THE SCENE / TOKYO : Domestic Harmony

It’s a Sunday night at the Kitadas’. Dinner is over, and so is the weekly samurai drama on television. Stomachs are full and there is an air of contentment, even postprandial drowsiness.

“Hey, how about a little karaoke?” proposes Hiroshi Kitada, 35, looking across the table at his wife, Yuka, 23.

She knows this is her call to action. She has practiced all the newest songs, backward, forward and inside out. Hand on her pregnant belly, she hoists herself from the table and walks over to the designer Italian sofa, taking her place on what has become the family stage.

She punches in her selection on the remote control, and in 30 seconds, the boppy strains of “Love, Love” are wafting through the living room and lyrics are sliding across the blue background of the TV screen.

Japan may not boast of legions of Net surfers. But these days, the Japanese are going online in droves--karaoke style. The government estimates that 60 million people--or almost half the population--are karaoke lovers, and they can now have their favorite lyrics and musical scores piped directly into their homes over telephone lines.

PCs are not yet a household item here, and the Internet is still exotic, but industry experts are saying if there is a way to get the Japanese online fast, karaoke is it.

So in this house, where there is not a computer in sight, two generations are gathered around, plugged in and turned on. Yuka belts it out, every breath practiced and precise, every phrase sung with religious attention to the crooning idiosyncrasies of the original artist.

Her husband laughs so hard, he has to hold his stomach. Her father-in-law, Niichi, madly leafs through the song catalog in search of an enka, or traditional Japanese folk song, to sing. Her mother-in-law, Nobuko, scurries about, clearing dishes and cleaning.

Everyone ignores Yuka’s expressive, enthusiastic warbling.

She finishes, breathless, and automatic applause issues forth from the television.

“You sing strange songs,” mutters Niichi, 72, as he shuffles to the sofa to take the mike and sway to the old, sentimental strains of “You Can’t Make Your Life.”

Yuka squirms and giggles. This song is prehistoric! Then Hiroshi takes the floor, doing a halfhearted rendition of “Whoa, Whoa Tonight,” last year’s favorite among the white-collar workers known as salary men.

Laughing, Yuka, who practices hours for these weekly sessions, heckles him. “You made a mistake! The sound on that part is different!”

For the Kitadas, online karaoke may be the key to domestic harmony. Online users have access to more than 10,000 songs, ranging from traditional enka to popular TV drama themes to advertising jingles. Hundreds more are added every week. New songs can be downloaded within a week of release.

The tremendous variety means generations can come together and sing songs as different as say, Guns N’ Roses, Burl Ives and the Oscar Mayer wiener song.

Sales have been phenomenal. Taito, which manufactures the VCR-size black box that plugs into a television and phone jack, sold 60,000 machines in the first two months--at nearly $700 a piece. Taito also charges a monthly subscription fee of about $15, and it costs another 30 to 40 cents to download a new song. Sales are expected to clear 1 million by 1997.

Personal-computer makers, not wanting to be left in the dust, are marketing their own online karaoke services.

Masternet, an Internet host, sells a popular software package called Sing-ru. The program has been such a hit that most PC manufacturers preinstall it.

Hiroshi says he’s no addict. He just sings for a change of pace. His wife, though, says she couldn’t live without it and the endless supply of new songs.

“Karaoke is a great way to get rid of my stress. Tension builds and I have nowhere to let it out,” says Yuka, whose baby is due this summer. “And the baby likes it too. At six months, it has ears already.”