FULL DISCLOSURE: This is going to be a post about a particularly full-blooded evening of karaoke I enjoyed on the Friday just past. It can be considered to be of relatively niche interest, perhaps even provocatively self-serving. It will probably not invoke feelings of warm nostalgia for your lost youth, nor will it enlighten, entertain or satisfy you in any material aspect. You proceed at your own peril.

Fans of intermittent Afterword contributor, incomprehensible hip hop enthusiast and shameless dilettante Bingo Little will doubtless recall with mixed affection and concern said individual’s oft-noted enthusiasm for the noble art of karaoke.

It was, perhaps, inevitable, that Little’s dalliances with that second most masturbatory form of evening entertainment would lead him to darker corners, and so it has proved. A chance meeting with an old colleague some months ago lead to the formation of a crack squad of Karaokeists, each bringing to the table their own unique style or lack thereof, and a commitment to tackling vocal challenges of increasing bombast and splendour.

First blood was drawn back in April, when the team undertook a punishing six hour marathon of howled choruses and botched verses, spread across no fewer than three » Continue Reading.