Surveying the scene, Fitz felt a deep sense of gratitude well up inside of him. If he were a millennial cringe chick on Instagram, he might’ve posted about his heart cup being full or some shit like that. For now, he simply admired the magnetic pull of the ocean sucking back the waves as they crashed into the shore. What a beautiful spot for a wedding. It feels like it could be the very spot that love itself was born. A warm breeze blowing his tie amiss, golden sunlight casting rays across the party, he turned to take it all in in panoramic fashion. From the beach to the happy couple dancing away on the floor to the boardwalk littered with their closest friends and family rooting them on.
Janine and Larry were wrapping up their version of Roxette’s “The Look,” as the crowd cheered them on, some howling in laughter, others smiling drunk. As the best man, Eric, took the mic and implored the onlookers to give it up for Larry and Janine, Fitz wondered why more people didn’t have karaoke at their wedding reception. “This is a blast,” he thought to himself as Eric welcomed him to the stage as the cousin of the bride. He got up on the stage and realized that they hadn’t actually closed off the boardwalk for the ceremony, only a small section had been roped off. Passersby had congregated around the good time, strangers beginning to mingle in with the wedding party. Everyone was having fun.
The synth drum hit, and Fitz was instantly reminded of how he thinks it’s a shame that only 1,149,498 people listen to Chromeo on Spotify each month. Should be more. He had been a standup comic for five years at this point with impersonations being his specialty. Despite the fact that he’s never been able to carry a tune to save his life, he was confident that he could get the Chromeo voice close enough to pass as entertaining. If nothing else, it would be hilariously bad, but the added pressure of performing for strangers made him a little more uneasy than he was before. Nonetheless, he gave his shoulders a slight shimmy and started tapping his foot to the beat. “Go Fitz,” someone yelled out as the groove weaved its way into the crowd. Here goes nothing.
“Dudes’ll step to you with a corny line…” It felt good coming out. So good that Fitz distracted himself and messed up the lyric that followed it because he couldn’t tell if the sound he heard was his voice or the actual Chromeo track without the vocals cut out for karaoke. “He could pick you up in a limousine…” He noticed that people in the crowd began looking at one another – some scrunched their faces up in an impressed sort of bewilderment, others had jaws resting agape. Fitz had caught the party by legitimate surprise, but he wondered how high he could get his voice. So far, so good, but what would happen if he couldn’t get up there to hit those notes?
“Boys are non-committal.” Higher. “Always in the middle.” Higher. “It bothers you a little.” Highest. “Bothers you a little.” Holy shit – he did it. And, it sounded perfect. A wave of applause erupted from the crowd. Fitz couldn’t help but let the goosebumps consume and let the uproar wash over him like the crests breaking behind him. “Why can’t we be like mom and dad?” Feeling confident, he instructed all of the party people to throw their hands in the air for the chorus. The boardwalk was rocking. Drinks were spilling. Feet were shuffling. Most importantly, hands were in the air. “If you think romance is dead and goOoOoOoOne…” Something miraculous happened. The crowd cried back, “Find an old jukebox full of 45s. Pop a nickel in it and it all comes back.” Fitz had caught lightning in a bottle. Nearly 200 of his family and their closest friends had their hands up, swaying back and forth, dancing, laughing, and singing along.
He was as shocked as anyone. His cousin rushed the stage and hugged him. “Thank you for that,” she said, “but why the fuck have you been holding out on us for so long?” Fitz told her the truth as he knew it. He had no idea he was capable of that. He’d been practicing it as a Chromeo impression, but the music took over and his soul did that thing that souls do sometimes when they’re hit with the right spark. As he stepped to the side of the stage, he heard Eric say into the mic, “good luck topping that, Gary.” A hearty laugh echoed across the pier, but Gary didn’t look amused that his version of “Moves Like Jagger” might do more to quell the frenzy than keep it going.
Meanwhile, a man in brown chino pants, a blue sportcoat, and a graying ponytail worked his way through the crowd to get to Fitz. He wasn’t a familiar face, but Fitz thought back to his pre-performance jitters, recalling the number of strangers who had stopped to watch the proceedings. “Kellen Stone,” the man said, extending his hand for a firm shake. “Listen, Fitz..it is Fitz, right?” Fitz nodded. “More people should be listening to Chromeo, first and foremost. But, that was amazing. Amazing. I mean, I’m down here for the weekend seeing some friends…we come out for a couple of cocktails at McLoone’s…and we see THAT?” “Thanks,” Fitz responded, “but we’re just here trying to have a good time for my cousin’s wedding and…” “OH!” Kellen interrupted. “I’m so flustered – forgive me. I should’ve led with this. I work for a label in the city.” Fitz felt his eyebrows raise involuntarily. Kellen continued, “we’ve been looking for the next Dave 1 for years…I’d like you to come in this week to meet some people and see if maybe we can get you in the studio.” Fitz had no idea, but his life was about to change forever. You never know what’s in you until you let it out.
Stoney Keeley is the Editor in Chief of The SoBros Network, and a Dogs Playing Poker on velvet connoisseur. He is a strong supporter of Team GSD, #BeBetter, and ‘Minds right, asses tight.’ “Big Natural” covers the Tennessee Titans, Nashville, Yankee Candle, and a whole wealth of nonsense. Follow on Twitter @StoneyKeeley.
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