For some in Portland, karaoke is a way of life. They love the thrill of stumbling up to the front of a bar, clumsily taking a mic in their hand and warbling through whatever horrible ’80s pop song is hip at that moment–all for an attentive audience of drunks waiting for their turn to make fools of themselves.
Sound like hell? Well, it’s not–it’s actually kind of fun.
There are loads of karaoke joints in this town, from country-western-tinged bars full of Loretta Lynn wannabes to hipster-infested neon establishments where the chorus of “Don’t Stop Believin'” rings through the air like a thick cloud of irony. If you don’t mind inhaling loads of smoke and sitting through very uncomfortable booty-shakin’ performances by wish-they-were rock stars, singing karaoke can be a great way to pass the time.
At Chopsticks Express (2651 E. Burnside St.) Monday night, dozens of hardcore karaoke singers (why else would they be there on a Monday night?) dance, drink and croon to songs they would never listen to in “real life.” You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a chubby little white girl ramble through The Notorious B.I.G.’s “Big Poppa” with her best “ghetto” accent. How gangsta.
Twenty-one-year-old Davy Keever managed not to make a complete fool of himself when he sang that night. He blasted through “Ballad of John and Yoko” by The Beatles and survived relatively unscathed. It wasn’t a good performance, but what karaoke act is? Surprisingly, it was only his second karaoke experience ever. He didn’t want to do it at first, but after pressure from his girlfriend and friend, he hastily picked the song and went with it.
“It’s a chance to get up there and make a spectacle of yourself,” he said.
Keever said he would have rather sang an Elliott Smith song. Thank God he didn’t. That would have been weird and sad. It also would have broken an unspoken rule about karaoke singing-don’t make people depressed.
No matter how well you sing it, if the song you pick is gloomy or unknown by the crowd, they will shut off. It’s best to pick something like “The Bitch is Back” over “Candle in the Wind.” The worse the song, the better it will be received by karaoke audiences. Drunk people love bad music.
The karaoke machine (literal translation of the Japanese word “karaoke”: empty orchestra) was invented by Daisuke Inoue in 1971. After that, karaoke took off, until becoming the multibillion dollar business it is today. It is apparently so important to the world that Time magazine put Inoue on its list of “The Most Influential Asians of the Century.” Right there in the same company as Mohandas Gandhi and Emperor Hirohito is the guy who enabled a million drunken businessmen the pleasure of ruining music. Brilliant.
For most non-fanatics, singing along with backing tracks in front of drunks gets old very fast. If you are blown out on regular old karaoke, then Portland has some options for you.
The traveling group Karaoke From Hell features a five-piece live band with an encyclopedic knowledge of hundreds of songs by artists ranging from Abba to AC/DC. They play Tuesday nights at 10 p.m. at Dante’s (1 S.W. Third Ave.) and Thursday nights at 9:30 p.m. at Tiger Bar (317 N.W. Broadway St.). Also breaking the karaoke mold is the infamous “Stripparaoke” at Devil’s Point (5305 S.E. Foster Rd.), where tattooed and pierced strippers flaunt their stuff while you try to remember the words to “Piano Man.” What is the next step in the evolution of karaoke? Actually starting a band and writing your own songs? No way. That sounds laaaaame.
Local Karaoke Jockey Patrick Finney (KJ name: “The Leprechaun”) runs karaoke on weekday nights at the Galaxy Restaurant and Lounge (909 E. Burnside St.). He said that Portland’s passion for karaoke has grown over the 11 years he has spent working the scene. It’s a cycle, he said, and right now karaoke’s popularity is on the upswing. And it’s not going away anytime soon.
Good or bad voice, natural-born performer or amateur, most everyone can find enjoyment in karaoke, Finney said.
“I think it’s the overall enjoyment–the way you feel when you sing,” he said. “It does make you feel good when you do it. I think it’s very addictive in that way because people like to keep that experience happening over and over again.”