Songbooks accompany the menu at Ieji, where the customers come to sing together.

Mariko Shiraogawa began to sing ``Green Green Grass Of Home.'' Her voice summoned a memory of fabled folk singer Joan Baez. People around her began to sing. Others clapped. Others stamped their feet.

Like Boy Scouts circling a campfire, everyone participated. But instead of a bonfire, the singing crowd sat around wooden tables overflowing with shochu bottles, dried squid and beer mugs.

Hanging from the ceiling of the pub-designed to look like a log house-were all sorts of musical instruments. Banjos and guitars competed for attention with balalaika, maracas and a snakeskin tambourine.

It was just another Saturday night at Ieji, one of the utagoe kissa, singing cafes, that have survived the onslaught of karaoke bars and boxes. These cafes provide shelter to those who would rather sing their songs in chorus with other people.

``Once, when I went to a karaoke bar, some guy chose a song I wanted to sing. I began singing along, which apparently irritated him no end,'' Shiraogawa, 54, said, laughing.

For many, these cafes are like Showa Era time capsules. The first made its appearance in Tokyo's Shinjuku district nearly half a century ago. They were a national phenomenon by 1960. Old-fashioned as they may be, the utagoe kissa are undergoing something of a renaissance, with old fans returning and new faces walking through the doors.

Unlike karaoke boxes where individuals or groups can lock themselves away from the world, utagoe kissa are public places, like restaurants or izakaya with a beat. In addition to food and drink, these cafes provide patrons with slips of paper and pencils.

Crooners write down the songs they like and a real live piano player tickles the ivory at their command. Sometimes there is an accordion player.

In contrast to the often self-absorbed karaoke singer, these cafes exist for one purpose only-so people can sing together. A patron may pick a song from the cafe's book of lyrics, but everybody joins in when the song is played. Some venues require patrons to buy the song book, others lend them out.

In addition to many folk songs, the books carry a smattering of recent pop songs, including ``Nada Soso'' by Rimi Natsukawa and ``Sekai ni Hitotsu-dake no Hana'' by SMAP, both of which have become cafe favorites.

If karaoke can be seen as a member of the digital world, utagoe kissa remain pleasantly emersed in an analog environment. Instead of a machine mindlessly churning out requests in order received, a ``singing leader'' directs musical traffic at the cafes. He or she decides which requests will be performed during ``singing time.'' This is followed by a break, called ``chatting time.''

The proportion of singing time and chatting time varies from place to place. At Ieji it's 30 minutes of singing followed by 30 minutes of chatting. At another cafe, Tomoshibi, patrons sing for 40 minutes and rest or converse for 20 minutes.

Like the aforementioned Boy Scouts, the songbirds are disciplined. They follow the leaders without objection. At Tomoshibi, in Shinjuku, smoking is forbidden during singing time. Customers must get their tobacco fix during chat time.

``It was a major culture shock,'' said Izumi Unnan, recalling his first night at Ieji when he was 21. ``There were all these old people singing songs that you hardly knew in unison.''

Unnan, now 37, is a native of Iwate. He had just changed jobs when he made his initial foray into Ieji. Despite all the ``old people'' he said he enjoyed the experience and began hanging out there after work.

``Here, you can talk to people without talking about work and you don't have to bother speaking formal Japanese,'' he said. While he may not talk about it, Unnan is an employee of a printing firm. More relevant, he sings so beautifully, it's difficult to believe he hasn't had professional vocal training.

Utagoe kissa sprang up in the ruins of Shinjuku right after World War II. Tomoshibi, one of the first cafes, opened near Seibu Shinjuku Line station in 1957. It was the brainchild of the owner of a Russian restaurant. Many of his customers sang along to the Russian music played at the restaurant. Times were tough-singing made people feel better.

The original Tomoshibi, a tiny restaurant that could barely contain 10 patrons, was soon packed, with young wannabe singers lined up outside.

Yoko Ando recalled what was, for her, the good old days. ``Customers voluntarily left after one stage (singing time) because there were so many waiting outside. You could see them standing outside the windows and singing along to the songs played inside,'' said the 69-year-old. Ando worked both as a waitress and a singing leader at the restaurant.

The original Tomoshibi went the way of the wrecking ball and was replaced by a three-story building in 1958. Bearing the same name, it had a much larger stage.

Success breeds competition, and other utagoe kissa began to mushroom in Tokyo's Shinjuku, Shibuya and Ikebukuro districts and in other major cities nationwide. At the peak, there were more than 100 of the cafes. In Shinjuku, employees of original Tomoshibi opened another cafe near the Koma Gekijo theater under the same name.

With Japan still on the canvas after its defeat and near destruction by the war, entertainment opportunities were severely limited. In many ways, utagoe kissa developed as a grass-roots form of fun in a climate where pleasure was in short supply.

In 1948, a professional singer Akiko Seki formed a singing group. This was the beginning of the so-called Utagoe movement, which promoted a pacifist ideology. The 1950s were also a time when laborers suffered under severe working conditions and were frequently laid off. Utagoe kissa became politicized venues for students and workers to meet, talk and sing labor anthems.

Soon the cafes were hotbeds of political activism. While pop songs were still sung, more attention was devoted to Mao, Stalin and impending strike negotiations. Radical students girded themselves for the upcoming violent-and ultimately futile-battle against the Japan-U.S. Security Treaty.

While politics held sway by 1960, the cafes also served as comfort stations for lonely migrants who moved from the countryside to Tokyo. Foot soldiers for the postwar economic expansion, they found others in similar circumstance and made friends.

``I used to go every day after work,'' said Hiroshi Fujikawa, 62, a native of Ogasawara island off Tokyo.

The cafes began to lose popularity as the nation's economy surged. There was a plethora of entertainment choices. Individualism replaced group activities. Socialism lost its allure-the Japanese were too busy working, raising families and enjoying the go-go '60s. Many cafes closed, to be replaced by karaoke bars and boxes.

The original Tomoshibi ceased operations in 1977. Its reincarnation, near Koma Gekijo theater, had opened branches in eastern and western Tokyo. Both closed. However, the Shinjuku venue changed its location and is still in business on Yasukuni Boulevard.

Kumiko Ogawa, a singing leader at Tomoshibi, talked about the recent revival of the cafes: ``It's partly because the customers who came during the peak in the 1960s began coming back after they retired and their children grew up. They say that by coming here, they can remember the time when they were full of energy and so was the nation's economy.''

Tomoshibi now sends its singing leaders out like pilgrims nationwide, holding 150 events annually. They offer people a taste of utagoe kissa at local music events.

While Ogawa acknowledged the seemingly endless recession has played its part in the rebirth, she also said college-age kids now regularly frequent Tomoshibi.

``They say it is better than karaoke because you don't have to worry about singing better than other people. Plus, they have the chance to meet older folks, something many have little experience with after growing up in small families.''

It's not just the younger generation who are discovering utagoe kissa. Toshihiko Yoshida spent most of his life working abroad as an engineer for Honda Motor Co. and missed the singing cafe boom.

A friend introduced the 64-year-old to Tomoshibi three years ago. He now visits the place more than 10 times a month, sometimes spending as long as 12 hours there at a stretch.

``Singing is good for you,'' Yoshida said, donning a bandanna as soon as he entered the restaurant. He sat at a table next to a woman of about the same age.

Another crooner, Yoshiaki Manabe, a 37-year-old construction worker, heard about utagoe kissa on TV. He started frequenting Tomoshibi a few years ago, and now visits almost every weekend, traveling all the way from his Kameari home in Katsushika Ward. He said it helps him reduce stress. ``It's either this or boxing at the gym,'' he said with a laugh.

Heavily muscled from his days at construction sites, Manabe stepped on stage in black T-shirt and jeans. The piano and accordion players hit their first notes. Instead of a song glorifying the working man, he began to sing-a melancholy chanson tune. There would be no punches thrown tonight.(IHT/Asahi: October 23,2004)