shamelessness is good
Crowds, in fact, tend to form when the mood is cozy, respectful and full of shameless characters. At Arlene's Grocery on the Lower East Side on Mondays, punk rockers sing karaoke with a live band, then offer friendly analysis on Tuesday via Internet message boards.
M Shanghai Bistro in Williamsburg offers hip hop karaoke to amateur MCs on Sundays, and at the Royal Oak a few blocks away, 20 to 30 regulars gather each Monday to sing obscure favorites in the candlelit back room of the bar. They close each night by singing Kool & the Gang's Celebration.
Friendships here can often be traced to karaoke, whether at Enid's in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, a few years ago, or other bars like the Alligator Lounge, in Williamsburg, which has karaoke on Thursdays. Most of the regulars return not just to sing but also to encourage one another. The hostess at the Royal Oak, Jenny Jemison, 26 and dark-haired, knows all the singers by their first names.
The most confident performers sing several songs in an evening, and the regulars know one another's range. When Jonathan Parsons, a 25-year-old waiter, prefaced Radiohead's Paranoid Android with a disclaimer on a recent Monday, the crowd told him not to worry -- and the song came off without of a hitch.
Meanwhile, the loudest applause was reserved for the quirkiest or most energetic performances, including one bearded bald man's take on Tori Amos' Cornflake Girl.
"Karaoke addicts" will sing anything, anywhere, anytime. Many of them show up at several karaoke bars each week. Some of them became hooked on song in private suites.
pleasure of performing
Other enthusiasts discovered karaoke after singing in choirs or in a cappella groups in college. Among them are Jay Ferguson, 29, a vice president at Saatchi & Saatchi, who recently proposed to his girlfriend, Finnin, while singing the Moulin Rouge version of Elton John's Your Song.
Still more are instantly attracted by the sheer pleasure of performing before and with a crowd. According to Jemison, who also works at Second on Second, a Japanese restaurant in the East Village with a lounge and private rooms, most of these fanatics started as "karaoke virgins," people who "take the mike very reluctantly and only to appease the almost bullying of their friends."
"They issue many disclaimers, and are usually very drunk," she said. "Usually it's a beautiful disaster, which true karaoke performances should be.
"But every once in a while, they pick the perfect song, maybe something with hand claps; think Hall and Oates' Private Eyes. And they nail it and the crowd is into it. `Private eyes (CLAP-CLAP) are watching you ...'
"And there it is, another karaoke addict has been born. You can see it in their eyes. You know they are going to want that microphone in their hand for the rest of the night."
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