Okay. I have a confession to make. This is not going to be a shocking confession, because everyone reading these pages right now already knows, and, through the miracle of reverse chronological organization, everyone who shows up later will probably have already heard this.
"Music is a religion; Karaoke is a cult." I, gentle readers, am a cultist.
Three nights a week (Recently up from two. I just don't get the same high I used to) I shuffle off to the four corners of the earth (Well, Dundalk, Essex, and Perry Hall. But driving past the sewage treatment plant on a hot summer night is enough to make you
wish you've driven off the edge of the earth. Or, if you are a slightly more level-headed person, wish
they would[2 points]) to drink beer and sing badly (Actually, I sing rather well. The classic notion of karaoke being a bunch of drunken businessmen singing badly is largely fictional. Hardly any of us are businessmen.) with the finest karaoke host in the business.
The human competitive spirit is strong, and so it shouldn't be surprising that one hugely successful venture at my regular show is a competition.
Now, your first guess is probably that this would be a simple singing competition, in which the person who does the least insult to his favorite artist's career is rewarded. Well, that's only partially true. The competion of which I speak is a clever little gimmick they call "Suicide Karaoke", and yes, you are judged, more or less, on your ability to sing without sucking.
But here's the twist: It is not until the moment the song begins that you know
what song you'll be endeavouring not to murder. The song is selected at random from the host's catalog of about 450 discs spanning all known genres, epochs, and other metrics of taste. The first song is selected by the host's wife, and subsequent songs are chosen by the preceeding competitor. You might find yourself singing a song you know (I was once dealt my own "wheelhouse" song, Tommy Tutone's
867-5309/Jenny), a song you've never heard of before, or (and I think this sort of the Platonic Ideal) a song it would never occur to you to sing, but which you turn out to be really good at (This hardly ever happens). The fates tend to deal me a lot of 60s female country vocalists. Whatever comes up, you are compelled to sing, however inappropriate (There is an exception made, and a redraw allowed, in the rare case that someone is dealt a duet, because, c'mon, that's just unfair)
There are upsides and downsides to this method. I think it would be hard to run a straightforward karaoke context on a regular basis, since all the regulars would just always sing their best songs, and, barring accident or illness, I'm not going to belt out the seven magic digits any better or worse than I ever do, so we'd all pretty much end up placing in the same position week after week. Of course, someone who is really good can get shafted -- the big guy with a voice to rival Pavoratti can draw Madonna, and what's he going to do with that? But such is the luck of the draw. What it comes down to, and I'm not sure whether or not I like this, is that it's really the
song that's being judged. I happen to think that one of the songs I did recently, I sang very well indeed, but it just wasn't a very popular song to begin with, and my ratings suffered. Ultimately, I guess, it's no more or less fair than any game of chance, a lottery or a slot machine, but with the added chance of Public Humiliation (Like the time I had to sing
Somewhere Over the Rainbow -- though the
very next week I went to see the film
50 First Dates, the end theme to which was a male singer covering the selfsame song) -- but this is karaoke after all, and it's not a hobby that attracts a lot of people with a low threshhold for public humiliation
I collected my second win tonight, which was a long time coming, after drawing
Achy Breaky Heart in the first round and
The Search Is Over in the second. I think I've done better, personally (
The Search Is Over I've actually tried before, so I went in knowing it was way too high for my deep, sexy baritone), but the fates were clearly backing me, since the runner-up's second round draft was
Jewel's
Hands, while his wife failed to place after forgetting that the H is silent in the phrase, "I'm Henry the Eighth, I am."
But I'm not writing this article to brag (well, not
just to brag). I'm writing it for the benefit of anyone out there who runs a singing show of their own, because if they decide to get into the action and the surefire crowd-pleasing that is Suicide Karaoke, I want kickbacks.
Now, I've occasionally suggested that "Suicide Karaoke" is not the ideal name for this event -- I think more often than not, it's really "Homicide Karaoke," because nine times out of ten, the song gets murdered. However, I mentioned this event to some friends tonight, and one of them came up with a name so funny, I just like to keep saying it over and over: Kamikazioke.
And
that's why I'm writing this column.
I guess it's a nice day for a white wedding after all.
(PS. As I was writing this, a name I like almost as much occurred to me, and since this one is my own invention, I'm gonna share it.
Hari-Karioke)
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