Reprinted from the San Francisco Chronicle, 25 July 2004

A PASSION FOR KARAOKE

Juanita Nessinger takes the stage at The Mint, which attracts karaoke singers who may or may not indulge their passion at home.	Molly Sims cheers Juanita Nessinger at the Mint.	Dora Wong and Khanh Ly belt out karaoke at the Mint in San Francisco.	Bekah Love and Ben Keim cheer on a singing friend at the Mint in San Francisco.
Chronicle photos by Christina Koci Hernandez

Jeanne Cooper

Having a karaoke machine in your living room is a lot like leaving your porn collection in view.

(Note to Dad: I don't have a porn collection, but I am subject to "porn creep," as today's Chronicle Magazine will explain.)

Visitors come over, have a seat and exchange pleasantries while their eyes are settling on that ... thing in the corner, piled with CDs and yet hooked up to the television. They spot the cordless mike, left out of its case in the throes of musical passion the night before, and then take in that the TV itself is rather large. Suddenly, the atmosphere is thick with tension.

In a porn movie, the whackita-whackita music would start up.

In real life, most folks start shifting uncomfortably in their chairs. A kind of performance anxiety -- fear that someone will perform something -- grips them. Like Ned Flanders on "The Simpsons" confronted with a stack of Homer's Playboys, their strongest urge is to skedaddle-daddly-do, not scooby- dooby-doo.

But for a few brave souls, a different kind of prayer has formed in their brains: "Please let them have the soundtrack to 'Grease.' Oh please oh please oh please."

And much like the innocuous-looking TV repairman who morphs into a superstud in adult movies (or so I've heard), you can't always predict the people who'll go all Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta on you.

To wit: When two professors of American literature stayed with us during a recent academic conference, I was a little embarrassed that most of our literary tomes were still in boxes in the garage. However, our poetry experts' eyes were fixated on the black box by the TV, and the only verses quoted that weekend were from "Born to Be Wild," "Heart of Glass" and the entire "Jesus Christ Superstar" movie soundtrack.

A brief history of karaoke

If you really want to know it, read the full version on www.karaokescene.com, which manages to tie karaoke to the Meiji restoration, Kobe's open-port status in 1868 and a snack bar owner's innovation two-plus decades ago in that same city, when a guitar player didn't show. Here's an excerpt:

"The Japanese like parties. From ancient times, a party become enlivened when someone started singing and the others kept time with hand-clapping, making the atmosphere more cheerful. It has never mattered whether the person sings well or not. Even if he sings out of tune, it can spark laughter and make the party more lively ...

"Karaoke was born in a night amusement quarter at the end of the high economic growth period. Until then, customers used to listen to popular songs via wire broadcasting, request favorite songs by telephone, and the wire broadcasting company put the songs on the air."

(Later, video killed the wire broadcasting star.)

The Chronicle's first reference to karaoke was apparently in 1986, when then-Mayor Dianne Feinstein was on a visit to Tokyo:

"In hundreds of bars throughout the city these days, karaoke are all the rage," noted writer Daniel Rosenheim.

"Karaoke -- the name literally means 'empty orchestra' -- is a format for bringing out the Wayne Newton in us all.

"For a fee, patrons move to a center-stage microphone and belt out the tune of their choice, while eight-track tapes provide high-quality and well- synchronized orchestration."

I first encountered early American karaoke the same year, at a mall in Texas that had a kind of recording studio next to the Orange Julius and Chik- fil-A. Passers-by who dared could watch through the glass and listen through the speakers to customers who paid to lay down two karaoke tracks (one for each side of your groovy cassette, natch). I couldn't resist "Material Girl," although apparently my vocal register could.

Before we suddenly fast-forward from malls to nightclubs to the home version, a respectful bow is in order to Japan's achievements of entertainment technology: karaoke and pachinko. The latter, a sort of no-hands pinball, lets you watch and listen as steel balls clatter down tracks fashioned inside a clear housing. The former lets you watch and listen as people with, um, nerves of steel batter music tracks in house-clearing fashion.

Unfortunately for pachinko, it doesn't involve exhibitionism, voyeurism, masochism and capitalism (you never have to buy more pachinko balls) the way karaoke (and, by extension, "American Idol") does, so it never really took off.

From our house to yours

They say you can measure a Broadway show's success by how many people leave humming its tunes. New York's Colony Music Center, also on Broadway (at 49th), measures its success by how many people it helps break into show tunes. It has thousands of karaoke CD-Gs and several karaoke systems, plus CDs and sheet music for the Luddites (who may have designed its creaky Web site, www.colonymusic.com).

An old, short, quintessential New Yorker works the floor in the evenings. He'll give you a free Broadway sampler, just to get you hooked, and the next thing you know you're waiting for the man, karaoke-style. (One of its biggest- selling karaoke discs currently is songs by "American Idol" singers, which somehow seems redundant.)

We landed there one night two years ago after seeing an "Oklahoma!" revival nearby (staying open till 1 a.m. most nights lures in post-curtain tune-hummers). Before we could sing "Oh what a beautiful morning," we were proud owners of the 160-watt Bravo ($799 plus tax and shipping) with a 320- song starter kit. A few people might want to know more technical details, but that's like describing your favorite porn movie by its aspect ratio.

"But Jeanne," you say, because we're on such intimate terms now, "I can't go to New York just for karaoke. And $799 is totally too much to pay."

No disagreement there -- your local Best Buy or other electronics store can get you set up with a lot less wattage for $69.99 plus taxes. No floor space? Sensitive roommates? American Online announced the perfect solution earlier this month: online karaoke (keyword: Club Karaoke).

"All you need is your computer, a microphone and the love of a good tune to get your karaoke groove on," reads the AOL release. "Best of all, you can e- mail your version around to friends and share your renditions of your favorite songs."

Your friends might consider it the musical version of Viagra spam, but as Jai on "Queer Eye" recently advised, "Karaoke is not about singing well -- it's about having fun."

Whackita-whackita.

HOUSE RULES

It's good to have some house rules should you decide to bring karaoke into yours. Here are some of mine:

-- What's sung in Vegas should stay in Vegas. Guests are limited to one Elvis song apiece, to prevent bloating. I also have one question for Tom Jones fans: Why, why, why "Delilah"? Domestic violence is creepy. Stick to "What's New, Pussycat."

-- Think carefully before buying the karaoke version of any song with your name in it. It's hard to "cheer up, sleepy Jean," when the reason you're grouchy and tired is that someone else won't stop singing "Daydream Believer."

-- There's no such thing as Cher and share alike. When the beat goes on (and plan for it going on and on), there can only be one diva, no matter how many extra cordless mikes you've got. In our home, it so happens that my husband does the better Cher. So I guess it's true: Love means never having to say, "You're Sonny."


E-mail Jeanne Cooper at jcooper@sfchronicle.com.