Karaoke Magic

(previously published in the Mill Woods Mosaic, October 2008 issue)

Eyes on the TV screen, ears focused on the beat, I sang what I personally consider a flawless version of ‘Love Me Tender’ and finished with a score of whopping 96 per cent, to the burst of canned applause coming from the huge speakers. I bowed and thanked my audience of one, in my best Elvis Presley manner: “Thank you, thank you very much!”

My daughter Catherine then took the mic, and proceeded to do Britney Spears’ Hit Me Baby One More Time, dancing to the music all the way. 98 per cent. Woo hoo! We high-fived and congratulated each other on our amazing (if I may say so myself) performances. Life was good. Singing the karaoke is a regular feature of my visits to my daughter and her husband’s home in Washington, USA.

Certainly, karaoke singing is a staple part of most Filipino home gatherings everywhere. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think every Filipino is a closet Celine Dion or Phil Collins wannabe, or as in my case, a combination of Madonna, Elvis Presley and John Denver rolled into one. Mind you, no one outside of my family has ever witnessed any of my karaoke performances, and I have no intention of taking my act on the road. But I can be whoever I want to be inside my home. Such is the magic and flexibility of karaoke.

My Canadian partner who doesn’t care much for the activity, but who sang and played the guitar during his hippie days, jumps in every now and then to assist me when I fail to hit a note. On very rare occasions, he would join in and sing Better Midler’s The Rose. Most times, he plonks himself on the couch and goes to sleep in the middle of the action, periodically waking up to approve or disapprove of my current effort.

Penelope Cruz, an international movie star who doesn’t need much introduction, is well known for her love of karaoke. She has been qouted about how, in every one of her parties at home, she gets her guests to sing with the machine. Imagine, someone rich and famous, singing the karaoke? Hah. Let’s hear it for Penelope!

Knowing this makes me feel pretty good, because it’s a laugh in face of everyone who derides the karaoke culture. My take on the issue is, if it’s good enough for Penelope Cruz, it should be good enough for the rest of the world. So there.

According to my Internet research, the word karaoke comes from the fusion of two Japanese words: kara, meaning "empty," and oke, meaning "orchestra." "Empty orchestra" makes sense as one sings along to a band or orchestra that isn’t there.

The first karaoke machine was invented in the early 1970’s by Inoue Daisuke, a popular coffee shop singer in Japan. Daisuke was often asked by customers for an instrumental version of his songs so they could sing to them at home. Daisuke recognized its market potential so he created the machine that would enable them to do so. The machine came with a set of his songs in instrumental, for which Daisuke charged Y100 per song. In the beginning, Daisuke didn't sell his karaoke machines, but only leased them to those interested. Inoue Daisuke later earned the Ig Nobel Peace Prize --- a parody of the Nobel Peace Prize --- in 2004 for this invention.

Karaoke, ever since, has become an outlet for many would-be performers trying to coax their inner Inoue Daisuke, Barbara Streisand or Julio Iglesias out. Or perhaps just for the sake of entertainment, because nothing else gets people to come together faster in the spirit of fun, other than a shared love for music.

Restaurants that feature karaoke nights in Vancouver, and I’m sure in Edmonton, have become great equalizers. Where else can one find Filipinos, Caucasians, Chinese and other ethnic performers dining together, performing together, and raising their glasses to each other in pure camaraderie, without any judgment? Because I tell you, some singers can be really bad.

Despite its worldwide popularity, though, karaoke singing still enjoys a love-hate relationship with mixed households. While Pinay wives practice dedicatedly in their basements, with a view to impressing their audience in their next public gig, many of their non-Pinoy husbands consider it an annoying aberration in their partners’ otherwise normal psyche, and often choose to remove themselves from the vicinity, or suffer in silence. A friend refers to these men as “innocent victims who quietly suffer when their homes are turned into acoustic concentration camps”. Why do these people dislike it so? Search me.

While my own partner frequently rolls his eyes at my unadulterated excitement over learning my favourite songs on the karaoke, he does patiently guide me in negotiating the tonal quicksands of Janis Joplin’s Me and Bobby McGee or John Denver’s Take Me Home, Country Roads. And if only for that, I vowed to cherish him for the rest of my life.