OUR FIRST STOP IS ALWAYS A KARAOKE JOINT
FOR ONE BRAVE COUPLE, SINGING IS AN INTERNATIONAL ICEBREAKER, A SUREFIRE WAY TO MAKE FRIENDS WHEREVER THEY TRAVEL
It’s a balmy June day in Spain’s beachy Costa Blanca region. All anyone cares about are the 2010 World Cup matches playing on the big screen at Stallion’s pub, a popular watering hole in a mostly British suburb of Torrevieja called Dream Hills. Today is significant since England is up against the U.S. Being Canadian and married to a Brit, I deem it best not to root for my neighbours to the south.
Thankfully for everyone involved, the game ends in a tie. England didn’t perform particularly well, but at least they’re through to the next round. That’s enough for the British majority of patrons at Stallion’s to turn the party up to 11. The TV is muted and, at the eggingon of the pub owners, my husband takes to the teeny stage to host a karaoke celebration. He puts me up first, and as he does, our Swedish friends Tom and Monica walk in. Upon seeing them, I request a song change. Before it starts, I point to them and say, “This is for you!”
It’s the first time I’ve chosen Gimme, Gimme, Gimme by Abba. Its cool riff and steady disco bops are right for the occasion: everyone’s in the mood to move. After my performance, Tom gives me a big hug and says, “I loved that, it was wonderful!” I chose the ditty as a shout-out to his homeland, but the real compliment to Sweden is that everyone knows Abba.
That’s the thing about karaoke. In so many places throughout the world, the songbook will reliably be filled with international, barrier-breaking hits. We may not speak the same language, but we all know Hey Jude.
Naturally, there’ll be tunes in the language of the country of origin — karaoke books in Montreal always have a French section — but most of the tome features songs of the moment (Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Justin Bieber) and of the greats (Elvis, the Beatles, Madonna).
When my husband and I travel to a new city, we invariably find a karaoke joint on the first night. It’s how a couple of strangers like us meet new people.
My husband’s signature song is Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Because the number is usually performed by a group of drunken friends, most karaoke hosts are pleasantly surprised when they realize my husband can actually sing. His rendition has even earned us a round of drinks in Victoria, B.C., at Sopranos Bar & Grill on Caledonia Ave., a boxy, inconspicuous locale in a warehouse district. “Most people ruin that song,” the host told us, handing us some shots on the house. “Thanks for doing the opposite.”
Bohemian is a song that people can easily recognize, generally appreciate and feel compelled to sing along to. It combines these qualities more seamlessly than most songs, so it’s a great conversation-starter. Usually, the conversations start with, “Hey, man, that was great!” And from there, we have a friend for the night.
I have a different approach. I like to get people dancing, I have a few ’80s anthems in my roster. I’m partial to Nena’s 99 Luftballons (in English), Martha and the Muffins’s Echo Beach and, because I’m also French-Canadian, Pied de poule by Marc Drouin et les Échalotes. If I can, I also like to acknowledge the place I’m in, so when I’m in Cancun, Mexico, expect me to take on La Bamba.
I’m not an especially good singer, but after 16 years of classical piano training, I can at least sing on key. A typical reaction to my song choice is, “I haven’t heard that in so long!” More common still is my getting off the stage and onto the dance floor.
We’re not in pursuit of praise. My husband and I enjoy listening to everyone else, and we’re just as likely to chat them up.
At Planet Rose, a cramped karaoke bar in New York’s East Village, we meet Rob, who kills it with U2’s With or Without You. (Honestly, we’re impressed by anyone who can actually pull off Bono.) It turns out Rob’s a regular, so he introduces us to some of the people he knows. One of them is Andy, who manages to persuade me to duet with him to Pat Benatar’s We Belong.
We never wonder whether it’s OK to approach Rob, and Andy took all of five minutes to ask me to be his harmony. The constant in karaoke is that if you can go up there and sing — even if you’re a terrible singer — you’re probably not shy. The courageous act of getting on the stage at all implicitly says “Hello” to the whole audience, which, when you think about it, is how all exchanges begin.
Feeling insecure? Pick a song with plenty of sing-along-ability. I’m reminded of that Ally McBeal episode when tone-deaf Georgia takes the stage at the gang’s favourite piano bar and butchers Dusty Springfield’s Son of a Preacher Man. Vonda Shepard steps in, encouraging the audience to sing along to cover up Georgia’s dreadful voice. With karaoke, it’s a given that not everyone’s a singer. But because all the songs in the book are well-known, and because the words are on the screen, anyone can sing along. In fact, knowing they’ve chosen a popular song might even give the apprehensive singer an ego-boost.
For a rush on a grander scale, head to the Rising Star club at Universal’s CityWalk in Orlando, Fla. Here, karaoke is taken to the next level of completion. At only a few pages, the songbook is smaller than what we’re used to, but there’s a reason. Once you’re called up, a full band and backup singers help you deliver the song like a star. And because this is the U.S., the stage crew has memorized each of those tunes in the songbook and performs them to pitch. In fact, should you falter or sing off-key, the backup singers’ mics get jacked up to make it sound like it’s still all you. There’s less singing along in a polished place like this, but for a little over three minutes, it’s all about you.
Over in Nashville, Tenn., we find Lonnie’s Western Room, a karaoke bar in Printer’s Alley, only a couple of blocks from the city’s honkytonk central. Lonnie’s is everything I hoped a Nashville pub would be: tiny, cluttered and teeming with people who aren’t necessarily vying for country superstardom. In fact, I
We’re not in pursuit of praise. My husband and I enjoy listening to everyone else, and we’re just as likely to chat them up.
hear more metal than bluegrass.
There’s just one problem: They won’t play Bohemian Rhapsody. When my husband asks why not, the bartender tells him the owner has a list of “do not play” songs, and that’s one of them. It turns out the list has been laminated. Among others are some Eminem tracks, Coolio’s Gangster’s Paradise and — this one’s a head-scratcher — Billy Joel’s Piano Man.
I can’t restrain him; my husband wants to leave. As we walk away, I remind him that there are other songs he could sing. “I know,” he says. “But I can’t support someone who would actually ban songs just because they annoy him.”
He has a point. My personal dis- taste for Britney Spears is automatically suspended the moment I enter the realm of karaoke. Besides, if there’s anything that can bring a diverse, if mismatched group of people together, surely it’s a song they’ve all heard.
When my husband and I got married three years ago, our guest list read like a United Nations function. People hailed from both of Canada’s coasts, the U.S., England, France, Spain, Australia and Iraq. Many of them had never met before.
To break the ice, we worked karaoke into the reception. “Weddingoke,” it was called. We hired a DJ in case we ran out of song requests, but in the end, Weddingoke rendered him redundant.
My husband started things off with Bohemian Rhapsody. It was the first time my parents heard him sing. “He’s really good,” my father told me. “You did well.” My mother agreed: “I didn’t know he could sing like that,” she said.
Some parents want their daughters to marry a doctor. Mine, who met in 1975 after joining the same band, were quite happy that I’d found a man who could transition through the song’s many changes like it was nothing at all.
It’s a talent my husband took with him when he backpacked through Australia and Thailand in the early 2000s. And since we started travelling together in the past few years, his Bohemian and my 99 Luftballons have found us friends wherever we go.