Alison Wonderland | Narrative Profile

      Alison Cole needs a kazoo.  This Wednesday at the Old Dog Tavern in Kalamazoo Michigan, Alison plans to sing and play a solo to Hall & Oats' hit "I Can't Go for That (No Can Do)."

     Her old kazoo went missing and she’s hoping to buy a new one, preferably one that says “There really is a Kalamazoo.”  She considered where she could find one downtown while eating a tempura shrimp roll with crab on top from D&W.  She mixed a heaping soup spoon full of wasabi into her gluten-free soy sauce until it turns the color of March sludge grass. She lit an incense on her counter and her rainbow striped dress which shows off her rainbow butterfly tattoo on her left breast smells like nag champa. 

     "I'll have the song down by this week, no problem."

     When her weekly shift starts at the Tavern, Alison passes out a song list with over 300 options she knows by heart. No lyrics, no back-up music, just her and a wireless microphone.

     In 2001, Alison opened her singing bartender act at Francois' Seafood & Steak House in Kalmazoo. She quickly gained a loyal following singing through a self-operated mic-pack while working both behind the bar and across the restaurant floor. She makes drinks, gets change, writes your order and brings your food all while singing a song requested by the diners. 

     “I even play instruments back there too. Harmonica, tambourine, shaker. Sort of like a human jukebox.  I can actually write words while I’m singing in front of a crowd. I’m singing “Walking After Midnight” and trying to write down chicken pizza. You know? By the end of the first night I had it down. I have this amazing ability to absorb information. I didn’t even know it was a gift. But I probably know lyrics to a thousand songs.” 

     Several years after opening her act, Alison was let go when Francois’s wife didn’t allow her to claim her tips from credit cards that hadn’t been punched into the machine. 

     “It was so retarded because I was the best employee. I was the manager on duty, waiting on everybody—servers would stand in the back and talk to each other while I was busting my ass and singing at the same time” she said. “It was two days before Christmas and I just told her I thought it was wrong. And she said ‘I have to make an example out of you.’ And I said ‘well, I don’t think so.’”

     The next Wednesday when she would have been singing at Francois’, Alison had a new gig at Nick’s. The place was packed and Francois was empty. Later she went on to Louie’s, then The Strutt and now she has arrived at Old Dog and has been singing under the giant hanging canoe, stuffed moose head and taxidermied weasels for a year and a half. 

     When the Strutt closed, Alison was sought out by the owner of Old Dog Tavern. Her fans still followed, including her favorite groupie, Mustang Sally, an 87 year-old who woman who sometimes sings along with Alison and accidentally went to Woodstock and hated it. 

     “It was a natural progression. I’m even singing the same time, same night. Didn’t screw anything up with the regulars. They were like ‘Okay, next week we’ll be over at Old Dog.”

     As the only singing bartender on the Westside of Michigan, Alison has found some resistance to her schtick, especially among her fellow bartenders. 

     “I’ve had girls be really snotty to me and they don’t want to accept me behind the bar. It’s real territorial behind the bar. Most bartenders are that way. But they always kind of fail to figure out that I was bringing in so much business.” 

     When working at the bar, Alison would split tips with the other waitresses. A fellow bartender who had bullied her apologized years later, siting that after Alison quit, she made $30 on a good night when should would have been making $200 during her act. 

     “I’m a pretty damn good bartender. I’ve bartended for 23 years. But I’ve been singing my whole life.”

     Alison’s childhood was jammed with music.  On their first date, her mother and father went to see the Beatles in 1964. They were 14.  

     “My mom said people were going ape-shit. She would have too but she didn’t want to look silly in front of my dad.”

     The window seat in Alison’s living room is brimming with old and new records, including The Beatles, all in their original cases, siting next to her mother’s old record player. 

      “My mom used to listen to record players when I was a kid on vinyl. I’d watch Annie, and I wanted to be Annie. And the Wizard of Oz was the first song I ever sang, ‘Over the Rainbow.’ And I just wanted to be her, them.”

      She got her stage name, Alison Wonderland, after she split from her band “Two Peas and a Blonde.” After she divorced from her husband and died her hair brown, she couldn’t keep the old name. 

      “I picked that name because when I was a little girl my mom and dad took me to go see Alice in Wonderland, and I thought it was two words—I couldn’t read yet. And so I thought her name was Alison Wonderland. I’m not sure if it totally fits who I am now but it did at the time.” 

      Alison doesn’t think she has any problems in her life. She believes her purpose, more than anything, is to spread joy across the planet, bartending and singing, teaching pilates Monday through Friday and doing good around Kalamazoo. 

      “I’ve been thinking more about how am I to people, how do I treat people. I feel like we focus too much on jobs. ‘Cause I don’t have a lot of money and I don’t have insurance and I’m raising two teenagers.”

      But Alison feels like eventually it will pay off. 

      “I’m being my authentic self. I’m doing what I love instead of something that I feel obligated to do. And I can do it with a lot of joy and it’s just, I don’t think I have any idea of how being that ripple effect for people comes back to you. It comes back to me in beautiful ways.”

      Because of Alison’s desire spread joy, she has found karma in abundance, from free passes to her favorite shows, being asked to emcee festivals, free beer, free food, a plus one. She puts together random acts of kindness from wiping snow off of a strangers car at the gas station to writing letters on Valentine’s Day and sticking them under windshield wipers. 

      “It comes in a bunch of different ways, the abundance. Like parking places. I always get front parking places. And I feel like that’s a reward from the universe.”

      Before settling down in Kalamazoo and becoming a figure in the bar-scene, Alison wanted to move to L.A. and become a famous singer. But at 25, things shifted.  During the summer Alison worked with her future husband on Mackinaw Island at Mission Point, a college that only lasted for four years. 

      “He was totally cute and fun. And then I got pregnant. It happened quick.”

      “He was like ‘Oh shit. I have to get it together. I have to have a family. I have to make money. And that was it. He just went off into corporate America and wanted to achieve. He wrapped his self worth in achieving and he made money his goal.” 

     After twelve years of marriage, bartending was Alison’s first real step away from her ex-husband and the kids. 

      “I stayed because I thought a house at the end of the cul-de-sac with a mini-van, with two adorable children and cable T.V. made you the American dream. And I literally thought if this is the American dream, it is a nightmare for me, and someone needs to wake me up. This is not what I bargained for. I am frickin’ miserable. And then when I chose me, everything just unfolded.” 

     Now Alison has lived alone for the past five years, sharing custody with her ex-husband. 

      “I would say every single part of my life is evolving and changing and growing and abundant and full of wealth and happiness and joy. That one piece of him—he’s my biggest teacher. And not the kind of teacher that you love. We’re talking patience and forgiveness and detachment. I get so angry at him. It’s a terrible out of control feeling. But I’m trying to get better at it. He’s my kids’ dad. What’re ya gonna do? Murder him? No. I don’t want to go to jail. Got too much important shit to do. Can’t be screwing around with him. Can’t let him fuck up my life that way. No one has the power to control your life but you. I actually prayed for him today. For him to be happy. To love himself.”

       Over a decade later, Alison realizes she put her life on hold for her husband, except for raising the kids. But her lack of degree and experience didn’t stop her. She believes she created her own happiness. 

      “My friends who are woking in corporations hate it. They’re fat. They don’t take care of themselves. They don’t have any time to enjoy their kids, to enjoy their life. And they wouldn’t even consider doing anything for themselves. Because that’s too indulgent. They’re doing laundry. Like hell no. I will have five jobs and make it work in my life so that I can still be with my kids and my friends and be happy now.”

       People in Kalamazoo feel Alison’s positive vibe. Some have even suggested she run for Mayor someday. 

       “The truth of the matter is I’m not exactly sure if I want to be the mayor of Kalamazoo but maybe I should just say, the Kalamazoo Ambassador. I like that title better so that I don’t have to know about politics or any of that crap.”

Word Count: 1696
Intended Publication: MLive or Kalamazoo Gazette