Night at the Sunset Bar

I can finally tell you all about my famous night at the Sunset Bar in Martigny, when I sang with my brother and his friend Arco...
We got there at about 7 pm for soundcheck, did a couple of songs so the owner could test the levels, then they offered us dinner upstairs in the hotel's restaurant. Swiss salad, overcooked, bland, nasty bowtie pasta and a bottle of wine, on the house. Of course, one bottle wasn't enough, so we ordered a second and had to pay for it. Even that part has a funny story to it: some of my dad's clients from California (Gallo wineries) were visiting us in Saxon, and one of them, a 26 year old named (appropriately enough) David, came with us that night. He decided he wanted to offer us a bottle of wine. We drink it, then David goes to pay for it and they don't take credit cards. He doesn't have any cash. After a few minutes of arguing back and forth, the waiter finally goes to get the HOTEL'S credit card machine, so David can pay for the bottle. All three of the cards he tries get declined. We finally had to collect all the cash we had and pay for the bottle ourselves.
At 8:45, we head back downstairs and get ready for our big concert. My 15 year old niece is with us and I warn her repeatedly not to wander away, to stay where I could see her, since there were about 100 drunker-than-shit 16 to 23 year olds in the club, checking her out. The lights go down, my brother introduces us (by the way, we are "The Groggs"...yeah, I know, don't ask) and starts singing. So far, so good. I sit out the first couple of songs, to let them get the hang of things. Here's Dave doing his best impression of George Harrison/Robert Smith/Elvis Costello:

After a couple of songs, he decides it's time to pull out the big guns and have me sing 4NonBlondes "What's Up". I grab the mic and start singing my heart out...until the end of the song, when the sound guy comes up to me and tells me I'm singing so loud they can hear me clear out of the club. Well shit then. What the fuck! I'm a passionate singer, I can't dial down the volume!!! In fact, I'm so full of passion, I evidently decided to sing with my eyes closed and my head back, kinda like a wolf howling at the moon:

And obviously, I've got my hand in my pocket so I can play with my balls while I'm singing.
See the guy in the far right bottom corner? That's David, the guy from Cali. At this point, he is beginning to wonder what the fuck is up with this group of losers. Notice Arco? He is concentrating in order to remember all the chords to the song.
Next up, David decides to sing a song they have never played before, of which he doesn't know the words and Arco doesn't know the chords. He starts singing, knows a couple of lines, then replaces them with "I don't know the fucking words to this song, fuck, fuckety-fuck-fuck, what the fuck, lalalala...." No one is listening to us anyways, except David, the American guy, who at this point looks like he is torn between laughing his ass off and/or walking away in shame:

Dave is screaming the chords at Arco, who is messing up so bad, it sounds like he is playing a different song.
I have obviously decided there is something so interesting in my pockets, I must keep my hand in there at all times:

Take that fucking hand out of there! Are you playing with yourself? Are you checking for lumps?
Arco doesn't speak English, nor does he know how to sing in English. His English singing sounds kinda like a deaf, retarded, autistic, speech-impediment-ridden, Chinese guy. There was one exception: we did an a cappella version of "Sweet Home Alabama" that rocked the house! We were actually in tune and at the end of it, Dave looked at me and Arco in awe. We sounded like angels:

Then comes my second big solo: Sheryl Crow's 'If It Makes You Happy". Never sang it before. Don't know the lyrics to it. Printed them for this night, but Dave forgot to bring them....so sang the same first verse 5 different times and chorus 7 different times. I faked it all the way through. I saw a guy in front of us ask his friend "what song is this?" Obviously, we butchered it so bad, it didn't even sound remotely like the original. But hey, at least I looked good:

People in the bar got so wasted, they weren't even listening to us, much less looking at us. So we pulled out some oldies but goodies: "Oh Susannah", "Cielito Lindo", and a really, really old and lame Italian classic "Romagna Mia". No one notices.
This nightmare went on until 12:45, when while in the middle of singing a kick-ass version of R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion", complete with double harmonies, the owner looks at us and does the "cut it out" move. You know, finger pretending to cut his own throat. At this point, I'm glad it was only his finger, 'cause we were so bad, if he had a knife in his hand, he would have probably commited suicide. Dave says "Thank you! Good Night!". No one notices. We pack up our stuff and I look for my niece Marine. Nowhere to be found. At about 11pm, she had told me she was going to the bar next door to meet "some girlfriends". It's now 1:15am and we still can't find her. She finally shows up at 1:30, surrounded by "boyfriends" (no other girls in sight) and has the gall to ask us "where did you guys go? I couldn't find you!" I was this close to kicking her ass.

Dave, Arco and American David decide they want to stay out longer, so I drive Marine and her guy friend home and lecture her about her behavior the whole way. I'm such a bitch.
The next day, American David is asked by my mother how the concert was. He turns bright red, mumbles something under his breath, then says: "Huhhhh...it was fine." What an asshole.