(Reprinted from the Indianapolis Star - May 19, 2006) by Kelly Kendall

Anyone who's ever heard me butcher "Have You Ever Seen Rain" would probably fall off his barstool laughing at the idea of me giving karaoke pointers.

Hey, I don't claim to have the singing thing down, but from my perch in the audience, I've noticed a few things about song selection, which is important.

On "American Idol," which crowns its latest kind-of star next week, how many times has Simon Cowell crushed somebody's dreams with, "I like you, I just don't like the song"?

You want: Slight obscurity. The latest big hits get everybody singing along, but the song that's just a little bit random will surprise and delight your audience ("Hey, I forgot about this song! I love this song! Rock on!").

No long instrumentals. These are anathema to a good karaoke performance. Few people seize the opportunity to break out slammin' dance moves; most of us just stand there awkwardly and stare at the screen as we realize that "16 measures" is a really long time.

Of course, even the best songs fall flat when they're coming from the gullets of people like me; there's a reason we don't have recording contracts. That's why, as inexplicably alluring as I find karaoke, I totally get why other people hate it. It usually means spending about three hours listening to other people's mediocre to bad singing, waiting for a chance to humiliate yourself. But here's what I noticed at the Living Room Lounge last weekend: Almost everyone was actually really good.

A hotbed of talent? Not so much as the masterful skills of KJ (karaoke jockey) Norm Reel.

When a singer gets up to belt out a number, Norm is quietly toiling a couple feet away, tweaking their vocals, rounding out tinny voices and bringing shrill ones down a little.

"My show is intimidating because the level of the singers, they perceive, are really good," says Norm, who KJs four nights a week around town. "In reality, 90 percent of them, I'm making them sound good."

There are only a few Mariahs and Barbras out there. That's where Norm comes in.

I wondered if there were certain songs Norm has learned to hate. Considering that he's probably heard "Livin' on a Prayer" screamed by drunken frat guys about a billion times by now, I wouldn't blame him for "losing" some requests.

Norm's heart is not as black as mine. He wants everyone to go home happy.

But he will not be bribed. Girls, your eyelashes will bat to no avail. And he has no use for excuses. "The biggest one is, 'I have to leave.' The second one is, 'The people I'm with want to hear me sing.' "

He goes down that road, says Norm, and he loses his crowd.

I wondered if any of us are so utterly, hopelessly awful that even Norm realizes he is powerless to improve things. No. He will bravely soldier on with his switches and controls until the very last bar of "Funky Cold Medina."

"Generally, if someone is tone-deaf, which is the worst-case scenario, they know it and won't sing," says Norm. "I encourage even those people to sing in a group. I'll say, 'I'll hand you a mike and turn it off, and you can act like you're singing; see what it's like to get that applause.' "

Because people almost always applaud.

"Either it was really good, or they're glad it's over with."