At first I was afraid ... gut-wrenching karaoke. Photograph: Sean Murphy/Getty
Karaoke, it appears, can seriously damage your health. A South Korean woman collapsed on Valentine's night after breaking the world karaoke record by singing non-stop for almost 60 hours to cheer up her sick husband. Kim Seok-Ok succumbed to exhaustion 979 numbers into a pre-prepared repertoire.
This is not entirely surprising. Karaoke is an emotional roller coaster, capable of taking participants on a soul-wrenching voyage of inner discovery. The British don't quite get this. We tend to think karaoke is a couple of pissed-up choruses of Wonderwall at a machine propped up in the corner of the pub.
But this is not karaoke. Karaoke, as the Asians know, is being cooped up in a tiny room with your own personal microphone, TV screen and bulging songbook. You ease yourself in with a little bit of Wham!, an ABBA hit or two. But that isn't the point. The point is pain. The real karaoke begins with the songs of loss. I Know I'll Never Love This Way Again, say, or Walk On By.
For the three minutes that each song lasts, you live it. It's true, you realise: when I was young I never needed anyone. Yes! I do want to live forever. Did I promise him a rose garden? I Will Survive is a karaoke cliche for a reason.
Oversized speakers play your vocals back with unforgiving candour. The higher the notes, the better: the struggle to reach that top C, the shame if you don't, the sensation that someone is driving a stake through your vocal cords if you do. It's the physical manifestation of the anguished lyrics being flashed up on screen.
Karaoke is catharsis. It is piss-up, workout and therapy all in one. Most novices can stand only a couple of hours.
Seok-Ok's intended goal was to encourage her husband to fight a brain tumour. He may have been inspired by her feat of endurance. He may feel that, after 60 hours of karaoke, death begins to have a certain appeal. Either way, it will be worth celebrating in song.
