Karaoke in Finland: Maybe, They Don't Have Good Cable

Amongst all of Finland's many peculiar ways, the oddest is doubtless the genuine fondness of its people for the most infamous art of the night: karaoke. While an outsider would expect from the land of metal music more "serious" customs to occupy its long, gloomy winter nights, taking the microphone in one of the two thousand karaoke places across Finland is less extraordinary than it seems at first glance. Less a craze than an truly popular hobby, whose widespread appeal beyond age and social status is the only really remarkable feature, in contrast with the tacky reputation it can't shake off in countries like France. After all, is there any more common thing than singing, particularly in this country of musicians? Stripped of the kitsch folklore of the performance, that is...

This is an extreme example of kitsch karaoke folklore.

Our preconceptions on fun and karaoke, if any, melted away from the first night out of the summer school held in Tampere in August 2007, as our group of international students happily stormed into the Manse Dance pub, located in refurbished central factory Finlayson. It was a bit of a chance, since we had found closed the door of the club we were heading to, and the group was about to split and scatter in the centre when someone spotted affordable drinks in a nearby bar.
The following cultural encounter was an unexpected success, as much for the light and very happy time we had there, massacring all together J. Karjalainen's standard Hän and doing hardly better on Tom Jones' Sex Bomb, as for the slightly stunned Finns challenged in their ordinary, half-empty bar routine, yet undeniably proud to see foreigners upholding Finland's most treasured tradition.

In Finland, karaoke is to be found in many places and forms. A few months after that first experience, I witnessed an even less likely spectacle in Tampere's Inferno, while killing time between the end of a concert by my favourite German black metal band and the morning bus which would bring me back to the peaceful suburb of Kaukajärvi. After the concert venue closed, the attendance had moved to the hard rock and metal club, a franchise established in a few cities around Finland. As bizarre as it could seem to play this kind of harsh music in a night club, it wouldn't sound nearly as bizarre as the idea of organizing there a karaoke that would truly fit the atmosphere. And yet... My friend Markus, who had come along to the concert, shouted to my ear through the roaring that the current performer looked very much like the frontman of Swallow the Sun, and that his buds were part of Ensiferum, or another rather well-known metal band from Finland. Covers of Metallica classics are often priceless.

But that is not all. To the example of radio-crochet in the French sixties, which brought to the public light most of the yé-yé stars of then, a significant share of Finnish singers (popular music and less accessible genres altogether) have been revealed through karaoke competitions. Even for those which Nature has not gifted with a facility for singing, karaoke can be put to good use, as the practice on which an afterparty conversation with Finnish progressive metalheads, some night in Tampere's Klubi, shed light: "- Recording vocals in studio without playing guitar at the same time was easier, but for the live my bandmates had me go through a lot of karaoke..."


Yet watching shan't suffice. A foreigner willing to know the real Finnish experience has to be ready to walk, in turn, into the spotlight. A first attempt from my Finnish friends to get me there, to no avail though, took place in Helsinki's Satumaa just over a year ago; my reserve overcame by a narrow margin the curiosity for how it would feel to sing before so many Finnish eyes. Next time, we'll get you to sing, I had been warned; that would let me around a year to brace myself for the two minutes and a half of fame.

In the course of all parties held at the friend's place where I currently reside, a passage by the local karaoke-pizza-bar conveniently located right down our windows is mandatory. The small get-together for the occasion of my return made no exception. From the morning on, a very few photograph shots still linger in my mind, while the most of these hours sank in a sea of bliss and joy; mostly, it is the soft blue shade of the luminous night which brought me to tears, faces I had missed, words that rang and still resound now. In the White Nights bar, we flipped the pages of the English-language list until early in the morning, finding nothing appropriate until a decision had to be made -- and since this time couldn't be missed, I settled on one of the few songs I had in my poor repertoire . We rushed to fill the tiny form before the karaoke stopped accepting them, not enough time to figure a good funny alias for my name as it's customary -- Juulia would do, as I am more and more frequently called -- then we handed in the paper.

The party went on with a few more songs and even more drinks, I assume, and the next thing I remember is the call of the barman: Nyt Juulia! My friends cheered me on just like I was climbing on the ring, I rushed to the counter, grabbed the microphone and flew to the stage.

You're just too good to be true
Can't keep my eyes off of you...

I had always assumed I couldn't sing. I had hardly tried. I wasn't out of tune, at least not too much, though I fear my advanced drunkenness glorified it a bit. I only missed the start of a verse, and was, I think, at the right distance from the microphone.

And I just totally enjoyed it.

I danced during the break, too.

Perhaps, again, did the many drinks magnify the loudness of the applause, but I think the sparse Finnish audience enjoyed it too.


Many songs, from Sodankylä to Summer Wine, have their own history for those who interpret and those who watch, in as many as the two thousand karaokes taking place across Finland. The origins of its inhabitants' affinity for late-night singing, with several world records as a testimony of their passion, remains a barely documented mystery. I'd be inclined to think that the misplaced reserve Western Europeans have toward artistic performance has something to do with their abnormal disregard for the discipline; behind this, the distance they introduce between them and the stage allows for a scathing criticism which would discourage the bravest heart to have a go at singing -- be it to rock it or to sound like a thousand cats.

While I cannot really tell when it comes to the French quality of performers, it is safe to say most of the Finnish ones are capable of singing, which doubtlessly helps to take the plunge. Their relation without complexes to music might play a large part in their affection for that strange hobby. Or, if you'd rather follow the opinion of a Karaoke Traveler columnist: "Perhaps they are no different than everyone else except that they are simply ahead of the curve in a worldwide movement to take karaoke beyond being a pastime and elevating it to a rewarding spectator sport that promotes self expression and camaraderie. Or maybe, they don’t have good cable, who knows."