The Ballad of Be’elzebutt

Songbook of the Damned / Lyrical Bibliography

If you’re reading this, then chances are you’re a degenerate karaoke junkie like myself, and bless you for it. (Though it’s possible you’re some kind of curious onlooker, who came to this site to gawk, in which case, you’re the person your friends convinced to come out to karaoke with them! Hope you enjoy watching us get shitfaced.) In all likelihood, you, the distinguished connoisseur, picked up a copy of Mondo Karaoke #2, featuring a story assembled by yours truly, and illustrated by my frequent collaborator Monstark. The Ballad of Be'elzebutt is our fever fantasy of unleashing all the pent up frustration and fury we've been forced to swallow over the past year of not being able to get out to sing it away.

If you're here to check out the bibliography for the story, you'll find it underneath this preamble. Consider it an online recipe, if you want the story of how the meal came to be, read on. If you are just curious about that one line you can't quite place from the story, by all means, skip ahead. One thing you should know, if skipping ahead, is that the lyrics in the story are all culled from songs that I regularly perform at karaoke; they aren't just random song lyrics. Respect my boundaries, you trifling motherfuckers—the story fits together as well as it could!

Ahem.

Fun fact, I started writing this post on the one-year anniversary of the last time I was able to do karaoke in Portland. Bars were ordered to close at midnight on March 16th, 2020, and I got the news only hours before. Those of us with enough foresight had a sense of what was coming, but actually hearing the endtimes klaxon was nevertheless jarring. The Baby Ketten club, best spot in town, was closed a week before the mandated lockdown, and they had been sanitizing their microphones between singers for a couple weeks before that. Most of us knew that things were bad. It is crazy, in retrospect, that Baby Ketten was the only outfit taking precautions, and we didn't even know that singing was the single most dangerous activity for transmission. Sanitizing microphones while we sang without masks. How naive we were back then, even the best-intentioned among us. Though, as I'd later learn, some were significantly more callous than others.

I was working my day job on March 16th, and only got the news that evening that things would be closing up. I made goddamn sure my replacement would be in on time and rushed out the door immediately, making a beeline for the nearest mic. In this case it was The Trap, a dive bar that does karaoke every night, which, despite being the most...idiosyncratic...karaoke I've come across in town, was both reliable and accessible by bike. Working in healthcare, I snagged as much excess PPE as I could, bringing with me a bottle of hand sanitizer, a tub of sanitizing wipes, and a bunch of gloves. Once I got there, a little bribe ensured I'd get on stage soon, and quickly enough I got up to sing my first song

The disciples of Be’elzebutt know that I like to do themes, or sing songs as topical commentary about the goings on in the world. Some of my favorite instances of such that come to mind are when Brett Kavanaugh got nominated to the supreme court, and I dedicated “Guilty Conscience" by Eminem and Dr. Dre to him (with a particular focus on that notorious second verse). In the aftermath of hurricane Maria, I'd dedicate “My Shot" by Lin-Manuel Miranda to “mi familia en Puerto Rico, and to the death of tyrants." I sang a particularly soulful rendition of “Hurt” by Johnny Cash after the death of a friend, and “Basket Case," by Green Day, would loosen me up after a long day at work. In this case, the final night of karaoke, being as it was the end of public singing for the foreseeable future, I started off with “It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" by R.E.M. (as if I could sing anything else under the circumstances).

Those in the know are painfully aware that the KJ at The Trap takes a sizzling-hot minute to queue up your song, as he doesn't ask beforehand what you want to sing. During that time, I offered my first PSA. Having brought up the gloves, wipes, and hand sanitizer, I offered them to anyone in attendance, making a show of wiping down the mics on stage, and letting folks know that I’d leave them on stage for anyone to use. I did a good Michael Stipe, but the song was faster than I remember, and toward the end, quite repetitive. After the umpteenth time of saying “...and I feel fine" I interjected my second PSA, noting that “...if you do feel fine, you may be an asymptomatic carrier, so do please still maintain distance and wash your hands. We’re all in this together!"

I went back to my seat feeling like things might be okay. Who are we as karaoke enthusiasts if not a community, right? I sat, alone, planning my next song, trying to figure out something that appropriately spoke to the apocalyptic nature of things. I was considering Goldfinger's rendition of “99 Red Balloons"; “Five Years" by David Bowie; “Apocalypse Please" by Muse; “Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden; “The Sky is Fallin'" by Queens of the Stone Age; “The Man Comes Around", a favorite of mine, by the good man Johnny Cash; or, most obviously, “Down With the Sickness" by Disturbed. As I compiled that list while watching the crowd around me, the lighthearted, jocular undertones of the End of Things grew darker and deadly serious. I was, as usual, sitting by myself, but this time making it a point to distance myself from others, and thoroughly sanitizing my table and chairs. Everyone else, however, huddled in tight groups without a care in the world, sharing cigarettes, coughing into each others’ mouths, and basically drowning deep in their sea of loathing.

My final song was the second-to-last of the night, before things closed up at midnight. In that time, nobody took any of the gloves I brought. A slim few used the hand sanitizer, while one very drunk bro made a show of jerking the microphone off with the sanitizing wipes. As I said the next day in a facebook post, “This pandemic is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets even a tad bit better," and god fucking damn was that my runner-up understatement of the year. I scrapped all the other songs I was planning to do, pissed at everyone's callous attitude toward our impending doom, and chose a song to channel my apocalyptic anxiety. Like Casandra on the mic, I sang “Twilight of the Thunder God" by Amon Amarth, for indeed, Ragnarök awaited us all. (Pray we may all rise from the ash.)

That was the last time I sang karaoke before lockdown. In that same facebook post I made on the 17th, the #1 understatement of the year was my thought that it was “the last time I'd get to do karaoke for at least a month, probably much more." I thought much more meant…a few months? I couldn’t have imagined I wouldn’t sing for over a year (and counting). The story I cobbled together for Mondo Karaoke #2 is really quite a lot of autobiography for something that's about summoning and becoming a demonic kaiju leveling our wicked world with sonic vengeance. I hope those of you who are sick in the head with the same brain poisoning I have will get a bit of catharsis from reading it, because without a microphone to sing out my rage and anxieties, and being subsumed with raising my baby during the pandemic and never finding enough time to write, this project was absolute deliverance. The demons I was once only able to exorcise through the microphone have been channeled into this absurd Frankenstein’s monster of a story, and to be fair, it only does minimal justice to the agony of the past year. The traumas of Trump, BLM backlash, well over a half-million dead Americans, and agonies too numerous to recount, will require many, many dark nights of karaoke when we can get back to it. May we all rise in those cleansing flames to the dawn of a new day, when it is indeed on the horizon.

In summation, I'd have to first thank Rachel Mulder, who turned me onto the project with her delicious Sunfly erotica piece. Greatest thanks are due to Ira Leigh for laying out this book and my story, and coordinating with me throughout the process. Further thanks to Lily Hudson, the herald of this good ship, who made Mondo Karaoke a reality. But of course, no greater thanks than to my collaborator, my karaoke compadre to the end of times, Monstark, whose demonic images bring this anguish to life.

Finally, I'd like to thank my karaoke homies who kept me afloat through the thick and the thin before the world ended: John Brophy, Brian Perez, Sarah Callsen, and the crew at Baby Ketten; The Wizard of Satanaroke and his ardent disciple Bracket; Patrick Nolan at the Eagle Eye Lounge; and the fine folks rotating through the booth at The Trap and Chopsticks, perennial stages of worship for us lowlifes.

May we all howl together on the mic sooner than later.

Hail Darkness,

- Be'elzebutt, the Hell Bellows

The Ballad of Be’elzebutt Songbook

Comprised of a selection of lyrics from Be’elzebutt’s favorite karaoke standards, with additional prose by the singer.

Lockdown was going into effect at midnight and I was not throwing away my shot (“My Shot” by Lin Manuel Miranda). I knew the risk, but this would be my last chance to get in front of the mic for the foreseeable future, which, is coming on, is coming on, is coming on (“Clint Eastwood” by Gorillaz). “Do you have the time to listen to me whine (“Basket Case” by Green Day)? Look, I know I swear to only give you hot shit every day, but this is serious (“Dangerous” by Busta Rhymes). It’s the end of the world as we know it (“It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” by R.E.M.), and if you feel fine, you may be an asymptomatic carrier, so please use the PPE I brought.” I tried to tell ‘em that god’s gonna cut ‘em down (“God’s Gonna Cut You Down” by Johnny Cash), but they wouldn’t listen.

The situation grew worse. Stuck in a house with unlocked doors, all I could do was sit around and watch the tube, twiddle my thumbs just for a bit, and grow sick of all the same old shit (“Longview” by Green Day, rearranged to fit). I wore the black in mourning for the lives that could’ve been. I wore it for the hundreds of thousands who have died, believing that someone was on their side (“The Man in Black” by Johnny Cash, rearranged to fit). I cursed the oafs in charge—“you, what do you own the world? How do you own disorder, disorder?!” (“Toxicity” by System of a Down) I wanted to scream, but without a mic, nobody cares if you're losing yourself. (Am I losing myself?) (“You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison” by My Chemical Romance)

I wanted freedom, but I’m bound and restricted. I tried to give karaoke up, but I’m addicted. (“Time is Running Out” by Muse, rearranged to fit) You don’t know how far I’d go to ease this precious ache (“Come to My Window” by Melissa Ethridge), I’m making my plans for revenge (“Radio” by Alkaline Trio). I felt the hate rise up in me (“Wait and Bleed” by Slipknot), and thought I ain’t goin’ out like that, ain’t goin’ out like that (“I Ain’t Goin’ Out Like That” by Cypress Hill). All those who would profit from the misery of others, be warned. Wanna resolve things in a bloodier way (“Forgot About Dre” by Dr. Dre & Eminem)? Well, if you try to fuck with me, then I shall fuck you too (“Kickapoo” by Tenacious D)! I opened the Satanaroke songbook and cued up the summoning chant. “Dead I am the one, exterminating son (“Dragula” by Rob Zombie). Devilman, Devilman calling (“Super-Charger Heaven” by White Zombie)! Make me a demolition style, hell American freak (“More Human Than Human” by White Zombie)!” And lo, I went down down down, and the flames went higher (“Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash). Rise, Be’elzebutt, the Hell Bellows!

I no longer govern my soul. I am completely immersed in darkness (“Blood and Thunder” by Mastodon), and it burns, burns, burns (“Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash). I have become the beast that lives inside (“Bloodlines” by Dethklok), I’ll never see this face again (“Obstacle 1” by Interpol). What have I become (“Hurt” by Johnny Cash, from Nine Inch Nails)? Be’elzebutt speaks from within, telling me to infest the world and make your mark (“Bloodlines” by Dethklok). Heed, it commands, heed my will. Bleed, it says, bleed you will (“Bleed” by Meshuggah). Protector of mankind, ride to meet your fate, Ragnarök awaits (“Twilight of the Thunder God” by Amon Amarth)!

I succumb, a villain without remorse (“Twinz (Deep Cover ‘98)” by Big Punisher), realizing that I do not need a microphone, my voice is fuckin’ powerful (“Master Exploder” by Tenacious D)! As one, we howl with the combined anguish of over half a million damned souls. “Finally someone let me out of my cage (“Clint Eastwood” by Gorillaz)! I am complete (“Beelzeboss” by Tenacious D)! This music that I sing for you comes from the depths of hell. Rock and roll’s the devil’s work, and I want you to rebel (“Kickapoo” by Tenacious D)!”

The earth rumbles as the beast rises from the waves (“Twilight of the Thunder God” by Amon Amarth) like a giant juggernaut (“When I Grow Up” by Garbage), as something larger than life (“Cute Without the E (Cut From the Team” by Taking Back Sunday). Mighty in its wrath, the jaws are open wide, its eyes are full of primal hate (“Twilight of the Thunder God” by Amon Amarth, rearranged to fit). Together, we roar “No man of the flesh could ever stop me (“Blood and Thunder” by Mastodon)! My flow’s hot, hostile, wild out of control (“Enter the Ninja” by Die Antwoord). Woo hah!! I got ya all in check (“Woo Hah!! Got You All in Check” by Busta Rhymes)!”

Be’elzebutt surveyed the land with infernal sight, targeting the ghouls who feed off human misery, who let everyone die and closed the karaoke bars, silencing the houses of worship and the prayers of their devotees. We’ll run it over, run them out. Knock their block and terror their town (“I Love NYC” by Andrew W.K.). Though there are things that pull us under and there are things that drag us down, there’s a power and a vital presence that’s lurking all around (“American Jesus” by Bad Religion). Legions of those who yearn to be free marched in the path of the behemoth, causing a nationwide ruckus, making the world stampede (“Woo Hah!! Got You All in Check” by Busta Rhymes).

Fuck authority. Now it’s time to rise against them. We’re sick of the treason, sick of the lies. Feel the rage of a new generation. We’re living, we’re dying, we’re sick and tired of the endless lying. Destroy, enjoy, your fucking world is our new toy. Dominate, eliminate, you’re gonna feel the wrath, wrath of hate (“Fuck Authority” by Pennywise)! I don’t care, care, care if it’s old (“Breed” by Nirvana), the GOP will burn. Crooked cops, nazis, bigots of all sorts—I will make you hurt (“Hurt” by Johnny Cash from Nine Inch Nails), I will defeat you for all mankind (“Beelzeboss” by Tenacious D)! President Dead (“President Dead” by Marilyn Manson), I rub your face off the Earth and curse your family’s children (“Twinz (Deep Cover ‘98)” by Big Punisher). Let me see you get low, you’re scared. You’re scared (“Get Low” by Lil’ John & the East Side Boys)! Bwahahaha, yes, you are fucked. Shit out of luck (“Beelzeboss” by Tenacious D)!

Like sonic lightning, the music is live like an electric shock (“Intergalactic” by Beastie Boys), leaving sycophants and bootlickers scorched amongst the rubble like little brown sausages lying in the sand (“Goin’ Out West” by Tom Waits). Looking upon the righteous destruction wrought, there was much rejoicing. It’s Alpha and Omega’s kingdom come (“The Man Comes Around” by Johnny Cash). Let’s have a black celebration tonight, to celebrate the fact that we’ve seen the back of another black day (“Black Celebration” by Depeche Mode).