Confessions of a Bad, Ugly Singer

"At this point, I think the legal system is a joke, a scam and a disgrace.”

Stunned, the stenographer's eyes protruded out of his skull like the Roadrunner midair. He quickly shifted his gaze to a stoic and silent Judge Arthur Pitts, as if he were waiting for Judge Pitts to respond. I’d later learn from Steven Dyki, my lawyer, this statement in any other circumstance would’ve found me in contempt of court. This wasn't any other circumstance, however.

This was P!NK Tributegate, arguably the world's dumbest lawsuit.

I'd waited two years for my day in court to state the obvious. Nobody in the room could disagree, not even the guy who sued me. Two years of frustration, tears and anxiety erupted, as if I were about to speak in tongues. My previous intention was to choose my words carefully, but there was no reason to be polite here. The witness stand might as well have been a soapbox.

“... I think anyone who works in the legal system needs to pay attention to this case, reflect on this case and reflect what changes to the legal system are needed because this is not okay. IT’S NOT OKAY.”

“What makes you think it’s not okay?” Steven Dyki, my lawyer, was more than just counsel at this point. He was my cheerleader and at times my therapist. He had advised me to let it all out, not hold back and do my best not to swear. In the seedy world of the legal industry, he was one of the good ones. I was still so dumbfounded after two years, struggling on where to even start with this atrocity.

“The fact that me... as an innocent person, who just showed up doing my job to sing music... I could be punished for that. That this man who is a lawyer, who has every advantage over me, he could just file paperwork and keep me in the system... keep me in the system... I don’t understand why there are not procedures in place to make sure that lawyers do not abuse their power. I knew nothing about the legal system when I was sued. This was my education.”

Steven then asked me, “When you were sued, how did that affect you personally?”

“It took over my entire life. I was... I would say probably for the first year in litigation I would wake up every day feeling very violated and feeling angry. I felt like—honestly, I felt like I got raped by the legal system.”

Raped by the legal system. These were strong words and entirely accurate.

Sleep deprived, I was hepped up on Panera Bread coffee and a quest for justice. I’d been up since 4 AM, traveling from Bushwick to Riverhead, New York. It took two trains and a two hour car ride with Steven to get here and I was not amused. I had sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The truth was my presence in the courtroom was bullshit. Everybody knew it. Navigating the dark underbelly of a clogged court system all because I sang "Raise Your Glass" at a bar called Napper Tandy’s one night brought me to a sobering conclusion.

The expression "Anyone can sue anyone for anything" was no exaggeration. It was the unofficial slogan of the United States Legal System.

The numbers in this case were as head-scratching as Common Core math. A $75 gig led to a $10,000,000 lawsuit, a $15,000 legal tab and now I was left with zero fucks to give. How was this even tolerated, let alone taxpayer funded? I couldn’t take the Supreme Court of Riverhead seriously anymore.

I'd never heard of Riverhead, NY prior to getting sued. I never went to Long Island unless I was getting paid. I barely traveled past 14th Street when I lived in the Lower East Side, I was a typical Manhattanite in that respect. It was just so... far. Steven referred to Riverhead as “the end”; not sure if he meant the end of Long Island or the end of civilization. He could have been a comedian in another life as he would find humor in the absurdity of it all, usually as I was falling apart.

I locked eyes with my mystery date of two years, pro se Plaintiff "Chuck." He was a fifty-something, large-in-stature man, with thick brown hair, shifty eyes and an extra crisp blue shirt. Everything about this man screamed “former-Michael-Bolton-drummer-turned-personal-injury-lawyer”. He had the obligatory public access cable style commercial and everything. I’d been waiting for two years to give him a piece of my mind, but I was almost disappointed he wasn’t the monster I imagined. I didn’t hate him, but I hated that I didn’t hate him.

He could have been a comedic B movie screenwriter in another life. The 112-page complaint he served back in April of 2014 at rehearsal read like the secret diary of a 13-year-old mean girl. The rhetoric resembled that of a scathing "do not send" email to an ex lover. Problem was, he hit "send" by filing this case. It would be fair to speculate whether the document was ever meant to be read by a judge in the first place.

Now Chuck had a human face in front of him, it’s possible he may have finally grasped the severity of his actions. Before today, I was nothing more than a YouTube video and a case number. He had been representing himself, so his monetary costs were minimal, which gave him an obvious advantage over me. I however paid $15,000 in legal fees. His case interrupted a real estate deal and my entire career. Today we would be discussing his conduct. For the first time, Chuck had his own lawyer. I heard through the grapevine even his own lawyer said, “Chuck, whadaya doin’?” Nobody thought this was a good idea.

A couple of benches back was Rik, Chuck's former client, band mate, and best friend. The two of them were now the Long Island fifty-something white male equivalent of Nicki Minaj and Maria Carey. These two had serious history. I hadn't seen Rik since the day he and Chuck recruited me into this nonsense that was P!NK Tributegate. I had forbidden him from contacting me. His lowered head nodded in agreement as I ranted. Rik’s hair had grown a foot since I had seen him last. He looked like he hadn’t slept in two years.

At this point in my life I had played over 1000 shows, spanning three decades, in a variety of venues. I played stadiums, prisons, cafeterias and both packed and empty clubs. This was arguably my most important audience. I had a very important message: I wanted every person to know that my presence in the court room was unacceptable. It was an embarrassment to the Supreme Court of Riverhead, but a defining moment in my life when I decided I would no longer be taking shit from people.

If childhood issues repeated themselves, the nonstop bullying from that time was a dress rehearsal for this moment, a Rocky style obstacle course over the arc of forty two years. Instead of metaphorically getting shoved into lockers, I was now shoved into the Suffolk County Courts. The names, insults, and the constant badgering had finally manifested to the point of no return.