Sing Sing Still Perfect Spot for Sloppy Birthday Sing-a-Longs

In the heart of Saint Marks Place, between second and third avenues lies a karaoke joint named [Sing Sing]. I had decided on one of their private rooms as a suitable location for birthday revelry, and for $80 an hour (rooms range from $24-$120/hour during the weekend) over four hours I seemed to have entered into a musical/social aptitude test, the results of which proved both me and my fellow birthday travelers to be slightly retarded.

Upon entrance at the bar (Beer, Sake, no booze proper), you’re greeted with a packed maze of revelers, some waiting for karaoke rooms to open up, others waiting for their moment of glory. With the aid of a large flat screen monitor above the bar, these moments of glory consisted largely of impassioned but no less hideous renditions of Incubus, Disturbed, My Chemical Romance and other choice chunks fresh off the oughts’ modern rock radio grill.

Upon admission into the room, we were greeted with a list of regulations for the care and maintenance of the room, including exhortations to not stand on the couch or table, to not spill beer, to not throw the mic, to not scream into the mic, and to not pack more than 10 people into the room. This list became important as a reminder of what you needed to do to keep having fun after the introductory pitchers had been consumed and sweated out. Soon the air was thick with a swamp mist of beer belch and rock sweat, and with the performing audience drenched in karaoke stank communal renditions of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and “Never Let Me Down,” raised the roof and dismantled our dignity. 

Around 3:15 the check was somehow dealt with by a party attendee with professional actuarial experience. On the way out I passed by the bouncer, who wears head phones –I imagine- in an effort forestall an irreversible aversion to all music. Impressed by his tenacity I asked him how he deals with the hours and hours of B-n-T Brandon Boyds. He took a slow drag and stared down St. Marks, past another weekend of  pop music’s ritualistic slaughter in the participation era, he looked down, and half smiled “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Photo courtesy of [joypopturbo] on Flickr