<i> Oui</i> , the People Sing

Amid the foie gras and escargots at Brasserie des Artistes, the self-proclaimed “most Parisian restaurant in Los Angeles,” sits a shiny black karaoke machine. Only trouble is the French are terrible singers. At least that’s what owner George Etesse says, yet that didn’t stop him from launching karaoke nights.

“In America, maybe you learn how to sing in school. In France, we never sing, not even in the shower,” said Etesse, 49, originally from Bordeaux. “We only sing when we are drunk and then only songs with very bad words.”

While not the Moulin Rouge, it is apparent that, down to the electric tambourine, this is not a typical French restaurant. Etesse is the first to admit how challenging it is to loosen up the traditionally staid French dining experience. The first challenge was the difficult task of finding French karaoke discs that work on an American karaoke machine.

While anchoring a strip mall on Wilshire Boulevard is not comparable to the Moulin’s Jardin de Paris in Montmartre, once inside the doors, however, the ambience is definitely tres francais. Intimate tables draped in white cloths are lit with candles, which flicker light off the colorful vintage French movie posters on the walls. The delicate smell of saffron-steamed mussels wafts through the air.

On this particular Friday night, Therese Correy takes the mike and waits for the music for “La Vie en Rose” to cue up. A San Pedro librarian by day, Correy says she worked feverishly on the song, practicing for hours at home, to learn the words to this famous Edith Piaf piece.

Cafe singing whetted Correy’s appetite. She knew there were things she couldn’t glean from a book. “I’ve read a lot about France, and one day I’d love to go,” she says, peering from behind wire-rimmed glasses, her flowered earrings coordinated with her strapless floral dress.

It’s all part of the dream to be an artist for a night, says Veronique Tonasi, the uber -French hostess at McCormick & Schmick’s in Beverly Hills who signed up to sing a little Piaf herself. Tonasi’s dream seems to be shared by a troupe of Francophiles and expatriates. By 10 p.m., there is a two-hour wait to sing. But it’s pretty clear not everyone at the Brasserie longs for the amateur stylings of Euro-tunes.

“That’s one of the last reasons why we are here,” says Victoria Riordan, 34, a publicist who came with a friend because she enjoys the restaurant’s laid-back atmosphere. “Who wants to hear songs in another language? We just love Danny [Rae], the karaoke host, and go everywhere he goes.”

Karaoke is, of course, nothing new to Angelenos. Throngs pack such places as the tiny Brass Monkey in Koreatown every night singing an eclectic variety of music, from “Phantom of the Opera” to George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” Others opt to sing and bowl at the All Star Bowling Lanes in Eagle Rock. Even Hollywood’s Lava Lounge has chimed in with its Sunday Kinky Karaoke night.

And karaoke is certainly nothing new for the Japanese, says Miki Ueda, a 34-year-old travel agent who is among those who’ve come to hear it done with a French twist. Back in Japan, her parents practice singing at home on the family’s karaoke machine, which is programmed to rate performances. Yet, the sight of all the wannabe chanteuses strikes Ueda as odd. And the oddest part, to her, is that most of the singers were actually pretty good.

“In Japan, it’s really a form of self-entertainment,” Ueda says. “You just wait for the person to finish, but no one really listens. Here, they put on a show.”

While the wait staff is impeccable and mostly French, including Etesse’s two college-age sons, the crab ravioli will likely not be served when the owner starts singing. They’ll be too busy laughing as Etesse animatedly sings “La Succettes,” a lighter tune about a Frenchman’s battle with sweets and the dentist. Etesse pays no heed to the whistles and cat calls. He knows that as the owner, in the spirit of the Moulin, he can, can, can!

The Brasserie also serves as a haven for French expatriates lonely for home, although it helps to have an award-winning chef in the kitchen. Jean-Pierre Giron recently won the prestigious USA Tasting Medallion award. Each month for the past year, he highlights the food and wines of a particular French region. As Ben Cate, a former Time magazine Paris bureau chief and Brasserie regular, put it, “If the food wasn’t any good, nobody would come.”

As the night stretches on, French songs give way to American songs. One singer does a rendition of RunDMC’s “You Be Illing,” and another attempts Blondie’s “One Way or Another.” When Greg Kibbler tries a Billy Preston song, Etesse walks by holding his head. “This guy has a terrible voice,” he says. When he’s done, Kibbler, 36, a post-production colorist, makes no apologies.

“Singing karaoke gets you chicks even if you do it badly. Anyway,” he adds, “the French don’t sing that well.”

By midnight, with inhibitions abandoned, a trio of singers belts out “Lady Marmalade,” the theme song from the movie “Moulin Rouge.” The dance floor is full. No one’s looking at the lyrics on the screen, apparently having memorized the French chorus “voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir,” which could come in handy if ever stranded alone in France. At 1 a.m., a time when most French restaurants in the city have long since closed, the cabaret at the Brasserie continues into the night.