Published
in Issue 3 of This Elegant Chaos magazine, 2002.
by
Barbara Welton
Every now and then, it can be beneficial to engage in an activity as far removed from your norm as possible - just to remind yourself why it is you do what you do, why you are who you are.
Recently,
the boy and I attended a birthday party for his friend Dan. "I have to
call him on his mobile," explained the boy, "I don't know where it is
yet. I just hope they haven't gone the karaoke option". The phonecall was
to confirm the boy's worst suspicions - we were headed for the Shanghai Club,
Chinatown. Destination: Karaoke.
Now,
I quite often trot along to the Greyhound Hotel in St Kilda to enjoy their
regular Sunday night "Kooky Karaoke". It's a hoot. They have cool
songs, sung by cool people, it's a laugh a minute, it takes the piss
continuously, it's pub-based and St Kilda-based, it has punk attitude by the
bucketload, it used to be hosted by Anthony Morgan, now it's hosted by Fred
Negro, it - in other words - fuckin' ROCKS. Unfortunately, as I was to find
out, this is clearly not how karaoke is meant to be.
We
arrived at the Shanghai and proceeded upstairs to be confronted by a couple of
very unsmiling door-ladies. We didn't know where we had to go and they didn't
know where to send us. Another phonecall to Dan's mobile made him appear at the
far end of the room, beside the stage where a couple of people were warbling to
their heart's content to an almost empty auditorium. Hugs and kisses and Happy
Birthdays and then Dan led us through a rabbit warren of "private"
karaoke suites. I had never before known that such venues existed. Dozens of
little sound-proofed rooms with big sofas and dark mood lighting - the thought
occurred to me that it was not unlike being in a well appointed brothel. I
fully expected to see middle-aged men getting a rub'n'tug behind the smoky
glass of the suite doors as we passed. Oh yes. Karaoke Knocking Shops - that's
JUST what the world needed!
The
sound proofing must've been pretty good, because the noise and volume on the
other side of Door Number Six was quite considerable. We squeezed onto the
sofa, organised some drinks (a waitress keeps popping in every fifteen minutes
or so to clear glasses and take orders) and spent the next four or more hours
valiantly avoiding the microphones - a shy or tone-deaf person's version of
Pass the Parcel or Hot Potato.
Karaoke
Observation One. Practically
all of the "videos" entail a male model and a female model cuddling
in a garden setting. This is utterly regardless of whatever the song playing
over the top of them may or may not be about. The thought dawns on me that
there is this entire karaoke industry that I've never known about - not just
the venues and the hardware manufacturers but the production companies, the
models, the film crews, the musicians and arrangers, the text typers. How many
people around the world are being employed because of
this
torturous Japanese version of gathering around the ol'Joanna for a knees up and
a singalong? There must be entire agencies specialising in karaoke video models
- it must be the new porn industry for all those thousands of young acting
hopefuls who never quite make it. Once of a day, they would have ended up on
their knees or their backs, now they end up in karaoke videos, cuddling in a
garden setting while drunk party-goers monotone "My Heart Will Go On"
over the top of them. (I know which *I* think is the more demeaning of the
two.) I'm surprised "Friends" hasn't had a storyline in which Joey
Tribiani lands a gig in one of these things.
Karaoke
Observation Two. Now I know
the answer to the question "Whatever happened to Air Supply?".
Karaoke
Observation Three. The
industry must be run by people who know nothing about the music and songs from
which they're piggy-backing/making their fortunes. The song selector at the
side of the giant wide-screen Sony television had hardly any artist names
listed. Most of the selections had the word "Unknown" beside the song
titles. And I'm not talking obscure songs that you can forgive someone for not
knowing the writer of, either, I'm talking "American Pie" by Unknown,
"Yesterday" by Unknown, "Pretty Woman" by Unknown.
Karaoke
Observation Four. I am a
punk and I don't belong here. I know so few - so very, very few - of these
songs that the entire event is akin to a major revelation for me. I think the
longest stretch was something like seven songs in a row that I simply Did Not
Know. When we got to Phil Collins' "One More Night" I almost greeted
it like an old friend - At last! A song I've heard of! THAT'S how sick and
twisted and downright WRONG this all is - it makes schmaltzy, overwrought MOR
ballads sung by middle-aged ex-prog rock bozos sound half-alright because at
least they're not schmaltzy, overwrought MOR ballads sung by Ken Doll-esque boy
bands or anorexic wives of record company executives.
Karaoke
Observation Five. "Puff
the Magic Dragon" works surprisingly well sung in a reggae / Jamaican
'toasting' style.
Karaoke Observation
Six. The vast majority of
people who enjoy this activity clearly have no ears. They clearly CANNOT HEAR
THEMSELVES. And they clearly don't have any real friends - because *real*
friends would surely stop you from making such a fucking arse of yourself in
public. ("What sort of friend are you? Would *you* let a mate set your
teeth on edge, turn milk and bring dogs running from miles around by attempting
to sing in public?") This wasn't quite so evident in our private little
part of the knocking shop - we actually had a few fine voices among our party.
But the toilets were in the main part of the venue and I was drinking VB and
consequently had to make many trips over the course of the evening, getting to
hear a lot of the other customers in this den of voice and indignity. Oh. My.
God. Those people were BAAAAAAAAAD.
And
I don't mean "bad" in any sort of hip, dude, "Yeah! I'm bad! You
know it!" kind of way. I mean they were BAAAAAAAAAD. I really, really
don't fucking get it. I don't understand how anybody finds this sort of thing
fun. I find I can only make sense of it by reminding myself that karaoke was
thrust cruelly upon the world by the same country that turned torture and
ritual humiliation into endurance quiz shows. It kinda makes sense then...
Karaoke
Observation Seven.
Drink. It's the only way. When you think you've drunk enough - drink more.
All
that aside, I actually had a decent time. As I said earlier, it can be
beneficial now and then to do something that's so outside your usual range of experience
that it reaffirms for you everything about who you are and why you do the
things you do. It can even help make you feel good about your life, secure in
the knowledge that you're being true to yourself and living a life that's right
for you.
I
don't fit in at a karaoke knocking shop - and I can't tell you how pleased I am
to know this.
the end.