Sweet Daddy Siki at the Duke Of York Inn

For years, Robert Dayton has immersed himself too fully into all things karaoke. Now, we unleash his deeply troubled karaoke experience and expertise to document Toronto’s sing-a-long environments, hosts, and followers that frequent them.

There is an old LP that some record-collecting extremists treasure for the cover sleeve alone. It’s called Sweet Daddy Siki Squares Off Against Country Music. The “Sweet Daddy” in question is former championship professional wrestler Sweet Daddy Siki, and for almost 20 years, he’s been hosting an afternoon karaoke session every Saturday from 3:30 to 7:30 p.m. at the Duke Of York Inn on Queen East. The liner notes of Squares Off pose the question, “Who is the real Sweet Daddy Siki?” And The A.V. Club had to find out just that.

“Well, first of all, he’s irresistible,” Siki responded. “And, unfortunately, happens to be me.”

“Is he Mr. Irresistible?”

“Oh yeah, very much so. As you know, when I was wrestling I was more irresistible at that particular time. I notice today with wrestling—once in a while I watch it—some of the guys get up there and they say little things the way I used to say things. I used to say, ‘I’m Mr. Irresistible, Sweet Daddy Siki, the ladies’ pet, and the man’s regret.’”

“You say that you used to be more irresistible? What changed?”

“What changed? Old Mother Nature. You get a little bit older.”

“You’re still—”

“I know! I get a lot of attention when I walk down the street. Even now. A lot of people recognize me even though I retired in 1987. Luckily, I’m happy to say that I am in The Canadian Wrestling Hall Of Fame. If people would like to see things that I have done in my career all they have to do is look up The Canadian Wrestling Hall Of Fame, Sweet Daddy Siki.”

As a wrestler, Sweet Daddy Siki traveled all over the world. One of his signature moves was “The Beatnik Hangman,” a variation on the neckbreaker. He had some rather suave and graceful gestures in the ring, as well as a trademark of using one or two mirrors. “I had a picture on one side. When I turned it around people would see the picture. But before I turned it around I’m looking at the picture admiring it! Then I turned my picture around—Jesus, that son-of-a-bitch!” Another nod to his vanity was the innovation of lacing his all-white wrestling boots with flashy red side laces.

Country music was always flowing through Sweet Daddy Siki’s blood. During wrestling interviews he would talk effusively about how much he loved it. This resulted in Ben Weatherby, A&R man for Arc Records (Canada’s premier country music label), to approach him about an album. Before that, Siki had never played country music. Arc was a label known for putting out countless Canadian country music albums, but the cover art of Sweet Daddy Siki’s first album distinguishes it. It may well be wildest of the bunch. Not only was Sweet Daddy Siki a black wrestler, but he was now a country music singer as well.

The cover was Weatherby’s idea. Sweet Daddy Siki is portrayed as two personalities facing each other in a split (and obviously pasted together) photo. On one side is his wrestling persona with a flamboyant red and gold robe draping over his shoulders. On the other side, Siki is perched on a wooden bench wearing country and western duds. The two Sikis stare each other down, fixed, as if in eternal contest with one another.

“I listen to this album now and I say, ‘My God, what a lousy album!’” Siki says. “But you know what? You learn as you go. I was shocked when I first heard Conway Twitty’s first recordings. I couldn’t believe it was him! I couldn’t believe it! It didn’t sound nothing like him. You could tell it was really amateur. What he sounded like before he died, what a master, what a voice.”

With his band, Siki toured across Canada and recorded two more albums consisting almost entirely of covers for Arc. He kept to a busy schedule of wrestling and country music (and never the twain did meet, regrettably). He also wrote his own wrestling theme, “The Siki Strut” (as yet unreleased, also regrettably). In 1987 he finally retired from wrestling after a 31-year career, notable for how few injuries he suffered.

“The worst thing that I think happened to me,” Siki recalls. “[Was when] I was wrestling a guy named Hans Schmidt from Germany. He was a tough son of a gun. He kicked me and paralyzed the left side of my face. For 10 weeks I couldn’t even close my eye. I can move it but not as well as the right side. That’s why I don’t smile so much. I could have went a little longer if I wanted to but I didn’t want to do that. Some of the wrestlers, they stick around until you hate ’em, they’re still there! There’s new guys coming in.”

Siki has since hung up his (figurative) spurs as well. Wanting to free himself form the hassles of a touring band, Siki quit the country music game and reinvented himself as a kraoke host. “When I got into karaoke it was almost like I just started wrestling again. I enjoy doing my karaoke. I don’t have to sing. I like singing but I don’t have to. I still like working my machines and doing karaoke.”

The machinery of karaoke surrounds Siki, boxing him in. He’s nested comfortably in front of a large stage that goes unused. This stage is usually reserved for Guns ’N Roses and Van Halen tribute acts that The Duke Of York plays host to, testaments of heightened rock mimicry. Its more supple cousin, karaoke, does not require a separation from the audience. Siki puts the mic stands on the floor, fusing the talent with the crowd.

Corbin Smith

The Duke Of York is a relaxed working class establishment. We could be in rural Canada after a curling bonspiel. This is a large room and even at full capacity, proper heat circulation proves elusive—wear a sweater. A large TV is playing whatever the game happens to be at the moment. Posters of Shania Twain and Bob Marley adorn the walls. Off to one side is a late-era Elvis mural painted in hazy, tropical colours. There used to be a mural of a rifle-toting John Wayne on the front of the building until city councilor Paula Fletcher had it painted over not long after a stray bullet killed a woman outside of the establishment in late 2008. There was loose talk of painting a new mural featuring John Wayne not holding a rifle.

The regulars at Sweet Daddy Siki’s karaoke are a kind lot, good-natured and no-nonsense. Some strong song choices are made all around. “Summertime,” “Summer Wind,” “Amarillo By Morning,” and “Do Right Woman” are just a few of the selections being sung this afternoon. Roger, a bespectacled middle-aged man with a distinctively high, sweet, and smooth voice sings “Your Cheatin’ Heart” and makes it his own. Everyone is wearing a mix of ties, dresses, T-shirts, and jeans. This group is pleasant. They are older, bordering on elderly, mostly seated at two long tables. Unlike other overcrowded nights across town, it’s easy to get more than a couple songs in. The songbook features lots of country, as well as Mariah and some Jay-Z. It’s a decent book that relies on the tried and true laser disc system. For a wrestler, Sweet Daddy Siki takes a softer approach. Although it’s his show, it sometimes proves difficult to hear his voice when he’s announcing.

I asked Sweet Daddy Siki why he loves karaoke so much. “I have a chance to sing any song that I want to sing,” he puts it, plainly enough.

Siki is currently working on his autobiography, which promises to finally reveal his eye-opening story about meeting Stompin’ Tom Connors.

HOTEL CALIFORNIA QUOTIENT (out of 10): 0