Walk in the Woods
Short #4: Jeff’s Bucket Shop
Blake was the first person I knew to mention the Shop and it became part of our Friday nights, birthdays, and bachelor parties. It was, in a way, the place we gathered to have a laugh and let go whatever the previous week dumped on us. And, while it’s true that Jeff’s is similar to many bars across the United States, what made it unique was the patrons. That’s the real reason the Shop kept us coming back.
There are two ways to sing karaoke. The first approach is to close your eyes and belt out your favorite song as though your were contestant on a reality singing show. If you choose this path, give it your best effort and don’t look back. Please, grab the microphone and tilt your head back. This tact works well for people who have talent and a God-given ability to sing in public. I advise you to pick a song you know by heart and in your vocal range, and stay away from singers with incredible range like Whitney Houston or Freddy Mercury.
The second approach to karaoke is to have fun and this is what I recommend for budding karaoke enthusiast. Be ironic and choose a song like Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like A Woman” or the crowd pleasing “Family Tradition” by Hank Williams Jr. Give the people a performance and don’t worry about pitch or key.
With this in mind, I have a few more tips to help you enjoy your evening:
1) Hip Hop/rap songs are fun if you know the lyrics. I’ve watched plenty of people freeze mid song because they thought they knew lines to Rapper’s Delight.
2) Karaoke is best with a group of friends. I suggest at least five of your best mates. You’ll want that support when the music hits and the whole bar is staring at your face.
3) Always tip the karaoke MC. Yes, always.
4) To loosen your vocal cords and get your head in the right space, drink a cheap beer or two- the cheaper the better. Karaoke is not a snobby hobby and I will not abide martinis or any adult beverage over $4.
5) Depending on the city, arrive after dinner but leave before the frat boys crash the party. In a city like Charlotte, that window is from 9 PM til 1 AM.
6) And finally, should you ever visit Nashville, Tennessee, make your way to Santa’s Pub in south Nashville off Bransford Avenue. It is without rival for both quality and enjoyment whether you decide to sit or sing.
Charlotte was loaded with karaoke options in 2010 but none finer than Jeff’s Bucket Shop which is a ten minute stroll up Park Road from Valley Stream Road. I can’t remember my first song or my last, but I remember plenty from our frequent visits.
Jeff’s Bucket Shop- more commonly known as “The Shop”- is in a basement under a rotisserie chicken restaurant on Montford Avenue. As you walk inside, the bar is to the right and the stage is on the back wall to the left. The large blue neon sign hanging from the wall behind the stage is the only decoration in the room. The karaoke MC is set up to the right of the stage. Booths line the outer edges of the bar with a half dozen small tables set back from stage a few steps from the bar.
Blake was the first person to mention the Shop and it became part of our Friday nights, birthdays, and bachelor parties. It was, in a way, the place we gathered to have a laugh and let go whatever the previous week. And, while it’s true that Jeff’s is similar to many bars across the United States, what made it unique was the patrons. That’s the real reason the Shop kept us coming back.
His name is Dave. He was just over six feet tall, sported white jeans, and was from either Brazil or Eastern Europe. The Shop was unusually tame when he was called to the stage. Blake and I had only just arrived to reserve one of the corner booths. While I retrieved a copy of the song list from the MC, Blake ordered the first round. Then, the music hit. Out of nowhere and with all the gusto of a TV preacher, Dave began to sing. In reality, it wasn’t singing. He sang-yelled- in very broken english- half the words to Who Let the Dogs Out. I stood in awe of his charisma and flair.
When chorus came, Who let the dogs out? (Who, who, who, who), our hero began to bark and gyrate across stage. Then, he twirled and tangled himself in the microphone cord and forgot to sing the second line of the song. The previously languid Shop came alive. Dave was soon joined on stage by several new friend, and everyone in the bar helped sing the final chorus. He was cheered as the champion he was as the song finished and the MC summed up the performance in the only way possible, “That’s Dave everybody. And, don’t you fucking forget it!”
Short #3: Valley Stream
I moved into 4914 Valley Stream because I needed a place to live. My previous living arrangement- with a married couple- began to fray. And, I wanted to leave before we started to hate each other. The couple was kind enough to let me stay with them but I saw the strain my presence made. The house we shared was small and not built for three grown adults and two pets.
I moved into 4914 Valley Stream because I needed a place to live. Blake offered me a room in October of 2009 but I wanted for a more desirable offer. Then, my living arrangement with a married couple began to fray. And, I wanted to leave before the strain turned to hate. A few days after Christmas I decided to join Blake and my married friends happily helped me pack my belongings.
The house on Valley Stream was built just after the second world war, most likely for a veteran and his family. The Madison Park neighborhood, where Valley Stream Road is located, was considered the suburbs of south Charlotte in the mid 1950’s though today it is tucked behind an ever expanding line of high rise apartments and shopping centers. I’d wager the entire neighborhood will be bulldozed and rebuilt into something bigger and more modern by the 2050s.
In 2010, our little brick house showed its age and utility. The home sits square to the street with a sidewalk from the blue front door to the blacktop. To the left of the front door was a rather large uncovered patio we affectionately dubbed the stoop. It was not a stoop in the sense one might think of the steps outside a New York City townhouse or apartment building, but that’s what we called it. The stoop is a concrete pad trimmed in more red brick. A black wrought iron railing guarded the far side of the pad. Over the four years we lived at Valley Stream, we made memory after memory on that very stoop. It’s where we hosted parties, debated current events, and processed our lives late into the night while smoking cigarettes.
Inside the house were three small bedrooms, a working but mold-prone bathroom, and a galley style kitchen. A large great room connected the bedrooms to the kitchen. With the exception of the great room, none of the rooms were big enough to hold more than two or three people at a time. They were designed for young families or newly married couples. We were neither.
The true oddity of the house is the full height but unfinished basement down a staircase next to the kitchen. It was dark and humid with the walls painted in bright green, yellow, and red. I assume whoever painted it was Rastafarian or at least a Bob Marley fan. The basement housed our washing machine and dryer and boxes of old clothes. At night, I would get horror-movie vibes and tried to spend as little time as possible down there.
Behind our house was a rather untamed lot which sloped down to Little Hope Creek. We rarely ventured into our backyard for all the overgrown oaks, brush, and weeds. During the summer the lot was home to various southern bugs, squirrels, and a few tree snakes. Aside from these small critters, our backyard was also home to a couple of adult Barred Owls. They were silent and still and a sight to behold when they plunged down on their dinner.
Due to its age, 4914 Valley Stream had all the classic old home problems. Poor air circulation led to mold problems, excessive heat in the summer, and frigid winters. Cockroaches and spiders paraded inside through numerous cracks and holes. And the house lacked a proper driveway for our cars. One never realizes how convenient a driveway is until they don’t have one.
Despite all these issues, we loved where we lived. Better said, we loved all the other aspects of life on Valley Stream if not the house. Blake was a wonderful roommate and friend. Our neighbors and the life we shared was like what most Americans see in movies but never experience. We were a proper community. It was quite normal for a conversation among two neighbors to evolve into a gathering of five or six or ten people. Each person came and went as they pleased but not before adding their spice to the mix.
In addition to the neighbors, our location within Charlotte was downright awesome. We enjoyed the night life on Montford Avenue and shopped at Park Lane Shopping Center, all a ten minute walk from our front door and uptown Charlotte was fifteen minutes away by car…depending on traffic, of course. Lastly, it was cheap- our rent that is. We paid our landlord a grand total of $625 each month, with Blake paying the larger share due to use of the third bedroom as a home office.
To think, I didn’t want to live in that old dank house. I would’ve missed out on a lot of good living and joy. Thankfully, I did not.