A Talent for Twang

Nobody batted an eye when a newcomer walked into the Cowboy Palace Saloon. True, it resembles a real honky-tonk--right out of a Clint Eastwood film--down home and dim lit, with red vinyl booths, a lot of old wood and enough neon Budweiser signs to fill a beer factory. A row of boots lines the bar, a string of Stetsons hangs on a wall.

But this is the ‘90s version of a honky-tonk. Urbane cowboys with trim mustaches mix or mingle with women in miniskirts and Justin boots, amid the hefty, belt-buckled types shooting darts up front. Women converse comfortably at tables in twos and threes. Nobody’s hustling anybody.

And seven nights a week--since current owner Bob Rustigian took over in 1991--something else is going on. There are novelty contests for jackets, boots and other prizes, plus “complimentary grub” on Mondays, late-night Hungry Hour on Tuesdays and a complimentary barbecue on Sundays, among other things. And nightly dance lessons, of course.

Wednesday Talent Nightis one of the most popular, judging by the mob at only 9 p.m. recently. Talent nights go back forever here, according to Rustigian, who was standing by the bar, but now it’s a big deal. Each week a $100 prize is awarded to the first-place winner, who gets to compete with the last 12 weeks’ winners in the Talent Winners Challenge, offering a prize of $500 or more to the champion.

“See this one?” said Rustigian, pointing to a sultry-looking brunet pictured on the cover of a CD titled “Honkytonk Heaven, Recorded Live at the Cowboy Palace.”

“She’s in Nashville now, signing a contract. This band leader’s in Nashville writing songs, and this one is on a European tour. Mark Sellers, just elbows away, is now singing commercials.”

No wonder the hopefuls hanging out by the back entrance emitted a sense of excitement as the talent show band, the Rutherford Ranch Hands, revved up the crowd with some rocked-up, new-sounding country.

Promptly at 9:30, Mark Marino, lead guitarist and the night’s emcee, announced the first entrant.

“Put your hands together for--Kelly!” he boomed as a good-looking guy in sleekly fashionable black vest and boots jumped up to croon Garth Brooks’ “If Tomorrow Never Comes” with surprising skill. The voice could almost have been coming over the airwaves.

“They don’t get any better than that!” Marino exclaimed.

Well, they do and they don’t.

“Bob gives everybody an open mike. Whether you’re amateur or semi-pro, good, bad or indifferent, you have a chance here,” confirmed Jake Harris, a mustachioed long-timer and sometime judge, who works as a set builder at Universal Studios.

Kelly was followed by a blond in a rhinestone-studded vest who embellished Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You” with more than a few pop flourishes, and--”back again this week!”--Jose, in head-to-toe black, injecting a, well, eccentric Latin trill into John Fogarty’s “Rock and Roll Girl.” Next, a young woman sang “Danny Boy,” throwing the line-dance contingent into momentary confusion.

Actually, the dancers, who comprised fully half the house, were nearly as entertaining as the music. Amazingly agile--the obvious result of all those lessons--they seemed to know a dance for each song (“Everybody on this side for the Funky Slide!” yelled Mark).

Frank, in a 48-star flag shirt, burst onstage with a rapid-fire rendition of Garth Brooks’ “Ain’t Goin’ Down Till the Sun Comes Up” and propelled the dancers into one hip-swivelin’, boot-scootin’ country chorus line. Ditto the Billy Ray Cyrus look-alike who did “Cowboy Boogie,” an oldie by today’s fast-paced country standards.

Then, a small woman in a red dress sang Patsy Montana’s oldie, “I Want to Be a Cowboy’s Sweetheart.” Next up was Red Benson, who picked a nice, jingly-jangly guitar and pleasantly sang “Early Morning Rain.” By then the line dancers and the band, whose forte seemed to be mostly post-Garth Brooks, were all in a muddle.

Meanwhile, a front tier of listeners--friends and fans or competitors--stood just off the dance floor, cheering on or putting down the entrants. Once in a while, one would happen by a nearby table to cajole two women intently marking sheets of paper.

“So you don’t know if she won yet?” a guy asked about a voluptuous woman who had been on earlier.

“She hit some sour notes, but I gave her five points for appearance,” said the first scorekeeper, a cheerful woman named Ruth Eldridge. Eldridge and her friend Carol Morawetz are longtime club-goers here and two of the more reliable judges, chosen, in part, by virtue of their willingness to do it.

“We come every night anyway,” said Eldridge. “We know the scene.”

Morawetz was even seen taking frequent whirls on the dance floor.

“But we’re both careful about dancing with the talent, because people could think we’re playing favorites,” said Eldridge, adding that pressure has to be resisted from “some very loud fans.”

“They don’t realize that it’s not just about singing. It’s about showmanship, too!”

About half of the 17 aspirants, judging by crowd comments, were talent-night vets--frequent entrants, even weekly regulars.

Take Bill “B.C.” Ryder, a mellow-mannered, T-shirted fan of Jerry Garcia, Kris Kristofferson and Bob Dylan. He scored a proud second place once with “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” and ever since has been trying to top, or even duplicate, that success.

By around 11, the buzz at the bar said the favorite was Jim Parrish, a tall, bespectacled Valley Village actor--and now-and-then entrant--who delivered a tear-drenched version of the Alabama ballad “Of Course I’m All Right” in a dramatically full-throated tenor that rang to the rafters. He plays his own keyboards, too.

Then, out of the shadows came Craig Jensen, in outlaw-style buckskin shirt, with blond curls halfway down his back. He brought his own band, the Lonesome Dogs.

From the moment he opened his mouth, Jensen seemed to have it all: voice, style, song. He drawled a slow-building country rocker (his own) about a freight train, a wanderin’ rebel and something about “drivin’ wimmin insane,” in a voice so full of twang and soul, it sent onlookers scurrying for comparisons.

“David Allen Coe!” asserted “Kiwi Phil,” a New Zealander who won three weeks before with a Charlie Rich standard.

“Merle Haggard--or Hank Jr.!” offered his pal on the sidelines.

Still, nothing was certain. At 11:40 the tallies were in and the long wait for the winners was at hand.

“Well, whad’ya know--we have lots of ties! Drum roll, puh-lease,” said Marino, drawing out the suspense. From behind a post, Parrish waited, looking wan and tired.

Finally, it was announced that the second-place winners were Kelly Seidel and Kevin, who sang “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

Then, with more fanfare, the first-place winners turned out to be--to no one’s surprise, and some sense of justice--Jim Parrish and Craig Jensen. They will now compete with the last 12 weeks’ winners in Wednesday’s finals.

Moments later, standing out back with his Lonesome Dogs band, Craig Jensen happily expressed surprise over the win.

“Cause we really just came out here to play, and get our music out there,” said Jensen, a South Carolinian now living in Burbank. “What we do is not exactly what you hear on the radio. But this kind of validates that we’re onto something good.”

As for Parris, he said his heart is in pop country. And, echoing every winner that ever was, allowed, “It’s not about winning, it’s just about getting up there and doing it.”

The losing entrants, as they straggled out past smiling glossies of Clint Black, Travis Tritt and a brooding Dwight Yoakam, didn’t seem so sure.

But like B.C. Ryder, they’ll probably all be back to try again.

BE THERE

Cowboy Palace Saloon, 21635 Devonshire St., Chatsworth. Talent Winners Challenge at 9 p.m. Wednesday. No cover. (818) 341-0166.