... And lets it rip - on key, in tempo and with life and depth.

Karaoke, the onetime craze that provides backup music without vocals for amateur singers, has a reputation as a fantasy trip for the semidrunk and out-of-tune.

But there's a dedicated group of talented singers - a few hundred strong in Dallas, disc jockeys estimate - for whom it's nearly a way of life.

They can recite the weekly schedule of various DJs by memory and follow the the way other people follow their favorite team.

One of them, who gave her name as Kat, said she and her friends hop from club to club each night, knowing which DJ is where at any time.

"I love to sing.  If it were my choice, I'd be up there five, six, seven times a night."

But some nights she gets only a couple of chances on stage, she says, as long lines of performers lengthen sign-up sheets and force waits of more than an hour.

Some of the regulars are professional singers who say karaoke keeps their skills sharp and lets them try out new material.

"It went from being a novelty to pulling a lot of good singers out of the woodwork." said songwriter Dee Mann, 52, who said she's developed professional contacts through karaoke.

Kenny Peters and Sara Shelby-Martin, who perform in musical theater in Dallas, attribute much of their success to karaoke.

"I've argued with my theater friends about this," Ms Shelby-Martin said.  "But a performance is a performance is a performance."

For the semipros or wannabes, karaoke represents an opportunity to work - for free - with professional-quality sound equipment and instant critiques.

"a lot of people will be truthful and say. 'Don't ever sing that song again.' " joked Mike Kypuros, a computer technician, who says he sings for fun.

Each of the half-dozen or so Dallas area clubs offing karaoke caters to a slightly different crowd: some younger, some older, some who prefer country-western, some who prefer pop.  At any particular everyone knows almost everyone else, and any entrance leads to a hugfest.

At Vicki's Island Club, a tiny, smoky, low-ceilinged mom-and-pop bar in Far East Dallas, karaoke regularly fills the house on weeknights, said manager J. B. Bell.

Within two hours, the room goes from a few loungers and pool players to a full house of about 75, almost everyone there to sing or hear friends sing.

The loyalty of the crowds is good for business, Mr. Bell said.

"I love it - I'd run it two nights a week, except Mike (Harrison, the DJ) is tied up," he said.  :There's a lot of good singers that come here.  There's usually about one or two who can't sing, but everybody's relaxed."

Sometimes it seems no one's listening to a singer, until someone exceptional performs.

"If somebody's good, they all turn," Ms. Mann said.  A really bad singer will also raise heads for a few seconds.  The it's back to the schmoozing.

But every performer gets applause, whether out of approval or the sentiment that anyone deserves a hand just for getting in the game.

"If they're trying, they are doing better than the man over there mocking," Ms. Mann said.

Still, there is a hierarchy among the serious singers.  They'll cheer a so-so singer who is obviously trying to improve, but sniff at off-key, off-rhythm performers who think they're great.

Then there are those whom just getting up behind a microphone is a triumph, such as Lynn O'Neal, who just debuted at the Island Club.  He was singing in public for the first time since a 1995 car accident left him brain-damaged and almost totally blind.

After a faltering rendition of I've Got Friends in Low Places, he made his way off the stage to thunderous applause.

"Thank you all for listening to my voice,' he said.

"Way to go man!" a voice cheered him on from the crowd.

Those with solid but not star-making talent, and good day jobs, said they just enjoy the outlet and social life.

Danny Miller, 41, said karaoke has given him several close friendships, some dates, and a large circle of acquaintances.

"I'd love to turn pro," said Mr. Miller, a computer repairman.  "I don't have a great voice. But I one or two compliments."

Dale Crawford, a computer systems designer, said he once sang in a children's choir but stopped at age 12 after people laughed at him for moving with the music during a solo.

He didn't sing in public again until he discovered karaoke, he said.

Now 30, he still sways with passion as he sings, but no one's laughing.  As he belted out INXS' What You Need, even the people sitting with their backs to him began bobbing their heads in enjoyment.

"This is my permanent backup plan," Mr. Crawford said.  He does other things with friends, but if all else fails, there's always a club and a mic.

These days, a hit song can be available for karaoke within a month, on compact disc with built-in videos and lyrics.

DJs can change the key, add special effects or eliminate a vocal track from a CD if singers bring their own.

Ms. Shelby-Martin and Ms. Davis tried that with the cast album of the musical Rent.

The regulars know their DJs, and they insist on fairness.  Mr. Harrison and Glenn Lukin said they take people in strict sign-up order, and won't accept tips or bribes to move people higher up.

"People have said several times that karaoke is dying," Mr. Harrison said. "Well, that's nonsense, because people turn 21 every year and they come into the clubs and get hooked."

Said Ms. Davis: "It's a chance to show off without being expected to show off.  Vanity will never go out of style."