends and I have talked about visiting this sketchy bar because it seems both hilarious and gross, but we had never made it inside. We came close once, getting as far as the parking lot. Two carloads of us pulled in and we surveyed the scene inside via the open door as we drove by. I can't accurately articulate what it was we saw, but it simultaneously unnerved each one of us. Rolling down our windows, the members of both cars quickly conferenced and decided that none of us felt comfortable exiting our cars, so we abandoned that plan for new ones.

On this past Thursday night, Friar Tuck's had a sign advertising karaoke. Lindsay encouraged us to go. Initially, I expressed my hesitation, but then reconsidered since it would surely provide the adventure for which we were aimlessly searching. We drove by the entrance three times, peeking in each time, before deciding that we were actually up for it.

The bar was filled with angry-looking dirty dudes and the women who love them. (The picture above is from the bar's myspace page and provides a pretty good idea.) The average patron wore black and had three visible tattoos. The floor was sticky with spilled beer. In a room on the side, baseball capped jocks cheered while playing beer pong. In spite of the scuzzy-ness, the bar was standing room only. We hovered in the back until an end table freed up. I grabbed us a pitcher of Budweiser (that seemed to be the only beverage anyone was drinking), deciding against lapping up the four cups of beer spilled on the tabletop by the table's previous patrons.

The karaoke performances are subpar and boring. Rather than watching the singers, I devoted my attention to a toothless woman who stood less than five feet tall and was twice the age of everyone else in the bar. She sat amongst the surly young folks who seemed to permit her presence but largely ignore her. This yokel troll would bop her head and bounce her pink sweatshirt-ed breasts to whatever song was playing. She drunkenly caressed a mullet-ed man who could easily have been her son and he did not seem to protest. I appreciate the yokel troll on several levels: she was absurd, unintentionally entertaining, and she was the only reason Amy, Lindsay, and I didn't look like the most out-of-place people in the bar. I pointed the troll-lady out to Amy, but since she had slept funny the night before, she had hurt her neck and couldn't turn her head to the left in order to observe her.

After a short amount of time, Lindsay was beckoned to sing her staple song, "Welcome to the Jungle." Since this was the type of crowd that listens to Guns-n-Roses in their leisure, there was audible excitement at the opening bars of the song. Unfortunately, it was difficult to hear Lindsay because the backing track was far louder than the microphone used for vocals, and she didn't receive the usual fanfare. At least the lesbians know talent when they see it.

Amy was called soon thereafter to sing Hanson's "Mmmbop." She had done a hell of a job with that song in the past, so I suggested it again that night as a joke, thinking she wouldn't have the guts to try that song in this type of bar, but good on her for accepting the challenge. Again, it was hard to hear the vocals during her performance, but "Mmmbop" was entertaining nonetheless as it was just the song that prompted the yokel troll to get off of her stool and go right up front with two surprised young men boogying with a toothless grin. Amazing!



I was deliberate with my song choice, selecting the Violent Femmes in order to fit with the tone of the bar. I didn't want to come across ass being "too Broadway" in front of a bunch of ex-convicts. (I'm sorry, that's not fair -- I'm sure some of the Friar Tuck clientele have never been caught for their crimes.) It didn't go so hot, because a lot of the song requires a low voice, and I can't sing low loudly, so I just sort of mumbled as the backing music outdid me until halfway through when the screaming starts. When done right, you're not singing "Kiss Off," you're screaming it. I generated a fan up front, who was digging it and gave me a hug afterward and tried to chat me up. I wouldn't say he was hitting on me, that would never fly in this setting, but I wasn't a fan of his douchey brotherly love either, so I brushed him off and he trotted back to his game of beer pong.



I started to feel bad for having stereotyped the bar so severely without having been in it. In truth, it wasn't so bad. Well, actually, it was bad, but it wasn't nearly as scary as I had thought it would be. Just as I was expressing to my friends how I could see myself coming back again, a fight broke out a few feet away. One guy, intoxicated and irate, threw punches at another while the one blonde lady in the bar (that means she's a hot commodity, obviously) stood between them trying to get them to stop. Fists continued to fly, however, and suddenly the aggressor had pushed his victim onto our table. I reflexively (and successfully) grabbed the pitcher before it spilled as Lindsay was coated with cigarette ash that shot in her direction during the scuffle. Meanwhile, Amy, who can't turn her head to the left if you recall, knew something was happening immediately beside her, but couldn't see it.

We backed away from our table, leaving it to the fighters whose standoff continued for another minute before the bar managers forced the aggressor outside. The yokel troll who had seemed nervous during the altercation seemed to forget what had just occurred more quickly than a goldfish, almost instantly resuming her routine of smiling and clapping to the music. My friends and I contemplated leaving, but hesitated when we saw the puncher pacing just outside the bar, waiting for the other guy to come out so he could "fuck him up."

After twenty minutes, we weren't feeling anymore comfortable with the situation, and decided to bolt. We didn't see the ejected patron in the parking lot, but we did get to overhear a curse-laden relationship squabble. While I wonder whether a certain element of danger might be what karaoke has always been missing, I'm not sure I'm going to be rushing back anytime soon.