Karaoke bars: Cheap, fun therapy

There's probably no place in Las Vegas that's recession-proof. But if there is, it might be the karaoke bar, where admission is free, drinks are relatively cheap, and the entrance isn't saddled with nightclub-long lines of clotheshorses.

On Saturday night, I dropped by Ellis Island Casino & Brewery -- what I think of as the traditional epicenter of karaoke in Vegas -- and the smoky place was packed as usual with locals and tourists of varying ages, heritages and world viewpoints, releasing through song the stresses of another work week.

On stage, the tattooed mortgage broker who was wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed, "Liberalism is a mental disorder," was Allen Kane, a self-described "militant right winger" and ex-"renegade." He sang The Doors' "Back Door Man," even though he's partial to Neil Diamond hits.

"People say I do Neil Diamond better than Neil Diamond does," Kane said. "But everybody is loaded on a certain level (drinking booze), and I don't want to drag them down with a Diamond ballad."

Kane is keen on Ellis Island because it's jumping. As he said, it's "a live place" open seven nights a week, and singers range from treacherous to great, which makes everyone less anxious about their ego and pride.

But, of course, Ellis Island is only one memorable slice-of-Vegas life in an abundance of go-to karaoke bars. Kane sings at The Orleans on Tuesdays and Thursdays, or at Calico Jack's Saloon or Speedway Casino on other nights.

The wait to sing anywhere in town is about 90 minutes, he said, and he has to schedule nightly stops at karaoke bars as if he's on "a paper route."

A few minutes after Kane sang, the stage made way for a slot machine technician in designer sunglasses named Johnny Miller, singing R. Kelly's "Bump N' Grind." Afterward, Miller told me he was raised on gospel and is the son of John Edwards, an ex-member of the R&B legends, The Spinners.

"That's my pops," Miller said. "Anytime I ever did anything, it was, like, 'That's Johnny Edwards' son.' I would've never got from under that shadow" if Miller had gone into professional music.

"But I get out" to karaoke bars, he said. "That's what helps me get through every week -- going out, kicking it with my boys, and having a good time."

I wouldn't be the first to suggest places like Ellis Island are little hubs of self-same people supporting each other. It's like group therapy for people for whom music accompanies breathing. It's cathartic and fun.

And the songs hold meaning. Miller said The Commodores' "Sail On" helped him get through a "Jerry Springer" breakup of a live-together relationship: "She cheated on me with her best friend's husband," so Miller started packing his stuff to the stereo sounds of The Commodores.

"I put 'Sail On' on repeat, and I had it blasting, as I boxed up the SUV, and sang, 'Sail on, honey. Good times never felt so goood.'"

Hearing his joy, his complaining ex walked over to his CD player, took the disc out, and broke it in half. Undeterred, Miller went to his computer, burned the Commodores CD again, popped it in a player, and sang away.

Miller went to Ellis Island with two friends. One was Jason Walker, a homebuilding superintendent displaced by the economy; now a slot technician. He recited his own karaoke drama: Not long ago, he sang Usher's "Nice & Slow," inspiring a woman to tell him he was so good, "I couldn't tell if it was a CD or you singing."

She walked away. A minute later, the woman's boyfriend threatened Walker: "Stay away from my girlfriend!"

"I said, 'If you can't keep your girl on a leash, that's your problem,'" Walker said and laughed. "I hate haters. I'm a hater-hater."

Miller, Walker and their friend Jimmy Miranda said they prefer going to Calico Jack's, Ellis Island and other karaoke bars over clubs, because they can watch football in the casino, drink cheap, sing and meet other karaoke performers.

"It's almost a 'Cheers'-like atmosphere," said Miller (a regular at Legends Casino's karaoke). His only real complaint about Ellis is, "They need some smoke eaters in here. The smoke knocks an octave off your voice."

Unlike in clubs, these guys said, "Vegas guy" poseurs can't as easily get away with lying to women.

"If you play the 'Vegas role,' it doesn't work," Miranda said. "As long as you maintain, and don't act like an asshat, they respect you."

The reason karaoke bars are doing well in hard economic times is simple.

"Every karaoke place is a bar, and like every bar, you have your regulars," Miranda said.

Suddenly, Miranda had to end the interview to mingle.

"I'll be back. I gotta go talk to some women. I gotta meet my quota," he said and laughed at himself for saying that aloud.

Meanwhile, Michelle Olson was on stage crooning Carrie Underwood's "Last Name" while wearing a plastic "Birthday Girl" tiara. Olson, a birthday party coordinator for a park, had just turned 25 and is so karaoke crazy, she watches karaoke videos on MySpace and loads her phone with songs to sing to friends.

How does someone become so music centered? It's all in the upbringing, Olson's sister, Ashley Dow, said.

"She was always singing in the mirror growing up," holding hair brushes like they were microphones, Dow said, looked at Olson, then added with a smile, "Embarrassing yourself!"

"Yeah," Olson said. "When you watch it on a video, you look like an idiot." But Olson said at a nonjudgmental place like Ellis Island, "Nobody looks stupid" on stage.

Finally, more stage time arrived for our trio of Commodores fans -- Miller, Walker and Miranda -- who harmonized Boyz II Men's "End of the Road." They sounded terrific.

And as the men reached the chorus ("You belong to me, I belong to you"), the sound swelled as fellow karaoke travelers sang along in unison, far away from the daytime toil of tending mortgages and slot machines and planning other people's birthday parties.

Doug Elfman's column appears on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays. Contact him at 383-0391 or e-mail him at delfman@reviewjournal.com. He also blogs at reviewjournal.com/elfman.