We Are the Stars

There is a legend of a karaoke bar somewhere in East Texas that has a Gong Show-style setup in which the bartender can gong the really toe-curling, butt-cringing bad singers off the stage. One man began to mangle "Hotel California," and the bartender chimed in with his party-pooping death knell. The man, not getting it, kept singing. The bartender banged again. A few audience members saw what was going on, and began to sing along. Loudly. Soon the whole bar joined in, drowning out the repeated gongs from the naysaying bartender. Moral of the story? Well, yes, weird things happen when the Eagles are involved in any way; but the real lesson here is that karaoke is all about respect.

This is only a legend because institutionalized jeering is unheard of within the karaoke community -- ask anyone. Granted, karaoke has its detractors. It's not a legitimate musical form, the complaint goes. It's too cheesy. Too scary.

"Why would anyone want to listen to bad songs sung badly?" These people whine. "As if."

This is the first and last time these concerns will be addressed: Karaoke is not only not an insidious scourge upon the arts -- an embarrassment to the embarrassments of musical history -- to the growing international army of Just Plain Folk who revere it, karaoke is a great equalizer, a chance to be a star, if only for three minutes. For them -- for us -- karaoke is everything that music should be, and our devotion is almost religious in nature.

"My higher power is people singing in unison," muses Bruce, karaoke host and owner of Barnstormers, a studio-store that also rents karaoke equipment with or without attendant hosts. Nothing, he contends, matches the power of karaoke when it comes to bringing people together. He's hosted shows at kicker bars -- "the kind of places cowboys go to look for fights" -- but once he turns on the machine, "It's peace in the valley." It gets punk kids, war vets, and rich golfer-types, the whole gamut of races and classes, to make idiots of themselves ... together. Groups who begin the evening on opposite sides of the bar are soon one big conga-lining, stage-diving, dueting melee. "It's a beautiful thing," he insists.

The Song Remains the Same?

An etymological moment: The word "karaoke" (Japanese, of course) takes the "kara" part from karappo, meaning empty, and "oke" from okesutura, or orchestra. The legend of the advent of the empty orchestra more than 20 years ago, tossed around on many a translated-from-Japanese Web site, begins with a strolling guitarist who had a regular gig at a Kobe snack bar. The owner kept tapes of the guitar accompaniment, which he put on when the musician couldn't come in. The patrons enjoyed singing along to them. Little did these Kobeans know that this modest "completion" of the empty six-string would send shockwaves throughout the world more far-reaching and enduring than their city's 1995 earthquake. Throw in the CD revolution of the Eighties, with the all-important ability to skip instantly between tracks, and boom: an industry.

The Japanese are not afraid to party, nor are they afraid to sing, according to Karaoke Scene online magazine (http://www.karaokescene.com). A tradition of solo singing at gatherings made the Japanese easy conduits for the fervent spread of this new technology. "It has never mattered whether the person sings well or not. Even if he sings out of tune, it can spark laughter and make the party more lively. The Japanese are generous when they listen to other people sing, and can easily sing in front of others without feeling reluctance. ... For corporate soldiers living in a stressful society, there is no other entertainment that can make them feel so refreshed." Karaoke indeed began as wholesome entertainment for businessmen, but quickly became popular among all sectors of society and spread to the far reaches of the globe. Along the way the format has evolved from cassettes and CDs with only the musical accompaniment, to CDs with still graphics (CD+Gs) and scrolling lyrics, to laser discs with all that plus full-motion videos.

A Puppet, a Pauper, a Pirate, a Poet ...

Lifestyle magazines have begun to take note of karaoke's growing popularity amongst scenesters and celebrities. "Beautiful people shouldn't be allowed to karaoke," responds Teresa, a local diehard karaoke fanatic. "They get enough attention as it is. Karaoke is for us losers and dorks." Too true, though who wouldn't want to see famous singers karaoke-ing to their own songs, as in the true story of David Lee Roth singing "Just a Gigolo" at New York City's Elbow Room. Back home, the Common Interest attracts the occasional local celebrity. Shawn Colvin has been spotted there, though sources say she unfortunately did not sing "Sonny Came Home," which they do have there on the box. One barfly insists that honky-tonktress Kelly Willis used to hang out there. And Brent Gorrell, leader of the perennial group Brent Gorrell & the 47 Indians, works and sings there. Pinetop Snooky's annual Karaoke Christmas at Hole in the Wall draws many a lonely heart who doesn't have (or is escaping from) family. Bruce: "The crowd there is all musicians -- they don't have families for a reason."

"Real" musicians, in fact, find that no audience is more supportive than a karaoke audience, not even the ones that pay to see them. The clapping and whooping and singing along is wholehearted, even when the singer can't carry a tune. Fear of a bad voice keeps so many from getting onstage, but those who only like to watch are missing the point: a good voice is completely unnecessary. You can captivate a karaoke audience with whatever you got: flourish, song choice, endearing shyness, comically bad singing, anything! Hearing forgotten favorites rendered through sundry personalities makes for a laugh riot.

The fact that kitsch kulture has become status quo is also a reason that karaoke is gaining younger, hipper, and even famous followers, but karaoke existed before the current retro wave and will certainly outlive the fickle fancies of ironic young people. Barnstormer Bruce says he was warned of the fad factor when he chose this line of work. "My friends have been telling me for the last nine years that this is a trend that's going to go away, but it's only getting bigger."

If karaoke is becoming mainstream and trendy, though, no worries -- to enjoy the spectacle that is karaoke, you have to be open-minded enough to enjoy and respect people from all walks of life singing all kinds of disagreeable songs, even the Grease soundtrack, and yes, even modern country.

Maybe karaoke is a godsend: not only a cure for bored souls, but, as Karaoke Scene suggests, a cure for many of the world's ills. It facilitates family communication through singing, important in a time of widespread loosening of the moral fibers and the slackening of family values. The words on a television monitor, especially when accompanied by scenes of a video, can be used in the fight against illiteracy. Karaoke's interactive nature gets people off their fat, lazy bottoms and involved in their own entertainment instead of being passive, consumptive vessels. Pretty whacked ideals, sure, but if karaoke ends up saving the world, then I, for one, want to live in that world.

The variety of genres and sheer quantity of classics make your average karaoke box a sort of jukebox of the gods. Karaoke is music stripped of the original artists who made it -- and all the attendant ego and greed of musical superstars and the industry -- and given back to the people. And these people are doing more than just following the lyrics on the screen. They're doing something beautiful: communing with others who share their common interest, and in this communion they ascend to a spiritual place vacated by the false deities studding the music industry. In this place, everyone is a star and pleasure is had by all, even when it's delivered in the wrong key.