Ten Years in an Empty Orchestra Pit: A Relatively Sympathetic Observer's Guide to Karaoke--Pt. II
young people born at least ten years after Bob Denver's last paying gig); holiday favorites ("Have Yourself a Merry Little Purim"); and children's songs (because it's never too soon to introduce your offspring to the pleasures of drunken exhibitionism). Once you decide which tune you want to sing, you write it on a slip of paper and hand it to the emcee, also known as the KJ (karaoke-rather than disc-jockey).
Ah, the KJ. The KJ is to an evening of karaoke what the director is to a high school play, the ringmaster in a circus of the unevenly talented. The good ones keep the show moving along by skillfully mixing newcomers with repeat offenders, getting people on and off stage efficiently, and maintaining a balance between slow and up- tempo songs. This latter task is of particular importance, because, left to their own devices, most karaoke singers would inevitably opt for show-off songs. Show-off songs are typically long and boring, but they include a variety of high and low notes that give performers a chance to demonstrate their exquisite vocal skills to an audience that, for the most part, couldn't care less. Some examples would be the theme from the movie Titanic ("My Heart Will Go On") or anything by Whitney Houston; for men, think "Unchained Melody". These are the karaoke equivalent of throwing down a monster slam-dunk during a basketball game: they are meant to impress the competition, the singer's way of saying, "I got game."
On a trip to Guam, I happened into a karaoke bar with a large picture window overlooking Tumon Bay, where every evening the setting sun would gently collide with the Pacific Ocean, providing a breathtaking display of color unmatched by anything I've ever witnessed in California or Hawaii. But my attention was diverted that night by the KJ and her associates, three unusually attractive women who moved from table to table, sharing drinks and conversation with the customers. It quickly became apparent that their duties extended beyond changing CDs and passing around the microphone. Put simply, they were employed to pounce on any single man who might be desperate for female companionship and willing to buy a pretty lady several overpriced cocktails. It was, in a sense, the opposite of happy hour, one drink for the price of two, and since the women never left the building, it was equally clear that if one of them reached
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