Tuesday, May 15, 2007

15 May 2007

When I lived in New York, and before that, when I sang in college and did international tours, my friends and I used to blow of steam every once in a while by imposing ourselves on a poor, unsuspecting karaoke bar. Because of the nature of karaoke in New York (and apparently also in Toronto), everyone cheered and sang along when we would do a screaming, jumping, heartfelt rendition of “Livin’ on a Prayer,” and no one really minded that we were standing on our chairs and sounding like a pack of rabid animals. That’s what you do at karaoke, right? You go with friends, pick the loudest songs from your youth, and howl them out in a show of friendly bonding.

Not in Switzerland. The Swiss take their karaoke seriously. Unless you go to karaoke at an expat-dominated bar, the mike is dominated by people who favor Celine Dion ballads to show off their vocal prowess. I went to one karaoke night when “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” and the Titanic song were each sung twice. At Swiss karaoke nights, one person earnestly belts it out into the microphone while the rest of the bar politely listens. Although the singers are sometimes impressive, it’s not the rowdy bonding experience that I’m used to.

This past Friday, a few friends and I decided to go to karaoke night at an expat bar, so our audience was decidedly less staid than the patrons of the more Swiss karaoke bars, but even so, I think they were a bit taken aback by our, how should I put it, enthusiasm. We had at least two people on each of the three mikes for every song, and we ran around trying to get the less stunned-looking members of the crowd to join in. Near the end of the evening, one fellow karaoke participant, searching for something nice to say, complimented our English (keep in mind that we were all American or Canadian), and another singer said that he admired our "energy."

The next night, I watched the Eurovision finals for the first time. Eurovision is sort of like Star Search for all of Europe. Every country sends one group or singer, their top pick, to compete, and the top 24 countries make it to the finals. People vote by phone or SMS, and then each country then submits its people’s votes in a strange quasi- electoral college voting system. After having watched the contest, I have to say that I have no idea why they get so serious about their karaoke here, because the performers on Eurovision, their countries’ best, were mostly exceptional only for their "energy."

My favorites, for your viewing pleasure, were the Ukraine (which came in second in spite of, or perhaps because of the cross-dressing Elton John-type singer and his knee-socked go-go boys), Sweden (note the lead singer’s flashy necklace and the guitar player’s 1980’s mother-of-the-bride shirt), France (that black thing around the guy’s neck is a stuffed cat), and Greece (he shimmies better than Ricky Martin).

After much fuss and angst, we finally secured our visas to go to Russia! They arrived this morning, just in time for our evening departure. Whew. The people at the Russian embassy and consulate in Switzerland rarely answer their phone, and they are rather hostile and unhelpful (independently confirmed by my dentist, who also happens to be going there this month, and who had similar difficulties getting a visa). Everything I’ve ever heard about Russian bureaucracy and efficiency has been proven in our dealings with the hotel and the embassy, but I’m hoping that all the amazing things I’ve heard about Russia are equally true. We leave today for Helsinki, Finland, and then spend the weekend in St. Petersburg!

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