Karaoke

Dear Ira Glass,

There are many dive bars in the city of Castro Valley, California. I would know- I have frequented several of them at all hours of the night while visiting my cousins who live in the East Bay. They are unmistakable and unique, with their sticky, grooved wooden counters, thumb-printed glasses, murky mixed drinks, Springer-esque clientele, and, curiously, always an assortment of picnic tables bannered by beer-brand tents out the back. These outdoor tables are where the real business happens, where Castro Valley inhabitants and visitors exhibit their finest flirtations, double-fisters, fisticuffs, and conversations. Yes, a visit to a Castro Valley dive bar is time well spent.

A rare find, though, is a Castro Valley dive bar with karaoke. Probably on a week night. Probably where most of the participants are over fifty (forget the early bird special). Probably where, if you go more than twice, everybody knows your name. I had the privilege of attending such an establishment once a few years ago. It was a family affair- my uncle, aunt, two cousins, and brother were also there. It was a week night and the place was packed. The room was oblong, with the stage at one end and the bar extending out from the other. The middle, under the stage, was littered with circular tables where karaoke hopefuls could pore over the four-thousand-pound spiral notebooks stocked with lists upon lists of possible one-hit wonders. We made ourselves comfortable here and began researching.

My cousin Jordan didn’t need to bother with such formalities. He had been a weekly regular here for a year already. When I first heard the tales of his nonchalant performances of famous Journey, Whitesnake, and Led Zeppelin ballads from his sister I was speechless. In my mind I conjured a picture, as per her description, of my cousin with his long curly locks and leather jacket taking the stage and shifting his gaze to nowhere in particular during the intro. Then, right on cue, he would snap his neck forward, grab the mic, and belt at the top of his lungs in a somehow powerful, menacing falsetto. Loud. Glorious. Right on key. Worthy of any 80s rock band leader. During the instrumental interlude he would take a sip of his red wine (the only glasses served in the bar all night were to him) and then coolly, almost languidly set it back down in its proper spot next to him on stage just in time to return to the crazy cheering multitudes. They were wild about him and he was totally serene about it. When the lights go down in the city…

And so that fateful night in Castro Valley I got to experience my cousin’s act firsthand. And it was exactly, perfectly as I had pictured. I was fascinated by his confidence, his audience, and his incredible vocal skill I had never before witnessed in our twenty-one years as cousins. True to form I stayed in my seat and merely browsed the endless song titles. I was too shy and too much of a perfectionist to consider overcoming my massive nerves to take the stage. Until the DJ called my name.

I looked at my cousin. “What is this?”

He smirked. “I dare you to say no to karaoke.”

And I couldn’t. Whatever it is, maybe some kind of code, maybe some kind of karaoke honor system, if someone writes your name down you cannot say no. Conversely, the stakes for writing a name that is not your own are pretty high. It rarely happens. You must be certain that you are doing the right thing for all involved. It’s irreversible. And for whatever reason, my cousin was sure that it was my time. I was not far from a panic attack but no one could tell in the dimly lit, low-ceilinged room. I tried to take some deep breaths on my way to the stage. And the first strains of my song played, and the words actually showed up on the screen so I could read them! Deep breaths. And there I was liberated. It’s like rain on your wedding day, it’s a free ride when you’ve already paid,
It’s the good advice that you just didn’t take,
Who would’ve thought … it figures.

When I was five I had a dream that Jordan and I were standing on top of the Space Needle, arms outstretched to billions of screaming people, belting out Born to be Wild in unison. Singing to the world. That night in Castro Valley, my dream was unexpectedly fulfilled. And I was never going back. Karaoke was one of my things now. I could say “oh yeah, I karaoke” without batting a lash. I could ask others, “do you karaoke?” and fully enjoy their answer without worrying what would happen when they turned the question back on me.

I’ve karaoke’d many times since. One of my closest friends Beth is a karaoke expert, and whenever we go out together a duet of “Time After Time” in the style of Cyndi Lauper has become a tradition. We even have dance moves. We’ve also sung, on various occasions, pop hits such as “Tearin’ Up My Heart” by N’Sync and “Love Story” by Taylor Swift. Stellar performances all. I can’t choose my favorite memory. A couple of weeks ago, at the end of 2009, Jordan came to visit Seattle and the three of us went to karaoke at the Little Red Hen in Greenlake with a large group of friends (and cousins). As we anticipated our first time on stage (Time After Time for Beth and me, classic Journey for Jordan) Beth and I talked over our plans for 2010. As special education teachers, we had each been asked to speak in two separate graduate courses to students who would soon join us out in the field. We compared nerves regarding our pending experiences.

“You know what the thing is about karaoke, Beth?”

She raised her eyebrows. I went on staunchly.

“With karaoke, you just have to go up there and do it. You have to be brave. You can’t think about it too much, and that’s why it’s good for us. This is helping us prepare to go speak to graduate students and inspire them about curriculum modifications and behavior plans. We are achieving our goals by singing karaoke.”

And I’m pretty sure she agreed, because our rendition of “Time After Time” was the best and most dramatic to date. And it was so good that we tried to get out of our next Taylor Swift song so we could sing some Bon Jovi, but the karaoke DJ wouldn’t let us change it because he said someone else was already signed up to sing Bon Jovi. He lied. He was not following the karaoke code. We were trapped. We had to just get up there and sing, and we kind of flopped, except that the screaming audience was collectively in love with Taylor Swift, and they wouldn’t stop dancing and singing along even when we didn’t know the tune. At one point a blonde girl got up on stage and started singing with us. We went with it. With all that support how could we not?

Karaoke is genuine. It’s a risk. A rush. A community. Inclusive, constructive, imperfect. You can always laugh. People who do karaoke are saying to the world, “I am here to participate!” and participation is underrated these days. We need activities like karaoke in our lives. As I said earlier, a dive bar in Castro Valley with karaoke is what’s really hard to find. And once you find it, hold on to it. Don’t go back.

Sincerely,

Courtney