Other times, it’s Inter-generational Karaoke Night.ĭebra-Lynn B. Sometimes during crisis times, all you can think to do is curl up in the fetal position. “Whatever gets you through the night, it’s all right, it’s all right,” and then some. The other night, we were up til 3:30, every tune bringing transformation, moving us away for a short time from masks, social distancing and political activism and unrest, into something easy.ĭon’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.” Sometimes Karaoke Night morphs into Karaoke Morning. We’ve dipped into “Hamilton,” Weird Al and late at night, Frank Sinatra and Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World.” We have developed with each passing week a knowledge of what can bring down the house, my “Angel” by Sarah MacLachlan, anything Disney by Chris and Benjie’s “Helplessness Blues” by Fleet Foxes. The differences between my sons and me have become educable moments, them teaching me the meaning behind rapper Kendrick Lamar’s stark words, me teaching them that Stevie Wonder was and still is an activist, even if he is ancient. It’s been an evolution through the weeks. Get a few things figured out, and what can emerge is ecstasy, not the drug, but the feeling that means you’re happy. “This song reminds me of my first girlfriend in eighth grade,” my eldest says, as he begins to sing “I’d do anything just to hold you in my arms” by Simple Plan.
These were the songs we’d crank up and belt out on long family road trips, which the kids started adding to as they got older, Indie bands, Mumford & Sons, rap. Starting with my and my husband’s childhoods, we have gathered tunes to thread the years, from “West Side Story” and “Sound of Music” hits, to Motown, Crosby, Stills Nash and Young, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, disco, reggae, Billy Joel, Elton John and the ballads of Jimmy Buffett. We are, after all, a family who sings, our repertoire built off generations of listening and singing to music. Our “Bohemian Rhapsody” shakes the mice out of the rafters. Raucous singalongs and air guitar are not unheard of. We are serious about our karaoke, maintaining personal queues and focused on crowd pleasers, accurate imitations and multiple genres. We bring out the amp and microphone I got for Christmas one year.Īnd for a few hours, we croon our multiple cares away, them with their signature Hozier and Vampire Weekend, me with my Whitney Houston and Carly Simon, all of us calling up family standards, Don McLean’s “Miss American Pie,” Arlo Guthrie’s “The City of New Orleans,” anything Beatles, Avett Brothers, Stevie Wonder or Simon and Garfunkel. Some families do crafts and take bike rides to stave off the COVID slumps.
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