That funky music
The last verse of American Pie ended, and an audible sigh of relief permeated the room. For what seemed like a quarter hour, two middle-aged women had strangulated Don McLean’s ’70s masterpiece. Most of the patrons clapped, appreciating the effort, if not the talent level. One table in particular burst out with boisterous applause and shouts of support. It was girls’ night out, and the friends of these two sirens were enjoying the chance to cut loose.
Far from being a casting call for American Idol, this is karaoke at its crooning core. I know what you’re thinking: “Karaoke? Isn’t that the depraved cult we’ve read so much about, claiming its innocent victims by subjecting them to hours of Hank Williams’s twang and Patsy Cline’s wailing?” In truth, it’s less dramatic, yet far more addictive.
My first taste of this entertainment phenomenon came as a result of my mother-in-law’s passing in 2002. She and my father-in-law had enjoyed almost fifty years of marriage, and though severe emphysema had sealed her fate years earlier, her passing came as a terrible blow to us all, and was devastating for Dad. Some of us doubted he would ever recover.
Cue the melodic medicine of karaoke.
Dad had a love of music, singing, and guitar playing since he was young, and had first tried karaoke on a trip to Nashville when he and Mom did some traveling in the nineties. When he heard of the phenomenon showing up at the local American Legion soon after Mom passed, he decided to check it out, in hopes of distracting himself from his pain. While he went to listen, it didn’t take long for him to give his first song card to the deejay.
My wife and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows when her brother would tell us the stories about Dad singing at karaoke. I said, “Hey, isn’t that the depraved cult we’ve read so much about?” Nevertheless, we agreed to accompany Dad to a karaoke night at another club he’d discovered.
Even from outside the place, we could smell the cigarette smoke and hear raucous voices ringing out. We wondered what we’d gotten ourselves into. Once inside, we saw patrons lining the bar and filling the tables, drinking, laughing, and smoking. Two pool tables in the back of the dimly-lit room held an enthusiastic audience. We’d never been a big fan of loud, smoky bars, but as we listened to the myriad singers and felt the positive vibes from the audience, our perspective changed.
Most of the people who went before the microphone and video monitor did so with respectable talent, and a few truly remarkable voices brought loud applause. It wasn’t the cult I had envisioned on the ride down. Singers who walked to the microphone appearing anxious came back to their seats smiling and relieved. Even I felt the stress of the week melt away after I got up and belted out a tune. Is that polite applause, or genuine applause? My wife cried when Dad got up and sang. She could see how much of a lifesaver this was for him.
From that night, we attended karaoke nights every week with Dad at several establishments, and got to know him better. At first, the only songs he performed dealt with subjects associated with his grieving. Many times, he couldn’t get through a song without his voice cracking. Over time, the sad tunes gave way to ones of hope and celebration, and his new circle of friends applauded and cheered every time.
As I met new people and heard their stories, I started to understand the true reason for the loyal karaoke following. It wasn’t about chasing lost singing dreams or being discovered by a wayward talent scout. Karaoke provided an outlet for many reasons. We saw it in the type of music being selected each night, which often reflected current events. When I got to know people and their unique situations, their song choices made perfect sense.
Karaoke is an outlet for music lovers to sing their favorite songs, reminisce about old times and get out feelings they might not otherwise be able to express. It is a confidence builder, a social tool, and a license to act a little out of character, without the fear of being ridiculed or belittled. This is a fellowship of friends and strangers, where everyone is there to lift each other up, dance, and feel alive.
Sorry, I need to cut this short. The deejay just called my name, and it’s time for me to sing my next song: Play That Funky Music―a tribute to Dad, who passed away a few years back. This was his signature song, and he’d sometimes dress in costume when he performed it. I know I won’t do it justice, but that’s okay. Up there, out there, somewhere, Dad is barking out a laugh and cheering me on.
Rock on, Dad.
Thanks for tuning in, folks. And remember, whatever you are, be a good one.
-Dave
