Ten Years in an Empty Orchestra Pit: A Relatively Sympathetic Observer's Guide to Karaoke--Pt. II

Most KJs are also karaoke singers, and few can resist the urge to add themselves to the evening's rotation of performers. But they are also well aware that their real job--the one they're being paid for--is to get butts into the seats, and to make sure that those butts are attached to thirsty bodies. To the club owner, after all, karaoke is entirely about selling alcohol. So the KJ knows that Job One is to keep the crowd happy, which means getting the singers on stage as often as possible (nothing annoys a prima donna like waiting two hours between star turns) and making the experience at least palatable for the non-singers. Is it any wonder, then, that most KJs are preternaturally upbeat? ("Hey, all right, give it up for Mary and her, uh, unique interpretation of-what was that supposed to be? Oh yeah-"Beauty and the Beast!")

My favorite KJ is a former Playboy bunny in suburban San Diego who calls herself Woo. Woo can smile, flatter, and kibitz with the best of them, but she also has a prickly side. Her list of rules is nearly a page long, and you would be well-advised to obey every one of them, because, when crossed, Woo can transform instantly into the "Soup Nazi" from Seinfeld ("No karaoke for you, Kramer!"). But she runs a tight ship and puts on an entertaining show. And unlike some of her smiley-faced colleagues, she doesn't pretend that every singer is Pavarotti. Check out this from her website:

If I get several really bad singers, I try to put in a good singer to make up to the audience [for] the awful stuff they were forced to listen to. This usually happens when there are new singers that I don't know. They come up and they are really soooo horrible. I have to think quick [sic] of someone to put up next that is really good.

Be sure to come back next month for Part III.

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