Once again, it’s karaoke night. My Sister’s Room is mostly empty when I get there at 8:45, but karaoke doesn’t start until 9:30. I was surprised by how stressful it was driving around Atlanta, and how difficult it was finding parking that was not astronomically expensive. On the outdoor patio, a few dykes play oversized Connect4. The bouncer not only checks my ID at the door but looks into my bag and pats me down.

Mercifully, my PBR is still $3, and the bartender wistfully tells me of a bar in Milwaukee where you can get a PBR, a shot of Jameson, and a cigarette for $5. I tell them I was in Milwaukee a few days ago and they asked if I went to Walker’s Pint and I smile.

Taps line the back bar, and the beer fridge rivals my local liquor store in variety. In addition to the beer cave, MSR also seems to stock every flavor of Ciroc. Old school R&B and rap music videos play on video screens around the bar. The space is huge, two stories plus a patio. The bottom floor is currently closed and seems to be more of a nightclub dancing venue. The upstairs, The Loft Bar, has more tables and seating, designed for chatting and events.

The bartenders are sweet and no-nonsense, LHBs with backward caps and loose black tees. They shout to each other even before the music gets turned up, creating a camaraderie that feels friendly, if a bit frantic.

The crowd when I walk in is mostly Dykes, but as is customary, the gay boys come when the karaoke calls. MSR also serves tacos and fried chicken, and several folks seem to have arrived here early to take advantage of a quick bite.

A pair of hot butches lean against the bar sipping their beers in tight tees and dark jeans. They look how I want to look, strong, hot, and confident, like they could fix my sink and then cook me dinner.

So far, Dykes are outnumbered by non-Dykes, a trend I’ve noticed across the board in the nightclub spaces. MSR’s Instagram identifies them as a “lesbian-queer” bar, but I wonder why Lesbian bars are trending to be more generally queer. No one asks the same of gay bars primarily aimed at gay cis men.  In those spaces, I often feel I stand out as a trans Dyke, but gay men are more than happy to hang out in the Dyke bar for karaoke night.

Is it because “gay” is technically an inclusive term, though it’s still primarily used to refer to gay men? I’m not against queer friendly spaces by any means, and there is a growing movement of using queer as revolutionary shorthand for inclusivity that is baked into a space from day one. But shouldn’t that just mean we open more queer spaces, as well as more lesbian spaces, as opposed to co-opting existing spaces and shifting them to something new?

Speaking of karaoke, the first song of the night is sung by Mars, one of my butch crushes (bushes?) They open with a loving rendition of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” and the bar erupts to sing along with the chorus. Two Dykes two step in the corner, laughing as they misstep.

The patrons are mostly sporting millennial gay street wear; black or brightly colored athleisure, leggings, and $200 sneakers. This is metropolitan casual, not the country casual of Slammers. The crowd is diverse, at least 50/50 BIPOC, if not more. Age skews on the younger side, mostly folks in their 20s.

An otter named Leo does a beautiful tenor performance of Rhianna. So far, both singers are good, which can either set the stage for a fun night or lead to disappointment.

Now that I’ve been to four karaoke nights in ten days, I think all karaoke should open with an upbeat crowd pleaser, sung by an okay singer but not a great one, who has high energy and isn’t afraid to dance along. The second song should be silly and bad, the third can be good, and the fourth can begin to introduce ballads.

There’s a pause in sign-ups and the DJ asks “Who else is ready out there?”

“No one, we’re all scared now!” If you open up with great performers, everyone gets intimidated. As someone who does not sing, I would be way more inclined to occasionally sign up for karaoke if everyone wasn’t so fucking talented all the time.

A group of sporty gays on a queer volleyball team hold court in the center of the room, laughing and encouraging each other to sing. I can’t help but notice they all have incredible asses, go sports!

My Milwaukee bartender has a phone in one back pocket, a plastic fork, church key, and bar rag in the other, and they shout gleefully with the karaoke DJ, trading quips and jabs before they hug. They pass by me and tell me that it warms their heart to see my New Yorker tote bag because they haven’t seen anyone with one since they moved south.

Two older regulars swagger in, greeting the room with warm smiles and bear hugs. The bartender asks, “is it Tito’s time?”

As the night goes on, the fashion begins to split between casual street fashion and club street fashion, a distinction that is hard to explain but if you know, you know. Femmes wear mini skirts and patent leather, brightly colored wigs, and high heels, butches are in slouchy jeans, leather vests, and button-ups. When a true bulldyke walks in with their femme, I want to fall to my knees in gratitude. God bless butches.

There is a beautiful array of Dyke here. Femmes in clear heels, butches in tight white tanks, Gen Z queers embracing gender however they so choose. The crowd actually starts getting slightly older as the night goes on. The bar is majority Dyke, especially as it gets later, but only barely.

Regulars of all kinds walk in with great fanfare, hugging everyone and greeting the bartenders with joy. I can tell this is a place for gathering, reminding me that those kinds of bars don’t always need to be dives. You can have community in a nightclub too.

It’s not as crowded as other karaoke nights I’ve been to on this trip, but it does feel the most community-forward. Everyone seems to know someone else, every newcomer waves at someone they know, walking in like they’ve been here 100 times before.

Groups mingle and shift, taking up residence with one crew before moving on to the next. Especially tonight, this feels like a good place to make friends and flirt.

All of these singers are too damn good. Apparently, all Southern karaoke is characterized by incredible singers. Sure there are missed notes and voice cracks, but the vast majority is belting with the best of them. Are all southerners good singers or is it just more embarrassing to be a bad singer down south, so only good singers sign up? Songs range across the full spectrum, from “Part of Your World” to “WAP.”

Even if the singers aren’t the best, everyone is performing like this is their Madison Square Garden. The crowd is sparse, but it doesn’t feel like it. Everyone is enjoying themselves so much that they seem to take up twice as much space with their energy alone.

It’s almost Pride Week, and MSR has a full schedule of karaoke, beer pong, pride parties, and even a kick-off “Drag ‘Em to the Polls” event with Stacey Abrams. They walk the line of queer celebration and queer liberation, a powerful combination when used correctly.

I escape out to the patio to finish my beer and get roped into playing Connect4 with a group of drunk cuties I was eyeing earlier. I lose every time, no matter what team I’m on, but my new friends don’t seem to mind. They insist I follow them back upstairs while they sing, and I laugh as they twerk on each other while singing “Say My Name.”

Disney Songs: 3

Beyonce Songs: 4

Atlanta, GA