Karaoke me Maybe?
some thoughts on drunk performance
I keep having this dream of being in a karaoke bar and singing a terrible rendition of “Wonderwall” at the top of my lungs to a crowd of my adoring friends who are cheering me on as if I’m Cher. It is bizarre to dream about this because I would never in a million years choose “Wonderwall” as my karaoke song. No way, no how. If I’m going for an Oasis song, it would, of course, be “Champagne Supernova”, but I still don’t know a time or a place where an Oasis jam would beat out something more upbeat and dance-pop.
This dream would lead you to believe that I am a seasoned professional when it comes to the world of karaoke. I am not. I have done it all of three times.
The first time was at an Austin karaoke bar where I never felt quite comfortable enough to get on the stage. I loved going and watching my friends turn into these garish, loud performers with no inhibitions. I wondered whether or not I’d ever get the courage to do it. And then one night, a boy in a bright blue polo shirt who looked like he belonged to a UT fraternity got onstage and sang “Ohio is For Lovers” by Hawthorne Heights and I sang every word as loud as I possibly could from my seat. The performer was just glad that his choice, a bold one for not an emo night, wasn’t booed off the stage.
The next time was during New York Fashion Week, when I was photographing a campaign at Karaoke 32 in Koreatown. I was riding high on the fact that I had been paid to fly to New York and work during fashion week. After I got my initial photos, all the models got drunk and it was only then that I felt like I could take the stage in a room full of twenty strangers. My first song choice was “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac. I got up, grabbed a tambourine, and felt the electricity run through my body. I performed the tambourine solo admirably and was enthusiastically ushered to pick another song by my intoxicated audience. It was a group of all women and exactly one man, a hunky videographer named Fernando. The song I chose for the room to sing together was “Fernando” by Abba.
The last time I sang karaoke was at my husband’s company Christmas party. I had a hand in egging on the karaoke machine rental and because of this, I felt like I needed to give it a go again. I also convinced my husband, someone who previously felt like he could never do karaoke, to do it. He performed “Like a Rolling Stone” by Bob Dylan, and then after everyone at the party was good and drunk, “Last Dance with Mary Jane” by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers with me. My choice for the night? Dua Lipa’s “Don’t Start Now.”
Karaoke is a holy experience. It’s almost therapeutic, and usually transformative if you can just psych yourself up to do it. Singing—and performance in general—is put on a pedestal for only people who are good and talented, but getting up in front of your friends after a few tequila sodas and singing your most brazen rendition of “Dancing Queen” allows rare air to fill your lungs. It is an equalizer, in many ways. No one needs to be good or talented, just brave enough to give it their best shot.
At the beginning of the pandemic, I made a list of songs I’d sing at a karaoke bar when it was safe to get up in front of people you may or may not know and allow your particulates to fill the air again.
Here are a few on my list:
“Take a Chance on Me” by Abba
“Levitating” by Dua Lipa
“No Children” by The Mountain Goats
“Sophomore Slump or Comeback of The Year” by Fall Out Boy
“The Climb” by Miley Cyrus
What someone chooses for their song tells you a lot about that person. I know that from my list you can probably tell that A) I haven’t performed very much and B) I really want to do well and I want you to like it, but C) I want to have fun. In general, I think these things are true about me in the non-karaoke world. Even if I haven’t done something before, I want to do well, I want you to like it and I really, really want to have fun.
Please, if you feel so moved, email me your karaoke song.
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