My American Idol Audition

2snaps
Posted January 11th, 2008 by Andrew Walsh

I’ve spent approximately six seasons watching American Idol, and with each new season, as I’ve endured the warbling of the Haley Scarnato’s, Nikki McKibbin’s, and Jon Stevens’ of the world, I often wondered aloud how far I would get if I were to audition. So in late August, when Idol auditions rolled into Philadelphia’s Wachovia Center, I decided to say “what the hell” and give it a try. What ensued was a marathon of sitting, sweating, and getting squished by large crowds. In other words, it was a lot less fun than I imagined it would be.

First things first, you can’t just stroll up to the venue the day of the audition and sign-up. Instead, you have to register to guarantee the possibility of a slot, and registration begins two days prior to the actual event. Having said that however, being registered does not guarantee you will be seen. In addition, anyone who plans to attend the big day with you must also register, so not only did I have to take two days off of work and sit in the hot, Philly August sun, but so did my partner in crime Beth (who should be nominated for sainthood for agreeing to this, especially since she had no desire whatsoever to be in front of the camera).

No one was allowed to line-up before 6 am, and registration would not start until 8 am, so to get a good spot in the pre-line-up line-up, we had to get there around 4:30 am, and by the way this was a Saturday morning. Since we both had Saturday off, like the geniuses we are, we decided to go out drinking on Friday night, because I wouldn’t be singing that day so what’s the harm, right? Have you ever wanted to know what it would feel like to have a hangover on the sun? If so, then the next time you have the chance to sit on a black stretch of asphalt with no cover from our solar system’s giant flaming ball of gas while sweating out vodka and beer, I suggest you take the opportunity.
We took a quick cab ride of death to the stadium courtesy of a non-English language speaking version of Speed Racer, and the moment we arrived realized that 4:30 still wasn’t early enough. I hadn’t seen that many people in one place since the time I was talked into attending Woodstock ’99.
As we walked towards the mass of fellow hopefuls, a woman jumped out of an SUV and asked us if we knew where the line was forming. I hesitated for a second wondering if she was serious, but after looking into her panic stricken eyes, I realized she wasn’t, and slowly pointed towards the ever growing blob of wannabe singers and the people who love them. She thanked me, got in the car and drove in the opposite direction. Twenty minutes later as I stood in the pre-dawn darkness, I looked to my right and realized she was standing ten feet away from me. I suddenly realized we were going to get to know a lot about each other in the next nine hours.

Sherry, her daughter Melissa, and her life-partner Linda had traveled from central Jersey in the hopes that sixteen-year-old Melissa would be the next American Idol. The girl was absolutely adorable, so if she could sing even remotely competently, I’m pretty sure I’ll see her on at least Hollywood Week. Anyway, as soon as Sherry pulled out her assortment of snacks and anti-bacterial hand lotion (the port-a-potty’s were NASTY), I began to fall in love, and I quickly promised myself that if Melissa should make it on the show I was so voting for her. Within an hour, another group, this time from Boston, joined our little party, but this time it was Brad and his boyfriend John, and Brad’s mother and grandmother. Completely by accident, our little section of the mob had turned into the Rainbow Room. It was jammed packed with gays and the people who loved them. Nine hours, and lots of mugging for local news cameras later, we finally made our way towards the front of the line where we would be forced to register and receive wristbands, made of paper and glue, that we were not allowed to lose or take off until after the audition. For the next 48 hours I was a nervous wreck, terrified that some random accident, or momentary lack of judgment, would force me to miss out on my ONE BIG SHOT.
I had little sleep the entire weekend, and the night before the audition was no different. I tossed and turned all night only able to find thirty minutes of peaceful slumber. Add this to the two hours I had on Friday night and the four on Saturday, and you have a grand total of six and a half hours of sleep over three days. Needless to say, I was exhausted, but running on adrenaline, when the big day finally arrived.

This time, there was no Sherry and the Rainbow Room to entertain Beth and I; just the arrival of every freak of nature on the Eastern seaboard. Local media descended on the scene, giving every would be singer an opportunity to embarrass themselves and belt their hearts out. As much as I enjoy singing, and as much fun as I used to think being on this show would be, I still had no desire to give an impromptu performance to a Pittsburgh area radio station while waiting in the line for the port-a-potty. Lucky for me, many others were more than willing. In particular there was this cocky kid with long frizzy red hair who screeched out a version of The Darkness’ “A Thing Called Love.” I prayed he would make it to the later rounds only to get brutally dismissed, especially since he tried to cut in line for the toilet.

After arriving at 4 am, we were finally seated inside the auditorium somewhere around noon. The way it worked was you got a ticket on registration day with a seat and section number. Once EVERYONE who had a ticket was seated (there were 20,000 people in attendance), filming and auditions would begin. Hours later we were all forced to sing a group rendition of Joann Jett’s “I Love Rock and Roll” while rhythmically clapping. I mostly mouthed it because I was determined to save my voice for the BIG MOMENT. After more mugging for the camera, waving and clapping, and fake singing, one of the producers gave us a long speech reminding us that if this is what we really want to do with our lives, then this is just one of many auditions. If we’re rejected, as about 19,800 of us would be, it doesn’t mean all of us can’t sing (but for some, yeah it does), it just means this isn’t the way we were meant to achieve our dreams. It’s at about this point that I realize my “dream” really wasn’t to be a pop star, I just thought it would be fun to be on Idol.

See, here’s the thing: when I watch this show, I want to be a singer, but when I watch The Silence of the Lambs I want to be an FBI profiler, and when I watch Buffy I want to fight vampires, and so on and so forth. The point is, I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to be a singer or if I wanted to play one on TV for awhile. This isn’t to say I’d never thought seriously about it, I had, after all, taken voice lessons for five years, and done some singing in local theater and at church, and logged many hours in the car and shower, but I suddenly realized that for some people this was all they ever thought about doing, whereas for me, it was my thing of the moment. Also, as much as I had talked about getting on the show during the weeks leading up to the audition, I really didn't care very much about one way or another about the outcome. I just generally felt that it would be a good story either way, and honestly, I think that’s how you should walk into something like the Idol experience. The audition rounds of a contest such as this one are 98-99% luck, and the rest is evenly split between talent and if you fit the look of whatever it is they are looking for. So really, all you can do is be as prepared as possible, do the best you can, and hope for the best, but if you put the whole future of your life on this moment…well, that’s just not healthy or reasonable.

At any rate, the producers go through the do’s and don’ts, like “don’t suck your teeth and ask ‘why’ when we say no,” or “don’t ask us if we’re sure, because we are sure,” but do “sing your heart out.” In other words, it wasn’t really a helpful list. The thing that’s frustrating about these kind of cattle calls is that they can’t describe to you exactly what they’re looking for other than “star quality,” but somehow, when you’ve failed to meet their expectations, it’s your fault for not delivering exactly what they wanted.

Anyway, the auditions work like this: fifteen producers and musical directors from the show line-up in these little cubicles on the stadium floor, and one by one they bring different sections down, divide them into groups of four and send them to a cubicle to be judged. The singer doesn’t provide his or her name or song choice, but one at a time, each member of the foursome will step forward and sing for ten to fifteen seconds. When all four singers have finished, the judge will decide if anyone will get a golden ticket to go through to the next round and sing for the TV judges Simon, Paula, and Randy. This round will take place at the end of the week at an unspecified location. I spent the next few hours listening to disillusioned people complaining about
the “phoniness” of this process, and my response (mentally of course because I was saving my voice) was “what did you expect?” It’s not phony, it’s realistic. The three TV stars who judge this show have no intention of listening to 20,000 people sing/shout at them. It’s just not logical. The process would take DAYS. As impersonal as it was, it really was the best way to do it. When its your turn to sing, it really boils down to luck of the draw as far as which judge you get and how they are feeling at the time you get to them.

Oh damn, I forgot to mention that Ryan Seacrest showed up for ten minutes, did his thing, wished us luck and then scurried out. He is so tiny in person that I couldn’t even find him for the first few minutes. Then I noticed an orange mannequin dressed in tight jeans and a button down and exclaimed “hey there’s Ryan Seacrest!”

I happened to have a front row seat, so I watched for hours as round after round of hopefuls were sent packing. Within an hour I wanted to scream every time I heard a rendition of Beyonce’s “Listen,” so I could only imagine how the judges were feeling. Oh, and by the way, every drag queen, and every person in a Halloween costume, made it through, which was not in the least bit surprising. I only wish I had thought to wear a costume. OR a dress. Whichever.

As the day dragged on, I became not only more tired, but increasingly more thirsty, no matter how much water I drank. Each time I went out into the hallway to sip from the water fountain it felt like a musical had exploded and everyone had lost their minds. People were singing their hearts out in every nook and cranny of the building. At a certain point, I just wanted to audition and get the hell out of there and into a comfy bed where no one would be singing at me.

When my turn finally came, I spent the remaining minutes of my Idol audition in a haze of exhaustion and thirst. While the people in my group sprayed their throats with magical throat spray, I licked my lips and repeatedly asked if anyone else was as thirsty as I was. The lovely little guy standing next to me name Edgardo assured me he wasn’t and then began rehearsing his rendition of The Darkness’ “A Thing Called Love,” which I immediately knew was going to get him a spot on the televised round, and also, what the hell was up with that song? I felt like it was stalking me.

Waiting for our shot at stardom, I overheard the judge we were about to audition for tell the line in front of us that he “wanted to send somebody from this line through,” but it was before they even sang, and lo and behold, he sent one guy through. We all realized the odds had just shifted a little further out of our favor.

When we finally reached the booth, I had the dubious honor of singing first. My song choice was “Unchained Melody,” which I belted out with all the feeling and power I could. My judge was clearly playing for my team, so I looked deep in his eyes and tried my best to seduce him through song. He let me sing for what felt like an eternity, nodded his head approvingly, and said “Thank you VERY much.” I felt certain I had a shot. The other’s sang, but no one got the same response I did, so I was feeling even better about my chances, but after a long pause, my fellow sexually-oriented judge chose to pass on our whole line. I immediately felt the urge to yell “WHY?!” While walking the unreasonably long loser’s walk of shame (it was the length of the stadium! There’s even humiliation in the untelevised portion!)I felt slightly disappointed for about 30 seconds and then relieved that I could go home and sleep. Which I did after I had a few well deserved beers.

I woke up the next day with no regrets about the process, just a firm feeling that I would never subject myself to that again, and since next year I’ll age out of the eligibility requirements, I probably wouldn’t get the chance anyway. A week later, I caught an Idol re-run on The FOX Reality Channel, and after watching the further torture of the contestants who made it to Hollywood Week, I was kind of glad I had gotten the boot early. At the end of the day, it was an interesting experience, and when I look back I can say I at least tried, and hey maybe you’ll see me in one of the crowd scenes this season for about 4 seconds, which is almost one-fourth of the total time of the audition I waited almost twenty hours in line to get. Seacrest out!