The Nightmare Acts You Witness as a Karaoke Host

If you aren't a singer or a showboater, karaoke is still the perfect spectator sport–one that goes hand-in-hand with drunken shenanigans, booze-fueled bro-downs, out-of-control bachelorette parties, and raucous 21-runs. But a big part of the job as a KJ is wrangling drunk people, a task that ranges from endearingly vexing to potentially unsafe.

On one particularly insufferable occasion, a sweet, nerdy guy came up to the stage and shakily began singing his song. From the back corner, stage right, I hear, "Boooo!" I had only been working a few weeks at that point, but I've gone to this karaoke bar since I first got my hands on a fake ID in high school. I've never heard a single person boo. This isn't a dinner show; you don't come for the talent. You come because everyone in this bar cheers, sings along, and, if you're lucky, participates in a full-on dance party at the end of the night.

If you ever think about booing someone during karaoke, do the world a favor: go home and reassess all the decisions in your life that led you to this moment.

In response, I pulled their slips from the cue, and when the group inevitably complained, I gave them a simple ultimatum: Tip me $100 or don't sing for the rest of the night.

All things considered, I haven't had many terrible experiences as a KJ. I'm still bright eyed and bushy tailed, but I know it can get pretty ghastly. So I asked some other karaoke hosts to share their experiences, and they were—like the vocal ability of their patrons—extremely varied.

Who doesn't love Fleetmood Mag? Instagram photos courtesy of Victor.

One of the oddest interactions I've ever experienced with a singer happened my first time hosting karaoke. It was a few hours into the night, and things were getting pretty rowdy. Some members of a local band were sitting in a booth next to the KJ stand, having just concluded a game of pint glass Jenga, which resulted in a floor covered in beer and broken glass.

In the middle of this, a young, stone-faced man in short shorts approached me and flatly asked, "Where's the Party Madonna?" It was pretty loud, so I had to ask him to repeat himself. Dead-eyed, he asked again, "Where's the Party Madonna?"

"I don't know where Party Madonna is—can you tell me?" I replied, unsettled but eager to please.

He asked again, "Where's the Party Madonna?"

My mind was racing. What was this guy talking about? Then I remembered: "Where's the Party" is a song by Madonna, the singer. And, of course, I did not have it.

He later ended up singing "Holiday" while rolling around in the post-Jenga beer and glass. Moral of the story: Know your Madonna—and where she parties.

A girl dumped a melted candle on my mixer because her song wasn't up yet. I don't have any good stories I can think of, just a lot of assholes.

I host karaoke at a place with a lot of history—we still use a huge collection of vintage laserdiscs. They're irreplaceable, and accompanying each song is a requisite cheesy 80's low-budget video. Sometimes they are quite charming or bizarre. Sometimes they are quite racist. I'll never forget the time I queued somebody up to sing Toto's "Africa" (a very popular song, I might add). I was adjusting the volume levels, my back to the screen for a good minute or so, when I turned around to abject faces of horror. The video accompaniment was a collage of horrible racist tropes: blackface, tribal savagery, weird bone necklaces, and ritual animal sacrifice. Half of my audience that night was black, and the other half laughed at the video completely oblivious.

Name: MiYe ("Mike"), Artist: Erig Plapta ("Eric Clapton"), Song: Lalq ("Layla"). Drunken scrawl translated by Victor.

Once, after a rowdy shouting match, I asked one of the other KJs, who was there on his night off, if he ever felt unsafe. He pulled up his t-shirt, and at his waist: a gun holster with a pistol in it. He laughed maniacally, and said, "never."

There's tons of annoying stuff that happens every single time you KJ: Someone screams into the microphone or tries to do cool mic tricks in a very small area. People constantly ask you how long until their song comes up as if you were making them wait on purpose, or they try to talk to you when you're clearly engaged in setting something up. And, of course, someone always signs up for "Don't Stop Believin'" or "Valerie" like they're the first person to ever sing it.

The most memorable night for me took place when three men and a young woman came in. The best way to describe their dress was like they were going to a late lunch at the country club. They were fairly quiet at first, then after about half an hour the server came over with a tray of Fireball whiskey. "That table just bought a round of Fireball for the whole room," she said. Then, they did it again five more times. The woman came up and asked to sign up for a couple of songs. I could tell she was having a great time watching other people sing; she was smiling like it was her first time seeing karaoke.

They stayed the entire time we were open, and at the end of the night, they paid everyone's tab and tipped us $100. The woman had an interesting name—which I found out from her karaoke slips. I may have been breaking some karaoke code of ethics, but I ended up putting the name in Facebook out of sheer curiosity. Turns out she was the head stewardess on a gigantic yacht. I assume the other people she was with were charter guests or some rich men she'd seduced, who knows. Get it girl.

The funniest dedication I've ever heard was from this guy who came up and, before he started, announced into the mic, "My friend John has been having an incredibly tough week. So I'd like to dedicate this song to my friend John, and anyone else who was ever stabbed in the heart!" I'm still not sure if he meant it literally or figuratively.

One night there was another group singing—I say "singing" but they were mostly making weird noises, more or less orca sounds. High-pitched whale moans. For some reason, this offended Justin, one of my regulars. He threw a glass at them and all of a sudden a bar-wide brawl broke out. They fought right out in front of the bar and onto the hood of my car. It was probably 20 to 30 minutes before the karaoke started back on and I told the crowd, "Now listen, let this be a lesson to you: If you're gonna sing here, don't sing badly."

Don't be sorry, Ryan.

One time I got trashy drunk and kept yelling "fuck" into the mic and proceeded to tell the crowd that I was going to get fired for it, as well as that they didn't pay me and that I only work for tips.

Funny enough, the crowd loved it. I made more money that night than any other night I've been there.