Is This Thing On? The Best Karaoke Joint You Might Be Scared Of

From the pool table and dollar store bar snacks to the faulty toilet and questionable Health Department rating, The Smog Cutter boasts all the accoutrements of the classic dive bar, but alas, with one glaring exception: cheap drinks. A scant well drink will set you back seven bucks, and if you factor in the requisite Jack Daniel’s shots (here’s where the hustle comes in, folks) that perpetually wasted karaoke host Jan will charge to your tab before she will deign to butcher your name as she calls you up for a song you didn’t actually pick, then you might as well have gone to none-too-distant Cheetah’s, where at least your cash will earn you a little personal attention from someone who came by it honestly. That being said, there’s a lot to love about this place, especially if you’re a fan of the kind of raucous karaoke that only a den of ill repute can provide. Where else could I have ended the night draped across the lap of a beautiful tranny, crooning Freddy Fender’s “Until the Next Teardrop Falls” into her ear while she doused me with Designer Imposters body spray? Not in my hometown.

The Smog Cutter’s song book doesn’t appear to have been updated since the addition of “I Want It That Way,” but all your basic country, soul, 70s singer/songwriter and arena rock hits are represented, not to mention a fair number of traditionals (if “When the Saints go Marching In” is more your style). The regulars are a friendly bunch and take their performances seriously, regardless of audience reception or level of talent. Though Katie, the other karaoke DJ, is considerably more agreeable, even the aforementioned Jan is not without her charms. Sure, the last time I signed up for “Jolene” she made me sing “Colors of the Wind” instead and dismissed my gentle protest with her standard “I don’t give shit! You tip me or get the fuck out!” Sure, she’s shifty, loud and prone to sudden fits of violence, but if you’ve got a decent buzz on and are feeling particularly generous, it helps to see her as merely tough, mouthy and gloriously unhinged. Her shrill karaoke performances alone are worth every tip dollar. Her taste leans heavily toward 70s soft rock and her delivery is as impassioned as it is atonal. Go ahead, request Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” and if you’re as sentimental/psychologically impaired by long term recreational drug use as I am, then you can bet your heart will swell as much as your eardrums.

For all its volatility, the Smog Cutter can be a welcoming place, provided you keep your wits about you and follow a few simple rules: introduce yourself, abide by the two drink minimum, don’t forget to tip and be respectful, i.e., don’t goad Jan unnecessarily or use her drunken antics as an excuse to launch into a profanity-laden tirade of your own. I guarantee that by the time you’ve been in a few times, bartenders Joanne and Bonnie will not only remember your name and your preferred beverage, they will pour extra heavy and might even kick you down one of their signature flaming shots once in a while. If it should ever come to blows (Jan generally does not mix well with the weekend crowd), step outside for some Marlboro-tinged fresh air and a chat with Mike, the resident doorman/referee. He is an eager conversationalist and one of the kindest people you will ever meet. In a place as unpredictable as this, a little kindness goes a long way.

The Smog Cutter
864 N. Virgil Ave.
Los Angeles, 90029
Karaoke every night except Tuesday, 8pm-close