karaoke classics

it is my firmly held belief that being good at singing and being good at karaoke are two separate things. while, sure, there is some overlap, like, being good at singing does help you perform better at karaoke. it also can be a setback. you can’t be too good because then it just looks like you’re doing it for attention. which, you probably are. being good at karaoke requires charisma, a bit of vulnerability, and a need to express all that you have inside yourself. you don’t even necessarily have to hit any notes. i know i don’t. i love karaoke. this isn’t a surprise to any of my close friends whom i’ve dragged out to so many karaoke bars over the years. i find that performing your favorite songs in front of your friends is a transformative experience. it’s magic. there’s nothing like it.

for while in kochi, we developed a routine. friday nights, we’d start at hirome and grab food and a few beers. eventually, we’d make our way over to endako. endako was a narrow karaoke and takoyaki bar with three or so high-top tables, a few bar seats, and a back square booth the bartender tomo once caught me making out with my then-boyfriend in. endako had cheap drinks and was reliable. tomo also loved us. we’d come in five to ten people deep, order drinks all night, and sing karaoke song after karaoke song after karaoke song. he’d open the sliding door-windows and would stand outside letting our voices carry into the streets. people would walk by and he’d try to usher them in by showing them how much fun we were having inside. we were having a lot of fun. we’d each have our favorite songs. our go-to classics. mostly english, some japanese. tomo would bring us hats or sunglasses or wigs to wear. other times he’d pull out drinking games. we all knew where we ranked on his favorites list. i was first. pam and alistair second and third respectively. we’d sometimes have multiple groups of people in the same bar each taking turns singing. i’d always try to make friends with the other groups. i’d saunter over, speak grammatically incorrect japanese but with the confidence of someone much more fluent. one time, i made friends with a man who sold toilets and then months later ran into him again exclaiming how i remembered he sold toilets. another time, tomo rushed me out a back exit into a taxi after a group of belligerent australians threatened to hurt me for reasons i still, ten years later, don’t fully know. in my final weeks in kochi, i took a photo with tomo and placed it on a wall in the bar. sometimes i wonder if it’s still there.

there were plenty of other karaoke places around the city. sketchyoke, or cheap karaoke, was another in this dilapidated building with BYOB and cheap rooms. once, when a friend of ours had drunk too much and needed to sleep, we laid her out on the couch for a nap and sang karaoke for two hours. by the time we were done she was fully rested and ready to take on the rest of the night. another time, a man who always dreamed of being confident and in charge wanted to end the bickering of what to do with the cockroach that entered the karaoke room. some wanted to put it outside, others wanted to kill it. instead of solving the issue, this man smashed the cockroach on the couch seat with such gusto but to nobody’s enjoyment or cheer. i never liked going to sketchyoke and i think it closed down sometime after the cockroach incident, thankfully.

karaoke was also a big part of work events. we’d have end-of-year parties where the second party, or after party, was always karaoke. i’d join and sing a song or two but it was difficult because i did not speak japanese well and none of my coworkers spoke english well. they’d always request i’d do bob marley songs, which were not part of my repertoire. one time, we were given the playroom in the karaoke place and so me and my adult japanese coworkers sat on slides and cushion chairs in a brightly lit room singing in drunken unison. i made the very masculine second year math teacher sing tsukematsukeru by kyary pamyu pamyu (please look this up) with me. neither of us could hit those high notes. his face turned red in effort. i always thought the best internationalization i had done with my time there was in karaoke rooms and bars.

i missed karaoke a lot when i moved back to america and was living in my hometown again. there wasn’t really much opportunity for me there. i felt caged. i missed my freedom. i missed singing and dancing. for my 24th birthday, i went to boston with high school friends. jess had gotten us a karaoke room in chinatown. we were penalized for bringing in outside drinks - the panopticon of the american karaoke room would come back to me years later when my now local favorite tried to charge us a hundred dollars for bringing in a half drunken roadie white claw. but, nonetheless, we sang songs of our childhood, pop divas galore, and a bit of high school musical. it felt good to bridge the gap between my past and present (at the time) and show friends i loved something that was so new and meaningful for me. in the years after, karaoke did not take up as much prominence in my life. i don’t remember a single time in all my years living in philadelphia of ever singing karaoke. when i moved to new york, the pandemic began and karaoke rooms seemed to be the worst places you could possibly be.

the back-half of my twenties were difficult. i was coming off some terrible friendships that drained me. i wasn’t even that excited about turning thirty. i felt pressured to do something for my birthday so i decided i wanted to go to the korean spa in nj and then have a gay night out — i even booked a hotel close to hells kitchen and port authority for that reason. i booked everything except my ticketed entrance to the spa and found out that day that i just could not go. as erin told me, it was fitting that i spent the first day of my thirties suffering a mistake of my twenties. i don’t remember why i didn’t book the ticket early. i think in my hubris i thought that i’d be able to simply show up. i ended up sitting in my hotel room watching drag race and sad gay movies until it was time to checkout the next day.

my friends sensed my discontentment and i think felt bad that i wasn’t really doing anything special for my birthday. so, they coordinated a birthday dinner at a korean bbq place. it was a spur of the moment evening. as we finished our meal, the waitress asked us if we were interested in also doing karaoke — a room had just opened up. we decided why the hell not and went in. we came out different. whether it was the warm bbq that filled our bodies or the soju endlessly pouring, there was something so intimate in that space. we sang our favorite songs for the first time together as a group. when we reached the end, we came into a circle, holding each other by the shoulders, singing cher’s believe with such love, happiness, and gratitude for having shared that experience. me, mike, sabrina, noah, fred, chase, and maya all together. for the first time in new york, i felt like i finally was connected with people, that i had found people that i loved authentically and who authentically loved me back. that memory solidly sits at the front of my mind and in my heart.

what happened next could only be described as a karaoke boom. everyone caught the bug. see, when you do karaoke for the first time, you end up feeling euphoric. i see it happen time and time again and i love being the gateway to someone’s karaoke experience. karaoke can seem intimidating at first. everyone always worries about not being able to sing (see opening paragraph). they’re too self-conscious. they can’t do it in front of a crowd. they think too much. they care too much about how they’ll be perceived. but, as karaoke artist staple natasha beddingfield would say, release your inhibitions feel the rain on your skin no one else can feel it for you only you can let it in. when you sing at the top of your lungs in a room with others singing along cheering you on, something deep within your soul awakens. it stirs. it begs to be released. you realize that the guards you put upon yourself were holding you back. you realize that being vulnerable is not as scary as it seems. you realize how much of yourself you can let shine for others to see.

after my 30th birthday, we’d go to karaoke every chance we’d get. any time there were more than five of us at a bar or party, eventually, someone would look around the room and whisper: karaoke? for nights that seemed casual would end up spanning the early hours. karaoke also became a staple of all the events i’d host. my fitness party? yeah, after party karaoke. my 31st birthday? karaoke definitely. we’d hit a rhythm. we each had our favorites. i’d sing lady gaga’s bad romance. fred loves doing a rendition of wagon wheel. noah will sing where is the love, which surprisingly is a hit every time. we’d even have arranged duets. we know whom to tag in when for which songs. we’d invite others in. we’d blend karaoke groups. we’d try new things here and there - experiment. i’m unashamed to admit that i do practice before doing karaoke. i think of what songs would be fun to do. i test them out. like a comedian who reworks jokes, i see how my songs land in a crowd. if it goes well, it’ll be added to my notes app list. if it doesn’t, i’d scrape it all together. i’ve met other karaoke enthusiasts. we always compare notes. which songs do you do? here are my go-to ones. you can tell a lot about a person by what karaoke songs they sing.

last night, i sang karaoke at the place where it all started for me in new york. i invited ten or so people to come together post-holidays. from different friend groups, we blended and collaborated and cheered each other on — we even had two people new to karaoke who braved the stage and sang, something i am so proud of and warms my heart. we sang soulful renditions, goofy performative songs, and classics of the karaoke pantheon. in that small and intimate back room, we became much closer. we shared a moment beyond ourselves. we experienced pure joy.