The karaoke king

I hate karaoke. Hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it. The canned music, the bad background vocals, the ever-present “Livin’ On A Prayer,” “My Way,” “You’re The One That I Want” and “Don’t Stop Believin’.” And above all, the drunken hordes drunkenly yelling “Woooo!” a lot.

(Secret black person fact: A crowd of white people yelling “Woooo!” always frightens us. It’s just one of those I’m-the-only-one-here moments. And as a blerd, you’re in a lot of I’m-the-only-one-here places. It always feels like someone’s gonna yell “Let’s get him!” next.)

It’s just too cheesy. And sure, I like cheesy stuff, given how much Dancing with the Stars I watch. But I’m more like Mystery Science Theater 3000 – I prefer to laugh at it rather than live it. And karaoke people? They live it.

I’ve done karaoke about 10 times altogether in my life, and disliked it every time. First time was on the first day of high school, when I sang The Sweet’s “Ballroom Blitz” with a friend at orientation. Then nothing until grad school orientation eight years later, and I won a microphone as a prize. (I never opened it, either threw it out or gave it away.)

And nothing again until a couple of years later on a random night out, singing David Bowie’s “Changes” at a bar in Northeast Philly and getting the crowd revved up; but then this same crowd had a feverishly passionate rendition of Evanescence’s “My Immortal” sung by a middle-aged woman who looked as far away from Amy Lee as you could get.

But then something changed. It was New Year’s 2008, hanging out at my friend Sara’s house in South Philadelphia. Sara had started running a karaoke business, and so late late after midnight everyone was totally wasted, singing songs. But this time … it was different, as Sara had a collection ranging from ’70s R&B to obscure ’80s punk to current Top 40. Shit, one guy sang Deep Purple’s “Space Trucking” and changed the lyrics to “Space Fucking.” For a reason I can’t remember now, another guy was screaming “Ass to ass!” like in Requiem for a Dream, which made its way into a bunch of songs.

There I am, singing Patrick Swayze’s attempt at triple-threat stardom, “She’s Like The Wind,” while Cathy plays the sax-o-mo-phone solo. Dude! I was having a good time at karaoke? Yes, I was. Singing with rowdy friends – the bulk of them perform in a drag troupe – who got the joke, singing songs we knew were jokes, and singing stuff no one else had as karaoke tunes. The campiness of it all got to me.

Sara’s karaoke biz is called Sing Your Life, and I freakin’ was, wailing away on my favorite joke songs: Benny Mardones’ “Into the Night,” and the Swayze.

“Into the Night” is a ballad of teen love between a 16-year-old girl and her rebel boyfriend. Except that Mardones was almost 34 when the song came out. Ew. And any song that starts with “she’s like the wind through my tree,” sad piano and a big saxophone solo is dying to be made fun of.

These days, I get to Sara’s Sing Your Life nights as often as possible when I visit Philly. I sing my favorite songs whose melodies I remember, plus joke songs that need to be taken down a peg in a dive bar. You can’t beat singing personal favorite Billy Joel’s “Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Theme),” the crowd gathering around me to sing along, and when the instrumental part hit, a guy was playing a real saxophone next to me. It was the third most-awesome thing I’ve ever seen.

I love seeing friends, I love singing, I love performing, I love the songs. But don’t get me wrong: I still hate karaoke. Really, I do. But I’m nuanced; yes, I hate “Don’t Stop Believin’,” but otherwise I like Journey, hence singing “Separate Ways (Worlds Apart).” I cracked up when that song came on in TRON: Legacy, sucking Sam Flynn back into his father’s 1982 heyday.

The night after I sang Journey at the birthday party, another friend who was there wrote on my Facebook wall, “You are the goddamn karaoke king.” Yes, I am. But reluctantly so. I’m not turning that into an All-Star Batman-style catchphrase. Tell no one of this.

Now someone find me some Santigold in this song book, ’cause I’m about to tear the house down.