AI: PART 3. SHE SINGS.

AND NOW, OUR EXCITING CONCLUSION!!!!

Finally, it was our turn. Our row went down to the floor, and into the lines. I couldn’t believe I was about to do it. I was thinking to myself that my friends and family were right. I couldn’t feel my feet I was so nervous. But then I thought to myself, Why not? Maybe even I could be the next American Idol! Maybe even I could have my 15 minutes! And so it was my row of four’s turn- me, my two friends, and randomly a girl from Orem. We handed them our release forms, and waited. 

They pointed to the girl from Orem. “Go.” She stepped forward, but all too soon she was done. And they pointed to Angie. “Go.” And then all of a sudden they were pointing at me. “Go.” It was my big moment. I took a step forward, and I sang the first line to “I Need a Hero“, from Footloose. 

“Where have all the good men gone,” I belted it out. “And…and…..” And I forgot the words. 

“Hold on a second…“ I tried to regroup. “Where have all the good men gone, and where….where….” 

I turned back to Angie and Allison. “I forget the words!” I whispered emphatically. They encouraged me, “Go on, your doing great, keep singing!” and so I tried one last time. “Where have all the good men gone….” 

It was useless. My mind was a blank. I then remembered the absurdity of the whole thing. I was standing there trying out for American Idol! And so I started to laugh. Hard. Our table of judges cracked the first grin I’d seen out of them. “I think I have wasted enough of your time,” I told them, and took a step back into the line, still laughing. 

When they gave us their decision they looked at the girl from Orem and said, “Not going to work.” Then they looked at Angie. “Not going to work.” Then they looked at me and smirked. “Really not going to work.” All that managed to do was make me explode into a whole new fit of laughter. After all, wasn’t a part of the show about being shot down, criticized, and made to look ridiculous? I had been mocked by an American Idol judge! I had conquered! 

The moment, captured on film. I'm turning around saying, "I forgot the words!!!"

Now My friend Allison’s experience is a whole different story. A music and dance major at college, she really had genuine talent. When she tried out the year before in New York City she had made it to the second cut, but not beyond. So this year she had an angle. Usually a conservative girl, singing jazz balads or show tunes, this year she broke the mold. She had ratted crimped hair, bright red lipstick, a gold sequined jacket, and a skin-tight black outfit underneath. She sang “Ballroom Blitz,” a 70’s rock song, complete with the rocker screeching. 

She got her yellow ticket!!

The judges at our table were intrigued by her. They asked her who her influences were. She said Shakira, Gwen Stafani, and Pat Benetar. They asked her what her image was. She said that she loved hard rock, and that there weren’t enough females in that particular genre today. She got the yellow sheet of paper. She was onto the next round. She had infiltrated the American Idol system. You could tell they wondered if she was for real. But you could also tell that they are all FOX producers. She was interesting, she was loud. She was ratings.

Only about 500 of the thousands there make it to the second round. The next day (day 3 of auditions for those of you counting) they were to return to the hotel. There they see Ken and Nigel, the main producers of the show. The duo told Allison that she was great. She made it to the next round, finally on to see the infamous Simon Cowell, the sweet Paula Abdul, and the big Dawg, Randy Jackson. They told her to come just as she was. “The hair, the makeup, the outfit! It is perfect! Come just like that!” they raved. 

Here is where the competition gets tricky. Remember, it is after all a television show. They want ratings, besides finding a real star talent. So in that group of 500 there were the William Hung’s of the world, along with the Reuben Studdards. The bad and the good. The crazy, the wacky, the horrible, along with the best talent. And even the best talent is only the particular “type” that they decided they want.

Only about 150 go on to see the three main judges over the next two days (day 4 and 5- we had to leave Allison in Las Vegas to go back to work). And the crazy, wacky, horrible people get through that cut too. So when you see them on TV. crying, incredulous to the fact that they are horrible singers, think of them making it through three cuts, in their audition city for several days, perhaps even a week, one of few picked out of thousands and thousands. Someone who thought they could be the one, when really they were just bad enough to be shown on TV. and be laughed at. The clause in the release form, “expose me to public ridicule, humiliation or condemnation,” made much more sense at that point.

Allison didn’t make it onto Hollywood. Paula told her that it was all wrong. She asked her, “Have you ever even watched the show? What do you think we are all about?” Allison countered by saying, “It is American Idol, not American Pop! There is room in music today for this type of thing!” But to no avail. Ironically, those of you who have been watching this season will know, there are two “rockers” on the show. Bo Bice and Constantine. Both tattooed up, long haired, tight leather wearing crooners. Perhaps Allison gave the producers an idea. Perhaps they needed to expand their genres to reach a larger audience. 

I realized in the middle of the day that the date was September 11^th. It was the anniversary of the horrible tragedy that befell our country. And here all these kids were, vying to be on TV, a pop sensation, a star. At first I thought it was almost sacrilegious that we were all there. I thought it disrespectful that these people were all so caught up in themselves, in stardom, in celebrity. But then I realized it could be seen as a celebration of the American spirit. Most of these people had come from nothing. Small towns, no future, and there they were believing that they could be something bigger. 

It was the largest representation of living the American Dream that I have ever witnessed. 

All these people were thinking it. You could see it in their eyes. The “what if” factor. They were all thinking, “What if I do make it. What if I do win.” And they all thought they could. And inside with them, after two days of being surrounded by them, I began to believe in them too. They could win. They could do it. Having that much drive and passion and real belief in themselves and their abilities, why not? We asked a few of those rejected what they would do next. The most common answer- “I’ll be back next year. I have to try again.” They weren’t phased by the experience. They would carry on. And with the audition eligibility age being raised to 28, perhaps, so would I.

THE END