Karaoke

I have discovered an interesting fact about my musical tastes. In the past people have told me that I only listen to one kind of music, so I have tried to diversify. The pattern is still the same: I obsess over one group until I'm sick of them, then move on to another. Still, I think that I have managed to mix it up a bit. Today taught me something though; none of the bands that I listen to are the kind that can be found on a karaoke song list.

The students chose karaoke for this Friday's activity. I was somewhat hesitant to go along with the idea, since my idea of karaoke included the concept that one must be drunk to enjoy it. Still, after asking the pastor what he thought of the idea I decided to go along with it. So this morning five of us piled into a taxi and went to a place with karaoke rooms.

Notice I do not say that we went to a karaoke bar, which is what I thought we would do. The place where we went had several private rooms with couches and a table in the middle. We ordered drinks, and a man turned on the karaoke monster that sat in the corner, extending its microphone tipped tentacles out into the room.

As I stared at the book full of songs two things dawned on me. First, I wanted to have fun and I wanted the students who had brought me to this place to have fun. Second, I didn't see exactly how that would end up happening.

I sat back and sipped on my coke, deciding that I'd just see how things went and join in eventually.

"Sing!" said one of the students, shoving the song list and microphone in my face. I protested, saying someone else should sing first, but she persisted. I decided now would be a good time to practice the social art of "smiling and laughing at dread", also known as SALAD.

I took the book and began flipping through it, trying to find a song which I liked. A quick glance showed this was a futile ambition, and I began searching for any song I knew. It seemed almost as if the entire English section of the book was dedicated to Celine Dion. Now, I have no problems with Celine Dion, but I don't know any of her songs. In fact, the only thing I know about her is that she's Canadian. I wouldn't even know this, if it wasn't for the fact that Canada has no other celebrities to speak of, except for Pamela Anderson of course.

That should piss of half my family quite effectively.

I finally settled on a Billy Joel song, simply because there were very few other songs I knew. Unfortunately, I forgot two important things. I forgot that Billy Joel changes keys constantly (meaning the songs are nearly impossible to follow), and that he says "oooooooooh" A LOT. The result was quite embarrassing. Fortunately, it was so completely embarrassing that I decided I had no dignity left to lose. I have since concluded that this is the point of karaoke.

We sang songs for another hour, mostly in Russian. I only chose one more (We Will Rock You) which was also abysmal. The Russian songs were simple, with easy tunes and easy ranges, but unfortunately, being Russian, they were written in Russian. I have a hard enough time reading Mongolian, and the patterns are different in Russian. I could barely read at the speed of the songs, let along read AND sing.

Eventually another student showed up, who's name was Davaa. Davaa was a member of a locally popular rock band, so I asked him to sing (since I had never heard him sing before). He picked a Mongolian song, and did a quite decent job of it. He then chose a Beatles song, which was refreshingly easy to read and sing.

Everyone clapped when he finished. One of the students (a young woman) remarked that he sounded almost professional. I looked at her.

"He's in a rock band" I said.

"Yes," she said, "he could be in a rock band".

"No, no, I mean he is in a rock band".

"He sounds like it, doesn't he?" she replied.

I shook my head. Conversations with students usually run like this, even when the students are in the upper levels. Davaa's friend Yumka leaned over to me.

"He.... rock group.... name... Fire" he said. (Yumka started learning English last week)

The other student looked at him with wide eyes, and the conversation left English entirely. She couldn't believe that this man was a member of Fire.

"Sorry," she said, turning slightly red. "We've never met one of our celebrities before, Fire is a very popular band."

An uncomfortable silence followed. With a rock star in the room, who would dare sing? I found it somewhat amusing, mostly because I had never seen the rock star in his element. I had only seen him struggling to remember things like the meaning of "How are you?" and the word "pets".

The ice soon thawed however, and we continued singing. Davaa ordered a glass (a glass, not a shot) of vodka, which was the only alcohol anyone had while we were there. After another hour or so we decided it was time to go.

We went out, and I headed off to get a taxi. The group called me back. "Come with us, we'll take you back to the school" they said. We all piled into Davaa's van. As I sat down, I remembered that Davaa was the guy who had drunk the glass of vodka. I briefly wondered how many beers a glass of 80 proof vodka was equal to. However, I then remembered that Ulaanbaatar streets are always jammed with traffic, and that we'd probably never top 15 mph on the way back.

The traffic was terrible, even worse than normal. After about 10 minutes Davaa got tired of it all, and decided to take an alternate route back. The "alternate route" was empty, and we sped along at about 60 mph. 60 seemed like a breakneck speed in Ulaanbaatar, and I tried to keep from gripping the seat as pedestrians and vehicles crossed the road in front of us. The students continued happily chatting back and forth in Mongolian and English. Davaa chatted too, except when he stopped to swear at something that swerved into his path.

Halfway back I decided that whatever number of beers a glass of 80 proof vodka was equal to, it was less than the number required to make Davaa's driving noticeably different from that of the average taxi driver. This is either a testament to Mongolians' ability to hold their liquor, or an indication that all Mongolian taxi drivers are slightly tipsy.

Still, we made it back just fine. I think I might even do it again if the opportunity arises. I just wish that I hadn't been quite so up-tight the entire time we were there. I suppose that my initial thoughts about the necessity of being drunk were at least partially correct.