(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."