The 25 Best Karaoke Songs to Kickstart a Memorable Night

Taylor Swift’s “Cruel Summer,” a pop jewel from her Lover era, spent years as a fan-favorite deep cut before ascending to the top of the Hot 100’s charts in 2023. The song is proof that delayed gratification can still exist in the streaming age. Its bridge, a delirious rush of catharsis, has become a battle cry for both pre-teens and millennial soccer moms, all of whom can recite it like scripture. In karaoke terms, it’s the perfect blend of flow, build-up, and drama that will instantly corral Swifties and ​​trick stubborn skeptics into singing along.

Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” is a demand with a beat, the ultimate mic drop from the ’60s that still echoes through karaoke bars and boardrooms today. Originally penned by Otis Redding as a humble request, the Queen of Soul flipped the script and made it a manifesto for everyone tired of waiting their turn, especially women who knew exactly what they wanted and weren’t here to negotiate. Like a boss who’s had enough coffee and zero tolerance for nonsense, the song commands attention. It’s a power move, a chance to channel that fierce Aretha energy and remind everyone who really runs the room.

When “Uptown Funk!” drops, personal space immediately becomes optional. The horns hit, Bruno Mars starts flexing, and suddenly we’re in a soul-train line we didn’t agree to join. Mark Ronson stitched together pure funk cosplay, but the unmissable sense of cool is so airtight we don’t care. By the bridge, everyone’s screaming “Don’t believe me, just watch,” and we’re halfway through a dance move we’ll regret tomorrow.

“Mr. Brightside” has been haunting dive bar jukeboxes since 2003. It’s a song about jealousy, the loud, sweaty, late-night kind from a melodrama. At karaoke, it’s all about channeling Brandon Flowers—the guy who makes stalking our ex’s imaginary new flame sound like the most urgent life crisis, his voice wringing every ounce of panic and regret from the melody. The song has a way of turning everyone into the star of a very intense soap opera.

“Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” is a country-pop anthem, a declaration of liberation, a song that turns any karaoke night into a no-holds-barred cabaret. Since its 1997 debut, it’s been the ultimate invitation to drop our inhibitions—and maybe our jackets—while unleashing our inner diva with maximum sass. The lyrics balance bravado with a playful nudge, perfect for anyone who’s ever wanted to own the spotlight without apology. Shania Twain knew exactly what she was doing: giving us permission to feel fabulous enough to embarrass ourselves spectacularly and enjoy every second.

Wildly ambitious, occasionally baffling, and impossible to ignore: What karaoke night feels like when we tackle one of rock’s most sprawling epics. Since 1975, Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” has stood as the ultimate ballad-slash-opera-slask-rock anthem, compelling singers to channel everything from regret to confusion to full-throated falsetto. The song warrants unwavering commitment, so when we hit the operatic section, we’re all silently hoping to make it through without losing our voice . . . or our dignity. Basically, it’s a glorious exercise in public vulnerability, topped off with a head-banging finale nobody can resist.

Chappell Roan’s “Good Luck, Babe!” turns karaoke into a showcase of passive-aggression. From the moment we take the mic, we embody a charm that barely hides revenge—like smiling on the outside while plotting a dramatic exit. The song is a breakup anthem wrapped in shiny pop, each lyric a charming jab. It’s the kind of number that leaves the crowd clapping and your ex wondering what just happened.

There’s a certain karaoke song that’s become the unspoken rite of passage for theater kids everywhere, thanks in no small part to a certain TV show about a high school glee club. Its opening piano riff is as instantly recognizable as the buzz of a packed dressing room, and by the time the chorus swells, we’re all belting out the saga of a small-town girl and a city boy who know exactly how to make an entrance. Since 1981, Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” has been that song. It’s over-the-top, yes, but it's also pure and hopeful. When the spotlight hits and the first notes ring out, it becomes a communal therapy session where we lose our voices and maybe a bit of our cool, but somehow it all feels worth it.

“Diamonds” invites us to pretend we’ve just walked off a red carpet: glowing, flawless, and maybe slightly out of breath. RiRi’s voice rides the lush production, leaving us to wrestle with the high notes while trying not to sound like a startled cat. Released in 2012, the song is a sleek, shimmering ballad about the fleeting feeling of being untouchable for exactly three minutes and 45 seconds. It’s glamorous, a little vulnerable, and guaranteed to make us feel like we own the room. It’s the go-to for anyone wanting to steal the spotlight and shine bright like a—well, you know.

Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” insists that we glide into the karaoke spotlight like we’re moonwalking on air, even if we’ve got two left feet. Its unmistakable bass line sneaks into our brains, refusing to leave long after the last note fades. It’s a story wrapped in a hypnotic beat and suspicion, a cautionary tale delivered with rhythm and impeccable timing. Singing it feels less like karaoke and more like stepping onto a stage where we’re half detective, half dancefloor legend—the right choreography optional, the right attitude mandatory.

Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic” has moved way past its ’90s Lilith Fair roots to become one of those songs we can’t help but love for its mix of honesty, humor, and a little eye-roll at life’s curveballs. The lyrics roll through a list of so-called “ironies” (some questionable, all totally relatable), delivered in that signature Alanis blend of raw sincerity and sly sarcasm. It plays like a knowing smile at the little disappointments we’ve all run into. And honestly, it’s the perfect karaoke pick—equal parts rebellion and self-mockery, half-sung and half-laughed through, just like fate itself.

“Born to Run” is pure adrenaline, the sound of a late-night highway escape, hair flying, windows down, and everyone in the car shouting along. When Bruce Springsteen released it in 1975, it became an anthem for anyone itching to break free from dead-end streets and bad choices. Onstage, the song dares us to push all the way to that soaring crescendo without losing steam. It’s ambition, heartbreak, and hope wrapped in leather and fueled by the restless energy of a midnight joyride.

In the canon of musical comeuppance, “Sorry” is Beyoncé at her most sovereign—elegant, unyielding, and undeniably fierce. It’s the ultimate fuck-you song from the ultimate fuck-you album, a calculated coup de grâce that declares a new world order with the mic firmly in our hands. The track delivers a measured, unflinching message dripping with regal disdain, a polished, razor-sharp warning: respect the boundaries or prepare to be erased. And when we own the stage with it, the crowd can’t help but submit.

When the night winds down and the crowd softens, “I Can’t Make You Love Me” steps in like a warm, consoling hug. Bonnie Raitt’s tender confession is about the grace of letting go, for those moments when shouting feels wrong but silence feels heavier. When we take the mic for this one, we wrap ourselves in a familiar kind of emotion, a sadness that is simultaneously aching and comfortable. It’s the bittersweet goodbye we didn’t know we needed but can’t help singing anyway.

ABBA’s 1976 masterpiece, arguably the greatest pop song in history, elevates every wannabe shower singer to disco royalty, complete with mirror balls, questionable dance moves, and all the flair of a sequined jumpsuit. But beneath its sugary pop surface lies a celebration of youth and reckless joy. It’s catchy, campy, and endlessly fun. It’s a track that makes us all feel “young and sweet, only seventeen”—even if our knees remind us the stamina stopped decades ago.

The moment Lauryn Hill’s voice cuts through the speakers, we’re no longer standing in a sticky-floored bar. We’re in 1998, in the presence of one of the best albums ever pressed to vinyl or CD. “Doo Wop (That Thing)” is a three-minute lesson in style, charisma, and common sense. It’s a song that can make us dance and rethink our life choices in the same breath. It’s the crown jewel of The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, a record so good she’s never bothered with a follow-up. We rap, we sing, we trip over the verses, but we keep going. And for a fleeting moment, we sound almost as wise as Lauryn herself.

“Good 4 U” is about volume, timing, and attitude. The beat hits, we bark out the words, and everyone—especially the Gen-Z set—knows the chorus by heart. It’s a song about petty victories and low-key triumphs. We ride the hooks, lean into the sarcasm, and turn the crowd into one loud, messy mob. No drama, no tears, just pure, unapologetic yelling that somehow feels like empowerment. It’s a track that reminds us that, whatever our age, we can still feel like a devastated teenager.

By the time the screen lights up with “It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday,” we’ve already accepted that the next five minutes belong to everyone in the room. Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” becomes a group confessional—cheap beer in hand, strangers swaying, and at least one person lighting up their last sad cigarette. It’s sentimental, sure, but in the way great bar stories are: full of exaggeration, minor heartbreak, and archetypes we can spot from across the room. At best, we turn into a virtual bartender, serving verses like pints. By the final “sing us a song,” the crowd has given in completely, shouting like regulars who’ve been coming here for years.

The first chords of “Bring Me to Life” make one thing clear: subtlety is out, drama is in. Evanescence’s breakout hit blends gothic grandeur with raw emotion, perfect for unleashing every soaring note. Amy Lee drags us through shadowy halls of angst and redemption, and we do our best to match that intensity. When the chorus hits, we’re staging a full-throttle revival, pouring everything into the mic like it’s our last night on earth.

Mary J. Blige’s “Family Affair” flips any sing-along into a full-on celebration of keeping it real—and keeping it moving. Once the beat drops, we turn into unofficial DJs of drama-free zones. Her signature flow and positive attitude transforms the dingiest room into a velvet-roped VIP lounge. It’s the ultimate party-starter that somehow makes us feel both unstoppable and just a little bit reckless, which, honestly, is the best kind of night.