Why are Singaporeans so obsessed with KTV?
If music is the food of love, then KTV lounges are a glutton’s paradise for many in Singapore.To get more news about Melbourne City Karaoke, you can visit starsktv.com.au official website.
It seems no matter our station in life, there are specific things that instantly evoke a surge of affection for being Singaporean. These include hearing the Singaporean accent in a foreign country, seeing a “mama shop” (a sundry shop at HDB estates) still standing, and belting out old school pop songs in a KTV lounge with friends. Despite KTVs being closed for more than a year due to the COVID-19 pandemic, recent news about the police raid of illegal KTV outlets revealed our inexplicable, and apparently undying, passion for karaoke.
On Apr 3, police busted into illegal karaoke joints, arresting patrons for allegedly flouting rules under the Public Entertainment Act and Liquor Control Act 2015, as well as for their suspected breach of COVID-19 measures.
Netizens were quick to zoom in on the most significant detail of the story: “Nearly all had been in the middle of Mandopop songs from singers including Jacky Cheung and Jay Chou when the police burst in.” The jokes wrote themselves. One commenter said: “Rumour has it that the person insisted on finishing the song first before he was to be led away by police.”
Now, in the middle of a pandemic, this is serious criminal activity – those caught were not only breaking the law for a song but consumed alcohol without a permit, had more than eight people gathered and one person with an outstanding warrant of arrest, according to the police.Despite the seriousness of this crime, underpinning the amusing online reactions was an acknowledgment of the shameless stereotypes of being a karaoke lover, such as the desperate need to sing (or scream) that one song which defines our KTV experience one last time before we call it a day.
After a year since karaoke joints ceased operations during the circuit breaker period, this collective memory feels hazy at best. But a nostalgia for good old days fuels a large part of our love for karaoke — and this love will take more than a pandemic to kill. When news broke that local karaoke chain Teo Heng KTV was struggling to stay afloat after they were forced to close due to COVID-19, many friends took to social media to opine the place that Teo Heng had in their hearts.
The 31-year-old brand was a hallmark of their school and National Service days, having gotten them through multiple milestones in life, from healing after breakups to bonding with new friends.
In a squeezy KTV lounge, faced with a plate of cold peanuts on the table and a garish music video completely unrelated to the song, with Michael Learns to Rock or Mayday blasting over the speakers, and friends egging you on to sing your heart out, everything else falls away. Each song lined up on the karaoke system is a promise of escape from your worries. Behind the mic, life feels simpler, as though all problems can be cured through four-minute intervals of catharsis.
All of us occasionally yearn for the past, but when life has been turned upside down in a pandemic and there is no blueprint for navigating uncertainty for the indefinite future, this longing can hit especially hard.
Some of us still hope to return to "normal life", unwilling to accept that this is normal now.
In a way, nostalgia is an escape from the present. Before COVID-19 hit, we might have retreated to KTV booths to de-stress from a high-pressure work day, avoid everyday responsibilities for a few hours, or run from personal problems.
But the desire for escapism amid a global pandemic feels heavier and more urgent, less indulgent or hedonistic. We no longer just wish to escape common problems, but an entirely new way of living we were rudely thrust into.
There are certainly better solutions to coping with change. But sometimes, it’s the simplest solution that works best, like singing a beloved Jacky Cheung song whose lyrics you probably remember better than your Singpass password. On top of the nostalgia of crooning old tunes in a KTV lounge, karaoke is embarrassingly tacky — but that’s precisely why it’s adored and sorely missed.
No one cares about sleek, commercial aesthetics in karaoke. The music videos seem to hail from the 80s, complete with shaky stock videos of nature and models gazing wistfully into the distance in the middle of European architecture or endless fields with tulips and marigolds.