www.korea.net

PROFILE
In his eight years in
Korea, UK native Niels
Footman has taught
English, taken a
Master’s degree, edited
at a local newspaper
and magazine, and is
now working in public
relations. When he’s
not hard at work for
his company, he loves
writing, reading, getting
outdoors and, of
course, the occasional
visit to the noraebang.
hangeul, I was able from a very early stage to sing a song or two in Korean,
which, for an audience unaccustomed to hearing a foreigner speak Korean, never
mind sing it, was often met with something approaching hysteria.
Subsequent noraebang visits with local friends yielded glimpses of Korea that
no guidebook, and certainly no visit to the usual tourist sights, could ever provide.
For me, this was especially the case after I took up a job in a big publishing
firm, where all the other staff were Korean. Every few weeks our department or,
on bigger occasions, the entire office would troop off for the infamous hoesik, or
after-work food and drinks, gorge on barbecued pork and soju (the local grog)
and then, with thudding certainty, make our way to the nearest noraebang.
The change in these people I worked with was often extraordinary. On coming
into contact with a mic, a squelchy soundtrack and a backing video depicting
unfeasibly happy people bounding through a Swiss hamlet, the sternest of clients
and middle-aged office managers would transform into louche rockers or heartfelt
crooners. The daintiest, most introverted young women would open their
mouths to reveal lungs of fire. And while the famous Korean office hierarchy persisted
even in these unceremonious surroundings — the most junior staff would
sing first, drinking etiquette was scrupulously maintained and no one left until
the boss did — there was, at least through the mist of several shots of whiskey too
many, an undeniable sense of camaraderie, a feeling that tonight, at least, everyone
was as one in the crucible of behaving very foolishly indeed.
On the times I subsequently went in groups including newly arrived foreign
friends, though, I was newly reminded of just how alien karaoke was to many of
them. Some would refuse outright to sing, while others would flick endlessly
through the pages of the song catalog, never quite finding the right one. Still
others would choose a song, raise the mic to their mouths, then freeze and shrink
back into their chairs. Having never experienced the joys of karaoke at home,
these greenhorns were consumed with the kind of deep-rooted dread that only
singing in front of their peers could inspire: A fear that their voice would be so
bad, it would make a gaggle of alley cats sound like a barbershop quartet.
As I had once done, though, the karaoke refuseniks were rather missing the
point. As I’ve discovered through my many visits, there can be few places anywhere
where notions of making a fool of yourself are not so much disregarded as
simply irrelevant. While a few of my Korean noraebang companions have been
accomplished singers who clearly put in a bit of practice, the overwhelming
majority were unashamedly poor, murdering everything from K-pop songs to
old, maudlin Korean ballads to Gloria Gaynor with the same relentless vigor and
effort. But just by taking to the floor, and warbling along as best they could, they
invariably prompted claps, cheers and equally woeful dancing among the onlooking
crowd. In just this way, I have had some of my most hilarious nights out in
Korea (the best ones, admittedly, helped along with a drink or six).
I’ve done P-Diddy in my native Scottish accent. I’ve sung late-night Scorpions
duets with old friends. I’ve pogoed to A-ha’s “Take On Me.” And, most stirringly
of all, I’ve stolen the show with stuttering renditions of Korean pop songs. Just
as my friends back home would find moments of genuine poignancy by getting
sloshed on beer, putting their arms around each other’s shoulders and howling
along to the jukebox, Koreans, it has always seemed to me, find a real sense of
togetherness in their song-room serenades. And as mystifying as karaokes may be
for the uninitiated, the friendships formed over drunken, cacophonous noraebang
nights may just be the ones that stay with you the longest.
KOREA
FEBRUARY
2010
35