It’s a packed Wednesday night at Handlebar in Kensington Market. A man in head-to-toe yellow — from Nike Air Force Ones to a mop of bottle-blond hair — works silently on a stage near the back. He’s twiddling knobs, checking reverb levels on microphones and trying to get a projector’s image to manifest just right.
Patrons start trickling over to deliver small slips of paper, scribbled with spells that will grant them unadulterated bliss in the form of a three-and-a-half minute pop song. The spellcaster is Mike Gabel, the self-proclaimed “head honch” of Hot Breath Karaoke, and he’s here to give you the best karaoke night of your life.
Toronto is rich in karaoke nights, with more pubs and clubs adding them by the week, but few spark the fervent devotion enjoyed by Hot Breath. Its many regulars evangelize about it to anyone who’s karaoke-curious, speaking in rapturous tones about its unmatched energy and healing properties.
“People tend to think of karaoke as (singing with) a couple of friends,” says actor Chris Sandiford, a self-professed karaoke snob who’s been belting at Hot Breath since 2017. “This is karaoke where all the letters are capital. This is a party.”
That euphoric energy stems from Gabel, 51, who has been leading karaoke nights for more than two decades. While many karaoke hosts are content to hit play, then scroll on their phone until it’s time to queue the next track, Gabel is an always-present force: part emcee, part DJ, part hype man shouting backing vocals. If he’s really feeling your track, he’ll bust out his custom toilet paper gun (a leaf blower with a paint roller taped to it) that strews TP all over the bar like streamers.
Gabel also has a knack for guiding the myriad personalities onstage, from divas to wallflowers, to keep the queue moving. On particularly busy nights, he might announce a “lightning round” and play songs at double speed.
“Performance isn’t something that the average person gets to experience,” says Gabel, whose goal is to “create an environment where someone feels safe enough to truly let go.” Gabel whips the crowd into a frenzy and celebrates anyone brave enough to step onstage. “All forms accepted” is Hot Breath’s motto and Gabel tirelessly enforces it.
“If someone is doing something special onstage, he picks it up right away and draws attention to them,” says Sarah Kilpack, a personal support worker who’s been a Hot Breath regular since 2018.
Hot Breath crowds are likely to see countless “special” happenings on any given night: crowd surfing, impromptu strip shows or, in one instance, a proposal. Steve Fisher, a naval reserves recruiter and longtime Hot Breath fan, recalled a holiday edition in which he and Gabel performed the legendarily strange David Bowie and Bing Crosby version of “Little Drummer Boy,” complete with Bowie and Crosby puppets.
Hot Breath is also beloved for its left-field variants. Once a year, Gabel buys 100 slices of white bread and 50 slices of American cheese and makes grilled cheese sandwiches on a hot plate for performers. (The length of the song equals the length of time it’s cooked, so avoid “Total Eclipse of the Heart” unless you like your sandwiches blackened.) Then there’s “cardioke,” in which singers perform while riding an exercise bike. “I’m always worried someone is gonna die,” Gabel admits.
Hot Breath wasn’t always the best karaoke night in Toronto. It used to be the best one in East London, where Gabel lived after moving from Vancouver in the early 2000s. Gabel plied his trade as an indie sleaze Renaissance man, making custom lowrider bikes and selling neckties made of human hair. One night, he stumbled across a karaoke night run by an eccentric Scottish couple called Tommy Sideburns and the Lovely Avril.
Gabel had never done karaoke before, but from that night on, he and his wife became devoted regulars, often dueting on “Purple Rain.” One day in 2004, Tommy and Avril announced they were moving to the Canary Islands. At first, Gabel was devastated. Then he seized the opportunity: he started his own karaoke night, which originally had a game show format with a giant prize wheel. It became, he says, “super popular, very quickly.”
Over the next 11 years, Hot Breath was a staple event for hip East London crowds. But by 2015, gentrification pushed Gabel out of England’s capital. He ended up in Toronto. At first, he wasn’t happy about it. He deeply missed London and was struggling to create interest in his rebooted Hot Breath at Handlebar. In those early days, he went home early most nights.
Out of desperation, he took a job as a wedding cake delivery driver. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. “That job opened up the city to me,” explains Gabel, who discovered Toronto’s strange nooks and crannies on his routes. Gabel also discovered something about its residents: Torontonians are obsessed with karaoke. “In London, karaoke wasn’t really a thing, but people in Toronto will do karaoke at the drop of a hat. They go nuts.”
Today, Hot Breath is as popular as it’s ever been. The standing Wednesday night at Handlebar remains; there are also monthly appearances at Houndstooth on College and Comedy Bar Danforth. There’s rarely a night where Gabel clocks out before 2 a.m., and he sometimes fields more than 60 requests in the first half-hour. But even as the night grows in popularity, and singers might only get to do one song these days, the diehards who make up the backbone of Hot Breath remain loyal.
“I once looked into getting Mike nominated for a key to the city,” says Sandiford, “but the process, to my chagrin, was much more arduous than I expected. But I still stand by my initial effort and opinion that Mike is wholly deserving of one!”
Even as all those late nights add up for a man now in his early 50s, Gabel is planning to ride this bus until the wheels fall off. “I’ve tried to get away from it for years,” Gabel says, before taking a pregnant pause. “But it always comes back to karaoke. I’ve come to terms with that.”
Gabel’s commitment goes back to his love of creating an accepting community. “It’s great to see people coming together because I don’t think you see that a lot. When you get up there, you’re a bit vulnerable, but the crowd’s got you,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
