Watching karaoke can be like watching a car accident in slow motion: It's usually bad and hard not to watch.

I recently started bartending at the Viking, which has long housed many of Juneau's karaoke legends, and is one of many local watering holes that offer such entertainment. The culture of amateur song is center stage at this Front Street lounge three nights a week.

Some of my earliest karaoke memories go almost 10 years back, to the days when the City Café was still open and rocked the very south end of South Franklin Street. The summer after graduating from the illustrious institution of Juneau-Douglas High School, me and my homies (or my homies and I if you're into the whole brevity thing) would hang out at the café and watch cruise ship crew members belt out pop ballads. It was hard not to marvel at a man with a minimal grasp of the English language giving it his all for Madonna's "Borderline."

I'm something of a connoisseur when it comes to bad singing and dancing. I've occasionally watched American Idol like some would watch Olympic figure skating. There are moments when the high notes and dance moves inspire images of failed triple axles. So I was looking forward to my first karaoke night behind the bar at the Viking.

My first Friday night shift starts out fairly slow. The karaoke host shows up early in a bright pink halter top, orders a drink heavy on the coconut rum and sits in wait while locals and seasonal people mingle. Jewelry store employees flit about the bar like colorful birds and add a mystical fragrance to the end of spring evening. It's unlike anything we've seen or smelled this far north, at least since last summer. The regulars are playing pull tabs and sipping their drinks with a seasoned panache. A few folks are still trying to play pool on the front table but the place is starting to fill up.

It isn't long before the karaoke crowd is in full force, watching and participating in the show. I'm pouring drinks, waiting for a star to shine bright. The host is taking her job seriously, very seriously. She sings a Stevie Nicks' song. I'm still waiting for my socks and shoes to be knocked off.

My interest peaks momentarily during a rousing group chorus of Bon Jovi's "Dead or Alive" but otherwise there's not much to get excited about.

Then a middle-aged man in a bright blue old-school Miller Lite jacket orders a beer. He has thick glasses and a sweet, nervous demeanor. Moments later he's center stage and a song cues up on the machine. The on-screen graphics flash "New York, New York." Outside, Juneau's gloomy clouds part to reveal the night sky. I think I can feel a full moon beaming down on me through the old tin ceiling.

These little town blues are melting away as the man in the blue jacket cocks his head back and works the crowd with a cordless mike.

It's simultaneously the best and worst thing I've ever heard in my life.