Punk Rock returns to the East Village, and you are the star.

We were out at The Hat on Stanton Street. It was Roz Man’s birthday, so there were frozen margaritas and lots of them, plus those fajitas so smoky you start to cough. When we were done we had to wait for the G-man to stop arguing with his girlfriend before we could move on. I suggested we head over to Arlene Grocery, a local club that often has good music, and is always free.

A guy was up there singing power-pop. It wasn’t that bad. We had another beer and watched the next band, called Punk Karaoke, set up. It took us a little while to realize that Punk Karaoke wasn’t a band, rather an event.

The act works just like it sounds. An opportunity for the audience to perform live the greatest hits of the Sex Pistols, New York Dolls, Ramones, Dead Kennedys, Misfits, you name it. The hook is that it’s a live band, not some cheesy pre-recorded tape. And the band cooks. Led by New York musicians Rob Kemp (bass), Devin Emke (guitar), and Dave Richmond (drums), the group is tight and professional and sounds as good as the gloriously simplistic source material will allow.

The emcee, an impish punk named Owen Comaskey (former lead singer of the Nervous Kind, who were a big deal in the U.K. back in the day) struts onstage with all the swagger of John Lydon. An abrasive clown, taunting the audience and wait-staff, in a straightedge suit and short hair, full-on no-foolin’ working class English accent. He’s got the sign-up sheet in his hand, with the band’s repertoire and lyrics if you’ve forgotten them. After some stage pitter-patter, he launches into a stunningly urgent and unsentimental “God Save The Queen.” He does a ludicrous dance: a cross between Chuck Berry’s “duck walk” and the Bangles’ “walk like an Egyptian.” He lets it be known: we’re here to have fun.

After the number ends Owen starts hopping around some more, telling jokes, then calls the first person up. A quiet person with friends, the guy stands still and giggles his way through “I Wanna Be Sedated.” He’s planted like a tree and embarrassed, but he sounds good. It’s impossible to screw up a Ramones song. Another guy, regular lookin’ dude in one of those sheer Nike jogging outfits, gets up and tears his vocal cords to bits on Motohead’s “Ace of Spades.” He, too, has a posse, including a 6-foot tall busty chick wearing a Metallica T-shirt whose so frightening, I swear, she could be Lucy Lawless’ stunt double. She’s screaming and bouncing up and down and all over the place as this junior accountant loses his mind doing his Lemmy. It’s really something.

Owen then gave a punk reading of Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne.” Or as much as he remembered, anyway. Finally my name gets called: “’Offman! “’oo is ‘Offman! We’re waiting for fecking ‘Offman.” I selected “I Fought the Law,” which was reworked punk style on the first Clash album. I get up on stage, lights in my face, I can’t see my friends, and, wow, this is what it’s like to be a hard-working rock star! I’m handed a sheet of paper with the lyrics, the count’s in, and there’s a wall of noise. I can’t hear a thing. When I think it’s my cue, I start in, “I’m breaking rocks in the hot sun--“

The bassist shouts--“You wait for the cue!”

Apparently I missed the cue. The bass player looked mean and angry. I was scared of him. I turned and saw Owen, who was ready to give the cue. He even sang backup on the chorus. A real professional.

I finally got into my groove and started shrieking and screaming like an idiot. When it was done, Owen smiled and berated everyone for not applauding fast enough.

A few days later I was lucky enough to meet with Owen, the story of which follows.

Click here to read the interview.