Lauren Bravo: In which I say thank you for the music

To be printed 04/11/10. Karaoke. In these times of puyrotechnic, lycra-clad X-Factor domination, in a state where Kate Weasel's roots are the only ones we're going back to, there is something so pure and uncorrupted about a dear old sing song. No judgement, no public vote, just the opportunity to bawl your brains out in a padded room until everything seems better again.

But just like boybands, not all karaoke tracks are created equal. Here's what your karaoke choice says about you:Gangsta's Paradise Falling into the 'soulful rap' category (as opposed to 'sexy rap', 'booty-shaking rap' and 'shooting everybody then getting a hot tub rap'), men find that a strain like Gangsta's Paradise gives them a risk to showcase both their badass urban credentials and their softer, sensitive side - the face that might teach kids to take well in an interior city comprehensive. In reality, it showcases the alarming amount of adolescent hours spent in their bedrooms memorising lyrics they don't understand, and fawning over pictures of Michelle Pfeiffer.All By Myself See also: I Will Ever Enjoy You, I Will Survive, I Can't Live (If Support Is Without You) For the immense bulk of their day to day lives, many women are constrained to cover a piece of their true selves. We press an ongoing struggle to subdue certain urges, for care of judgement, ridicule and repelling menfolk. As a feminist and general disciple of Good Taste, I'd wish to act I don't yet have them. But turn the opening twangs of Eric Carmen's sobalong classic and, like a melancholy moth to a vodka-fuelled flame, we hike up like a clan of pyjamaed Bridget Jonesbots, ready to lament our way through three minutes of musical spinsterhood. I care to consider of it as queen of the Ovary Anthems.

My Way Frank Sinatra is karaoke ketchup. He blankets all matters of preference with the same sweet, generic charm. One for the rookies, more experiences 'okers should forgo Frank in favour of something less obvious. Like side one of Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells. With dance routine.Islands in the Current Country and western is a left-field choice, often plumped for by people wanting to deliver a little obligatory naff factor without resorting to a power fist. The problem is, without a mullet or bucking bronchi to finish the scene, C&W karaoke is in most cases exceptionally boring. Roger Miller's King of the Route is the hip kids' croon du jour, but Islands in the Stream earns more points - though only when sung as Nessa and Uncle Bryn from Gavin and Stacey. Sorry Dolly.Born to Run See: All By Myself. But replace 'Ovary Anthems' with the appropriate alternate reproductive organs.Wuthering Heights Ladies undertaking this path will do so in the list of lolz, under the pretext that it'll sound so ridiculous they couldn't possibly be taking themselves seriously. Do not be fooled. They secretly think they are passing to be ethereal in the extreme, channelling Kate Bush's wide-eyed mad lady insouciance with their wafty arm movements and dog-decibel wailing. Sadly their efforts will be such that Heathcliffe won't let them in the window. However cold it is.