I know, it's New York, so there’s a disproportionate likelihood that the people at a karaoke bar with you are classically trained Broadway chorus stars. But come on! This is not your American Idol audition, nor is there a record executive in the audience of a basement bar off the Halsey subway stop waiting to discover you right now. Hell, even your chance of getting laid only increases by about 20 percent if you hit every note.
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Karaoke is for us, the vast majority of vocally inept quiet types who want a release after a long week. It is for the underpaid, the underappreciated, the recently broken up with. I am judged from the time I get on the subway (thanks, bystanders) to the time I drag myself home (thanks, roommates), so I’m in desperate need of a judgment-free zone. Screaming something at the top of your lungs is an amazing way to forget about the L train, your boss or your dismal dating situation. So let me have a go at making a fool of myself, and back off the Christina Aguilera act. And why don’t you have some fun too? Stop playing it safe with boring songs “in your range.” Why don’t you play some emo tunes and climb on the furniture? Sing Meatloaf, Blink 182 or Kate Bush, and force strangers to sing along with you! Karaoke night should be one long, upbeat finale number of Kinky Boots, not the intermission music for Long Day’s Journey into Night.
Yes, my F was sharp, but it is the only F I happen to give right now. So good job if you hit that high note perfectly in the mind-numbingly dull Peter Paul and Mary song; I’ll be over here waiting to spill my rum and coke on you and pretend it was an accident.