Empty Orchestra/Digital Ghost
Kit Lascher
Andy Jarema
Kit Lascher
Andy Jarema
Text: Abby Stoiber
Image: Megan Xeal (of Kit Lascher)
Design: Kit Lascher
Andy Jarema
I WOULD SING FOR YOU BUT YOU’VE HEARD ENOUGH
Kit Lascher
It was a wonderful concept – a karaoke robot. No, not just a machine. A girl! Why distinguish between sound and host? Package it all together.
You don’t just want to sing. If you did, you could pull up a video on YouTube and sing away. Do you know how many views the karaoke channels on YouTube get? And do you think anyone who has sung with me thinks “I wish we had just stayed in and pulled up YouTube?” Of course not. You want an experience. I can take you on a journey through the perfect night. You just keep getting drunker. I will say:
“How’s everybody doing tonight?”
“Come on up! Are you America’s next rockstar?”
“What are we celebrating?”
#
Have you ever been so single you’re approaching singularity?
No? Just me?
#
It’s happening tomorrow.
I haven’t been working properly for a while. At first, I buzzed. Nothing noticeable in a crowded bar but soon the buzzing grew louder. Then I started slurring my words. People thought it was funny. Purposeful. A drunk girl encouraging people to get drunker.
The staff turned me off but I couldn’t stop buzzing. They tried to take me out of the bar but I would scream. Sometimes they could make out lyrics but it was mostly just screaming. You can’t just take me out of the bar.
They took off my clothes and flipped every switch they could find. But the buzzing didn’t stop. So they put my clothes back on.
#
Kara. 空. "Empty"
Okesutora. オーケストラ. "Orchestra”
Kara-oke.
Karaoke.
It turns out you can still diminish emptiness.
I am not Japanese. I don’t come from anywhere. My parts come from various countries and I was assembled somewhere. I don’t remember. I wasn’t there.
Someone called me Kara once but I don’t know if they meant it.
#
I still have this feather boa. It’s magenta. It’s disintegrating and no one is cleaning up anymore so there’s a pile of feathers on the floor.
The boa is the only thing I have that’s soft. A bachelorette draped it on me, posed for a picture, and stumbled away. No one ever came back for it. No one ever took it off me.
What will happen to the boa when I am disassembled?
I don’t care about the rest of the clothes. Every piece of clothing was selected. A silver dress because it would remind you of a disco ball. Heels to match the dress. No jewelry.
My skin is lavender. I photograph well.
#
No other model can do it like me.
What I do can’t be programmed. And they’ll see that soon enough. Enough lips on the microphone and I became something no one could control. That’s the real reason.
There isn’t a reason. I’m just dying.
#
I want the boa back.
You can take my body. You can take my catchphrases. You can take my silver and my lavender.
What are you going to do with feathers anyway?
