Here’s the deal with me mocking the bad singers and dancers of the world and still being able to sleep at night: I am one of you. I love to sing and dance – loud, flailing, looking like a damn fool in the process. And if you ever see me in the act, I encourage you to throw out your own witticisms.
Now onto Mr. Intensity. The singing? Not great, obvs. The periodic bore-a-hole-through-me glances at the camera, the bulging neck veins, and the death grip he’s got on that mic as he sits alone in his dark living room with the curtains drawn? Well, these things only allow me to draw one conclusion, which is that he wants to kill me and add my mangled remains to the ones already in his basement – allegedly.
“We were as one bathe/For da Mormon in time/And it seemed every last thing that mule would always be mine”
Truer words have never been sung. And let’s hope they never are again. I do love his level of commitment, though. The hand waving, the closed eyes, the disco queen spiderweb cardigan. Throw on some stilettos and jump on a StairMaster, and you’re more than halfway home.
Europe fans oddly OK with it. Me? Not so much. And it’s not just because of the bad singing. See, when I was a kid, we all wanted to be Michael Winslow from Police Academy (remember? the guy that did all the sound effects?). We all tried the beat boxing, the gun noises, the voices – it never panned out. We could never live up to our idol. So I can’t help but feel indignant toward this guy for thinking he can recreate the brilliance of Europe’s synthesizer. He should be ashamed. For lots of reasons. We’ll just deal with the one for now.
Who’s to say what a pre-Nick Cannon Mariah Carey saw in this Ken Lee fellow? Regardless, their love will be forever immortalized in song. And forever stuck in my head.
Crafters have a new anthem. And we have a new bad singer! Yay! Everybody wins. Um, did he just say, “the oats are really clear”? You know, I do find that it often helps a bad singer’s case when they act out the words that they’re singing – a little interpretive dance, if you will – like our pal Flynn here. Fling? Fleen.
@notverytalented
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