Combining waffles and karaoke may sound as absurd as eating a grilled cheese sandwich while swimming. But to Syrup Trap owner Joey Grimaldi waffles and karaoke are a natural fit.
Grimaldi believes that karaoke allows people to bare their souls and work through their feelings. “This is the missing piece about karaoke that everyone misses — karaoke is extremely therapeutic. Some people go to therapy and some people go to karaoke. Karaoke is a lot cheaper.”
Grimaldi offers free karotherapy (healing through karaoke) every First Friday at his cafe, Syrup Trap, 1104 Main St. in downtown Vancouver. Syrup Trap serves sweet and savory liege waffles as well as coffee, beer and wine in a family-friendly venue (all ages are welcome for the entire First Friday show).
Seeking free therapy, I arrived at Syrup Trap on First Friday in January. At around 5:45 p.m., Grimaldi dimmed some of the lights and turned on a swirling light machine. Jen Baker stepped up for sound check. Baker is petite (about 5 feet tall) with a shaved head, black leggings decorated with white skulls and a Batman T-shirt sporting a pin that said “They, Them, Their” — making preferred pronouns obvious to everyone.
Baker, as everyone calls them, has a voice of crystal transfigured by sunlight — a clear and dazzling kaleidoscope of sound. Baker sang “I Will Fix You” by Coldplay. As Baker returned to their seat, someone commented, “How’s anyone going to do better than that?”
Pryce Garrison, a reserved guy in a striped shirt and black plastic rimmed glasses was up next. He asked Grimaldi (who is the karaoke jockey of this event and master of ceremonies) if he should sing “Ring of Fire” or “I Got Stripes.” Grimaldi quickly replied, “Stripes, everybody sings Ring of Fire.” Garrison stepped up and transformed himself into Johnny Cash — the same gruff voice, the same firm stance. All he needed to fully embody Cash was black clothing and a large guitar strapped across his front.
“Fun fact,” he said. “I have the same birthday as Johnny Cash.”
After a few more songs the karaoke crowd from Donnell’s Bar down the street started drifting into the intimate cafe. Valerie Sather took the stage and dominated the space with the power of a young Grace Slick slyly looking side-eyed to follow the words on the karaoke machine. After a riveting performance of “Flagpole Sitta” by Harvey Danger, she said she’d liked singing in her car, and after after a breakup, she wanted to get out and meet people. She tried a few karaoke places but it was in the bosom of the gang at Donnell’s that she found her groove and a tribe of new friends.
Thunderbird (aka Ashley Morse) blew in like a hurricane and the room throbbed with a funky current of electricity. She wore a navy bandana tied to her head like a punk rock Rosie the Riveter, black lipstick, and a T-shirt with two kittens riding a unicorn under a full moon. She approached the stage with Sather and they sang a mesmerizing “Falling Slowly” by Glen Hansard and Maketa Irglova.
Throughout the night, Grimaldi kept things moving along — calling people up to the narrow stage, encouraging the shy ones to come up and sing. He occasionally took the microphone in his signature sultry fashion. His “Sweet Transvestite” from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” sizzled. Baker sang backup from their seat while eating a waffle.
“Joey needs a feather boa,” I commented.
“Joey always needs a feather boa,” Baker replied.
Everytime Grimaldi took the stage, he was transported to another dimension where it was just him and the song and his own raw emotion.
As time passed, this group of mismatched pieces slowly came together to form a greater whole. The Donnell’s crowd is tight knit but not cliquey — a club open to anyone with the audacity to get up and sing out their feelings or play the role of supportive spectator. This wasn’t a group of people acting out a drunken dare. This was a collective ritual to cast negative energy out into the universe and a communal healing session.
Just as Grimaldi described to me weeks earlier: group karotherapy.
Scott Henderson sported a gray beard and a well-worn cowboy hat which covered most of his eyes. He came up to the stage and sang “Sympathy for the Devil” by The Rolling Stones, cool like Lou Reed. Henderson favors Lou Reed over the Rolling Stones. He usually sings Beatles songs but is fond of several different decades of music (except the ’80s and ’90s).
“I noticed you didn’t ask me why I sing,” he said. “Singing to me is like therapy, you take all that negativity and singing lets you get it out and it uplifts you and helps you to face the reality of the next day.”
Henderson wasn’t completely comfortable in the cozy, fairly well lit setting at Syrup Trap. He feels looser at the larger darker Donnell’s Bar filled with drinkers who don’t notice you are singing.
Ryland Tolleson came in soon after Henderson finished his song. Tolleson is the Karaoke Jockey (or KJ) at Donnell’s on Wednesday nights. He wore a black cowboy hat and a light blue plaid shirt. He had a scruffy moustache and a beard that hugged the sides of his face. In the film version of this evening, he would be played by Bradley Cooper. He had a steady presence when he took the stage. The perfect foil for Thunderbird’s kinetic energy on their duet of “Home” by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros.
Then Earl arrived. Anyone who drives by the corner of Andresen and Fourth Plain would immediately recognize Earl. He’s the gentleman in the black knit cap and dark colored work clothes who sings and dances to Motown tunes over a small battery-powered speaker to passing cars as if it was opening night at The Apollo Theater. When asked his last name, he responded, “I’m just Earl.”
Just Earl took the stage around 8:30 p.m. He told the audience that God blessed them and dedicated the song to all the ladies in the house. He crooned out “At This Moment” by Billy Vera and The Beaters (not his typical 1960s selection) making it his own with the silky voice of Smokey Robinson and the smoldering spirit of Motown. He locked onto Sather and serenaded her. She giggled and basked in the glow.
Some people ate waffles. Baker had a Second Breakfast (prosciutto, brie and pear) with honey subbed for the prosciutto. Tolleson drank a lot of coffee. Other people drank beer or mimosas. Two karaoke virgins sat at the periphery and drank beer until they’d consumed enough to take the stage. One of them, a big tall guy in a bright colored Tropical-themed baseball hat eventually did a stiff (but well received) cover of “Losing My Religion” by R.E.M.
People passing by on Main Street peered in, their eyes drawn to the crowd of people and the swirling colorful lights.
Then somehow it was 9 p.m. Waffleroke was over until next First Friday, Feb. 1. The core group each gave Grimaldi a tight hug and headed out to smoke cigarettes in a circle in preparation for a raucous Friday night down the street at Donnell’s Bar.
