The Sounds She Collected is a newsletter about mixtapes and mixed emotions. Thanks for being part of this hive mind for empathetic, hopeful people.
After this pandemic is over—and I mean truly, truly over—I will rush back into the arms of a companion I’ve missed the most, karaoke.
I’d often spend Sunday nights shoulder to shoulder in the sweaty dive bar that is Cafe Mustache, purveyor of an instant hangover. Normally a chill hangout, on Sunday nights the bar would transform into a disco wonderland replete with a surprise fog machine, special lighting for mood music, a glittery disco ball, and $5 drinks. L, J, and I would dress up, sip a stiff martini at Queen Mary, and go celebrate being alive with a bunch of strangers turned karaoke friends.
I miss these nights. I can’t wait to pass around an unsanitized microphone, wait the 20-person pause before my song is up, and scribble crowd-pleasers like '“YOU OUTGHTA KNOW!” on a tiny request sheet.
Karaoke was first introduced in 1972, in a bar in Kobe, Japan. It translates to “empty orchestra,” which I find quite haunting and beautiful. My affinity for karaoke stems from this idea—it is at its purest form, escapism. When I sing karaoke, I become Stevie Nicks. I can translate and channel my emotions through song. I can become someone else for a few minutes.
I often feel as if I was born in the wrong era, possessing a love of Joni Mitchell music and hating tech. Karaoke lets me exist in that sublime feeling of connection, acknowledging the words of others and the creative geniuses that make beloved songs.
My last karaoke adventure was on a particularly freezing night in December 2019. I wore a lavender dress that had way too many drawstring ties and allowed me to twirl in dramatic fashion. L sang “Total Eclipse of the Heart” and brought the house down. Suddenly it was midnight, and we waltzed outside into the cool air, misty clouds forming as we laughed.
I’ve been keeping a running tally for the past 19 months: Songs I Cannot Wait to Sing at Karaoke. And most of them are ‘60s and ‘70s power ballads. “Edge of Seventeen.” “You’re No Good.” “Magic Man.”
Playlist 61, superstar, features all of my dream karaoke songs if I were a ‘70s diva. Like Linda Ronstadt, the first female musician to have four albums go platinum. Or Carole King, whose album Tapestry will change your life. Shuffle it up until we can all sing together again.
It’s all happening,
Sarah
Pass the mic to the friend you always sing karaoke duets with.
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Something to remember: “God had to create disco music so I could be born and be successful.” —Donna Summer