by Henry VIII takes the microphone at karaoke night and discovers stage fright he never once experienced on an actual throne
I once commanded a choir fit for an actual coronation, every note rehearsed to perfection under genuine threat of consequence. Karaoke night gave me only a scrolling screen, a microphone with feedback issues, and my own considerably shakier nerve.
The Song Selection
I selected a song from a laminated booklet the size of a small hymnal, choosing something I vaguely recognised over several dozen options I did not, a decision I made under real pressure from the queue building behind me, several of whom had clearly rehearsed their selection for days in advance.
The Wait
Six acts performed ahead of me, ranging from genuinely impressive to what I can only describe as an act of considerable personal bravery, and I watched each one with growing nerves I have not felt this acutely since certain particularly tense negotiations with Rome, a comparison I did not expect to make over a pub karaoke machine.
The Performance
My own performance began confidently and deteriorated rapidly once the lyrics scrolled faster than I could genuinely process them, several lines abandoned entirely in favour of a hummed approximation I hoped would pass unnoticed, a hope the crowd generously indulged, cheering regardless with the specific warm forgiveness reserved for anyone brave enough to simply get up there at all.
The Encore Request
A woman near the front, considerably more confident than I had been, shouted for an encore, a request I initially assumed was mockery until I realised, with genuine surprise, that she meant it sincerely, and I obliged with a second, considerably more successful attempt at a song I actually knew properly.
The Verdict
I left the pub with a genuine buzz I have not felt since certain successful open mic sets, having discovered that karaoke demands a specific, terrifying vulnerability no throne ever once required of me. Nobody at karaoke night cares whether you are actually good. They care only whether you were brave enough to stand up, and on that measure alone, I consider the evening an unqualified triumph.
The Next Appearance
I have since become something of a regular at karaoke night, my song selection expanding slowly beyond the one I actually know properly. The woman who requested my encore has apparently started attending most weeks specifically hoping I will perform again, a piece of information Fern shared with visible amusement and which I have chosen to find genuinely flattering.
I have also started practising quietly at home, a habit Dev finds hilarious and I find genuinely necessary given how badly that first scrolling lyric sheet defeated me. Bravery, at karaoke, apparently matters considerably more than actual talent. Bravery, at karaoke, apparently matters considerably more than actual talent, a lesson I now carry with me to every open mic I attempt afterward. Bravery over talent is a theme Ron White Speaks on Henry VIII covers rather well too. Further reading on the wider chaos of modern Britain: the original account of my own return to Britain, the proper London pub where history finally sat down for a pint, Harlan Coben being formally ordered to stop writing.
