Ju-Hachi-Ban Revival

The only thing we can be certain will not change is that things will always change. Tides shift, new moons rise, and ju-hachi-bans rise from the fiery depths of karaokial volcanoes. Marking the reactivation of a two-month karaoke hiatus, the other night I found myself screaming into the mic once again at Karaoke All: a fine, classy establishment residing less than a minute walk from my apartment. Notes were belted, voices were scratched—I even discovered a curious red spot IN my eye the following morning (which has inadvertently opened the door to a world of lame “eye’m doing good” type jokes which I’ve been employing with Danegrfield-like intensity). But, most noteworthy, last night was the end of an era: I have retired “Welcome to the Jungle” as my ju-hachi-ban, and found what I feel is a solid replacement.

I started off the evening with an experiment in death metal, a verifiable shouting of System of a Down’s “Chop Suey,” nearly destroying my vocal chords in the process. The stance also required for death metal tunes—one foot forward, knees lightly bent, torso bent at a 45-degree angle from the waist, head banging—proved slightly taxing on my injured hamstring. I liked the energy of the song, but worry that after singing it another two times I would be rendered clinically dumb. To soften it up, I Doobie-Brothered it with “Black Water,” a friend getting soulful with me in that rather funky Dixielandish kind of way. But, it’s obvious that this song would not be so fun to sing alone, let alone doable as my voice lacks, as it were, goodness. For my next song, I threw in a little G’N’R of course, ‘cause you and I just need a little patience, but that’s another ditty that requires a fellow Axler. “Time After Time,” by Cindi Lauper was attempted as well. This is another duet, though, and can only be done with a female counterpart. In fact, I’m pretty sure the original version lacks the male voice that I imposed, and anyway, choosing a new ju-hachi-ban is a solo endeavor. The Rolling Stones’ “Miss You,” was a strong candidate, but its obscurity often prevents others from joining in (although I do love that part when Mick coos: “I been walking Central Park, singing after dark, people think I’m crraaazzzzyyy.” )

So what, you might ask, could satisfy this grave hunger inside of me, the hollow and existentially-void-of meaning feeling that is rampant in a ju-hachi-ban-less existence. It didn't take long to realize that the solution was within my very fingertips: Prince’s “Purple Rain.” For a long time PR was a solid pillar in the edifice of my Usuals repertoire. However, because I was so attached to WTTJ, I failed to reflect that being guided to The Purple Rain by his majesty would prove to be not only a strategic step-up in my karaoke pedigree, but it would also assuage the spiritual anomie that is apparent only when one is without a metaphorical, Ju-hachi-banical abode. PR not only provides the sentimentality that WTTJ lacked (well, that’s up to the singer’s interpretation I suppose), but it fulfills the very primal urge to yell. When Prince confesses that honey, I know, I know times are changing, I can reach the vocal heights that I did during the KYAAAAAAA part in WTTJ, but I can easily return to a very sweet and vocally economic refrain. Perhaps you, like I once was, are skeptical about the length of the song, namely that rather long and billowing guitar solo at the end (and we all know that songs with extended guitar solos are, by definition, not appropriate ju-hachi-bans, save Metallica’s “One”) . The beauty of karaoke, though, is that they have customized the song to slide under the five-minute mark (the original being well-over seven minutes) by completely removing the solo. This shortening also allows me to get the maximum caloric benefit from the song, as the machines at Karaoke All give you a score at the end of each song based on how many Kcals you burned during your musical interpretation. Thus, this system of scoring has become a valid criterion among me and my companions to empirically evaluate the quality of each member’s performances. I am confident that with one rendition of PR I can burn, on the average, 11 Kcals (more, I dare say, than the measly nine burned with WTTJ). I attribute this two calorie surplus, as well as the adoption of an entirely new ju-hachi-banical perspective on life, to a simple, omnipresent Prince lyric:

“It’s time we all reach out for something new…and that means you, too.”