Rooty Hill RSL karaoke

In search of the fun and excitement of the SBS auditions in Sydney...

It was obvious that summer was approaching. The heat haze was rising off the road as we weaved around roundabout after roundabout passing non-descript outer suburban parkland. We were looking for what one time was Australian entertainment's Mecca, the so-called 'Vegas of the West', though legal issues seemed to have brought an end to the use of that once famous catchphrase. Can the tentacles of North America's 'Sin City' reach so far as to intimidate what prior to Star City was the temple of poker machine purveyence? It seems so…

As the non-descript terrain continued to pass we approached an overpass which gave way on the other side to our intended destination - Rooty Hill RSL. Given the venue's reputation, in the harsh glare of daylight it somewhat was a disappointment (but that's much like Las Vegas itself - so the comparison still held true). On the outside it generally couldn't be distinguished from any other 'chicken and prawn night' serving escapist outlet for the blue rinse set, so as we alighted from our vehicle we hoped that once inside our impressions would change.

My companion and myself stepped onto the seemingly obligatory loud RSL issue carpet and signed in. By loud I mean in terms of the colours woven, or perhaps more aptly, mechanically vomited into it; it begs the question as to whether the official carpet supplier/designer for all ex-servicemen's clubs was possibly operating the looms under the influence of LSD. The familiar sounds of the cacophony that is the gaming lounge were unmistakably ringing in our ears, but as to the SBS National Karaoke Challenge auditions, not a warble could be heard. Could it be that we had arrived at the wrong venue? The wrong day? The wrong time? A semi-panicked scan of the foyer alerted us to some very insignificant photocopied signs with arrows pointing upstairs; - if we had blinked we would have missed them altogether.

As I bounded up the steps I was expecting to be greeted by an immovable mass of starry-eyed auditionees, but to my surprise, in fact almost horror, I was met by two either SBS or Mushroom staff seated at two long tables with dainty white tablecloths, and if it wasn't for a few more of the aforementioned inconspicuous photocopied signs and the unmistakable prescence of songlists it could have been easily mistaken as the ladies auxilliary selling tickets to the meat raffle. I was calmed as I could now hear the strains of mediocrity escaping from the seams in the doorway leading to the main auditiorium. 'Aha!' I thought to myself. 'I must be in the right place!'

Having filled in my entry form, my friend and I ventured inside. A sea of red velveteen - like climbing into an giant pimp's mid-seventies Cadillac. The walls were adorned with pool-table sized caricatures of the 'giants' of RSL entertainment - Gina Jefferies, John Rowles, Rolf Harris and no doubt Marty and Emu were garishly on display.

Sure, . . .(full story on where2sing.com)

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