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So on a lark of sorts I auditioned for Canadian Idol today.
Lead sentence to stop you dying of suspense: no, I didn't make it past the first cut. So you will not vote for me on TV singing songs that I have never heard of before, nor do you stand a chance of seeing me on TV, period; my likelihood of getting on Jeopardy! still remains theoretically better than of getting on Canadian Idol. None of us in our group made it past, so I did not see what the producers, or at least that particular producer auditioning us, was looking for.
However, looking back on it, the strongest genuine feeling I have about the experience is that it was fun. That was what I came for, that was what I got. True, I would have been somewhat more proud of myself if I had made it up a couple of levels, although I definitely did not entertain dreams of Sony recording contracts or even trying to garner votes from the fickle Canadian public every week while singing songs I have never heard of before. I know that this is not in me, this trying to be all things to all people; I would rather have a niche cult following that slowly grows bigger and bigger and bigger over the years. However, looking back on auditioning, I can say plainly: if I get the chance to do it again, even with foresight that I would be cut in the first round, I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Lead sentence to stop you dying of suspense: no, I didn't make it past the first cut. So you will not vote for me on TV singing songs that I have never heard of before, nor do you stand a chance of seeing me on TV, period; my likelihood of getting on Jeopardy! still remains theoretically better than of getting on Canadian Idol. None of us in our group made it past, so I did not see what the producers, or at least that particular producer auditioning us, was looking for.
However, looking back on it, the strongest genuine feeling I have about the experience is that it was fun. That was what I came for, that was what I got. True, I would have been somewhat more proud of myself if I had made it up a couple of levels, although I definitely did not entertain dreams of Sony recording contracts or even trying to garner votes from the fickle Canadian public every week while singing songs I have never heard of before. I know that this is not in me, this trying to be all things to all people; I would rather have a niche cult following that slowly grows bigger and bigger and bigger over the years. However, looking back on auditioning, I can say plainly: if I get the chance to do it again, even with foresight that I would be cut in the first round, I would do it again in a heartbeat.
And all i really lost for the experience was bus fare (and pay for two hours more scheduled work, but knowing how the bagelshop affects me, I declare mental health reasons). I did manage to wheedle it out of Linda, permission to leave early.
For those of you who are not in Ottawa or on the East Coast getting hit by giant snowstorms, know ye: we got hit by giant snowstorms this weekend. As of my writing this, there are very few plowed sidewalks (not hand-shovelled or with trodden paths, plowed by the little orange City mahcines) to be found for love or money in this city. So early at dawn ere men see clear this day of the Bush-sanctioned time change, I walked ( ! ) to work. Took me about half an hour, neglecting my vain attempts to look for a bus.
Thankfully, everyone was in the same boat. Ironically, pretty much all of the morning staff made it in, while afternoon staff were a frenzy of calling in sick. Master Cougar, who is back from Vietnam, never showed up at all, as he has a kilometre to go from his house to just a main road, apparently. Linda showed up after her vicinity was somewhat plowed, which was an hour and a half later than her scheduled time. Meanwhile, they micromanaged us with bi-hourly phone calls on status updates. "Place has three customers in it...we're holding out fine..." ran the usual refrain.
So Master Cougar and the owner declared, by phone, that due to the shortage of afternoon staff chiefly, we close at 3 instead of the usual 6. But that meant everyone was staying until 3.
Everyone, that is, except for me, who had already made plans and calculations and research. I did not intend to tell anyone I planned to audition, after last week the lovely Miss RMKR put it into my head; she wanted us to go together, but then she could not schedule it. I decided to do it anyway; on a choice between two evils, pick the one you've never tried, and that way it would get the "You should audition for CI" people off my back, and who knows...? But I am a proud woman; I would much rather report a surprise success than build up dreams in other people's minds as well and then confess to failure. It took me sleeping on it to decide that even confessing to failure in this journal and to Miss RMKR was a good idea, to remember it by.
And I confessed to Linda. I thought at first of using Rohinton's usual excuse, that of studying, but I knew that in such dire circumstances as those, it won't have enough power, and lying to my manager ain't good if she can find out. So I told her the truth, that I want to leave early to make it for CI auditions, and please don't talk about it too noisily, in case I fail. She agreed.
So at 1 o'clock I forded through snows only one pair of feet, it seemed, had trod on before, got to Tunney's Pasture and got on the 95 to St. Laurent Centre. The Transitway, Mysteryperson#1 had assured me the night before, is the best-taken-care-of road in Ottawa where snows are concerned; the buses must get through! So the voyage there was uneventful, except for the actual small difficulty of finding that mall's centre court where the registration was held.
I got a purple wristband from the security guard, entered the line to the registration desk, gave them the printout of my release form (although there were some available at the security guard's desk, showed them my ID ("the student card is not considered a piece of government-issued ID...so the passport will do for both?" "Do you enjoy doing that just to get the freakout reaction from people for a moment?" "Yep") and joined the line.
This time, apparently, they changed the system so that you do not have to stand in line forever; "if you show up between 8 am and 4 pm you will be heard." I got a number to pin to my shirt ("if all else fails, I get a souvenir safety pin from Canadian Idol," I grinned) and stood around in line, waiting.
One of the guys next to me was auditioning for the fourth year running, leading me to think of the Princeton recruitment officer's joke that if you do the SAT more than five times, it is considered an extracurricular activity. He shared his experience of never getting past the producers' Tier One and Tier Two auditions: "A lot depends on the personal preferences of the producer. Some like a rock sound, others like a pop sound. You may make it through only because you are the only person to sing Celtic!"
I decided to sing "Mon mec a moi" by Patricia Kaas. It is a little-known song around here, and it is in French, so I figured it would make me stand out if nothing else. Our group of five was finally formed by the producers, according to our issued numbers, and three of us: 16-year-old Jennifer, 24-year-old Jennifer who was a veteran of this audition process, and I sort of bonded. The young Jennifer was awed at our calmness. I was calm because I repeated to myself that I am doing this for fun, what I am going to do is sing a song I like, and the whole idea of competition has nothing to do with what I am doing.
We were led through tunnels of the mall outside to a group of trailers (I was grateful that I was just carrying my coat, having no one to leave it with) and sat down in chairs, the five of us. Two "wranglers" (I assume; they didn't tell us their job title) explained to us that this is the holding area, we will go to another trailer to audition before producers. There was a water cooler in the trailer for which, having drained my bottle, I was glad. More groups trickled in; some, in numerical order after us also, were let out. Four people came in with the coveted yellow tickets to the next level of auditioning (I giggled at remembering my dialogues with Ka_crow about yellow tickets marking a prostitute in 19th century St. Petersburg) ; the rest sat around and chatted with each other and with the wranglers. The wranglers gave off an energy I remembered from the staff of TVO studios: that certain insanity of people who work in showbiz.
"They want to see if you make good TV, mostly," they said to us, and I shuddered at the memory. The difference between actually being good at your game and good TV is what we blame for my high school's failure at Reach for the Top championships for the last six years running. They are brilliant when it is the straight question format in regular competition; then they make it to the televised rounds and the format changes to make good TV, and everything goes pete tong. I have a certain hatred of the phrase "good Tv" for that.
So anyhow, finally (about twenty minutes after we were put in the holding area, and an hour and a half after I arrived) we five were led to another trailer where a producer guy and girl were sitting behind a desk. We were put against the wall, with one of us at a time stepping up to the marked X on the floor, first answering a few of the producers' questions about ourselves, and then singing a verse and a chorus of our designated song.
The younger Jennifer wasn't very bad, but she wasn't very alive, either, though she sang. The second girl flubbed the lyrics completely, had to restart, confessed to there being only one of her two songs she knew the chorus to, and in general did not have good tone at all. Next was the older Jennifer, the veteran, who sang "Jesus Loves Me (For The Bible Tells Me So)". She has a bachelor's degree in music and was good, very good at singing, doing vocal tricks that I would crack and whimper at doing. Then it was me.
I was asked about how I am and what brings me here, and said that I was supposed to be moral support for a friend who couldn't make it, so I decided to go myself, to check it out. He asked what I was doing in life, and I explained about math and linguistics and how the two may work together, which I think intimidated most of the girls behind me and possibly the producer himself.
Then I sang them some Patricia Kaas.
Overall, I am not at all ashamed of my performance. My voice held steady, I did not crack, and I actually lived the lyrics; I moved, I smiled, I sighed, I sang the song like I meant it, which I definitely used to do. I took a few steps and danced a little. My style was rather dramatically different from the almost-ululating pop vibrato most of the other girls assumed, but I didn't worry about that. I got into that headspace again of detached observation of myself, where I can think that I should be nervous and freaking out, and I am totally calm and doing what I mean to do. I like that headspace. I should give it a name. The older Jennifer clapped for me when I finished; I could feel the other girls being impressed behind me; dunno with what sense I feel these things, but I knew it.
The next girl, also 16, took voice lessons, and she sang once again in a pop-vibrato style. She was very good too, but she didn't sound like she meant the lyrics, I observed. I clapped for her too, as did Jennifer.
Then the producer spoke to us. He gave us the usual homilies about how there are a lot of people auditioning, a lot of very talented people, we have to pass on people who have good potential in favour of people who have great potential, it's an honour and an act of courage to make it this far, etc. Then he told us he was cutting the lot of us. General criticism overarching us all: performance. We can't just sing with our hands in our pockets; we need to observe more how real singers do us, and work on our performing style. Feel free to try again next season.
We picked up our stuff in the holding area and walked back to the mall, silently. What was there to say? Some people were getting dreams shattered. In the bathroom, I heard one girl say to another that "He said they've already picked all their good people..." which cannot possibly be true as the tour still has to come to Toronto, for one.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Did you really think that this could be the face of a pop star? the reflection replied to me. But you should wear eye makeup more often, girl. It suits you.
I rode the bus home, and very soon fell asleep, compensating for time change and some very stressful days in general.
I told and tell myself not to think of how things may have gone if I picked a different song, if the old rules of natural gestures only from Concours d'art oratoire didn't ring clear in my head, if I did something differently, etc. I do not know and shall never know, and Canadian Idol will not complicate my life this year. I enjoyed the experience overall; it was fun. Particularly the singing in front of judges bit.
Thus, for this year, beginneth and endeth my involvement with Canadian Idol.
It was fun.
And I got free safety pins out of it.
For those of you who are not in Ottawa or on the East Coast getting hit by giant snowstorms, know ye: we got hit by giant snowstorms this weekend. As of my writing this, there are very few plowed sidewalks (not hand-shovelled or with trodden paths, plowed by the little orange City mahcines) to be found for love or money in this city. So early at dawn ere men see clear this day of the Bush-sanctioned time change, I walked ( ! ) to work. Took me about half an hour, neglecting my vain attempts to look for a bus.
Thankfully, everyone was in the same boat. Ironically, pretty much all of the morning staff made it in, while afternoon staff were a frenzy of calling in sick. Master Cougar, who is back from Vietnam, never showed up at all, as he has a kilometre to go from his house to just a main road, apparently. Linda showed up after her vicinity was somewhat plowed, which was an hour and a half later than her scheduled time. Meanwhile, they micromanaged us with bi-hourly phone calls on status updates. "Place has three customers in it...we're holding out fine..." ran the usual refrain.
So Master Cougar and the owner declared, by phone, that due to the shortage of afternoon staff chiefly, we close at 3 instead of the usual 6. But that meant everyone was staying until 3.
Everyone, that is, except for me, who had already made plans and calculations and research. I did not intend to tell anyone I planned to audition, after last week the lovely Miss RMKR put it into my head; she wanted us to go together, but then she could not schedule it. I decided to do it anyway; on a choice between two evils, pick the one you've never tried, and that way it would get the "You should audition for CI" people off my back, and who knows...? But I am a proud woman; I would much rather report a surprise success than build up dreams in other people's minds as well and then confess to failure. It took me sleeping on it to decide that even confessing to failure in this journal and to Miss RMKR was a good idea, to remember it by.
And I confessed to Linda. I thought at first of using Rohinton's usual excuse, that of studying, but I knew that in such dire circumstances as those, it won't have enough power, and lying to my manager ain't good if she can find out. So I told her the truth, that I want to leave early to make it for CI auditions, and please don't talk about it too noisily, in case I fail. She agreed.
So at 1 o'clock I forded through snows only one pair of feet, it seemed, had trod on before, got to Tunney's Pasture and got on the 95 to St. Laurent Centre. The Transitway, Mysteryperson#1 had assured me the night before, is the best-taken-care-of road in Ottawa where snows are concerned; the buses must get through! So the voyage there was uneventful, except for the actual small difficulty of finding that mall's centre court where the registration was held.
I got a purple wristband from the security guard, entered the line to the registration desk, gave them the printout of my release form (although there were some available at the security guard's desk, showed them my ID ("the student card is not considered a piece of government-issued ID...so the passport will do for both?" "Do you enjoy doing that just to get the freakout reaction from people for a moment?" "Yep") and joined the line.
This time, apparently, they changed the system so that you do not have to stand in line forever; "if you show up between 8 am and 4 pm you will be heard." I got a number to pin to my shirt ("if all else fails, I get a souvenir safety pin from Canadian Idol," I grinned) and stood around in line, waiting.
One of the guys next to me was auditioning for the fourth year running, leading me to think of the Princeton recruitment officer's joke that if you do the SAT more than five times, it is considered an extracurricular activity. He shared his experience of never getting past the producers' Tier One and Tier Two auditions: "A lot depends on the personal preferences of the producer. Some like a rock sound, others like a pop sound. You may make it through only because you are the only person to sing Celtic!"
I decided to sing "Mon mec a moi" by Patricia Kaas. It is a little-known song around here, and it is in French, so I figured it would make me stand out if nothing else. Our group of five was finally formed by the producers, according to our issued numbers, and three of us: 16-year-old Jennifer, 24-year-old Jennifer who was a veteran of this audition process, and I sort of bonded. The young Jennifer was awed at our calmness. I was calm because I repeated to myself that I am doing this for fun, what I am going to do is sing a song I like, and the whole idea of competition has nothing to do with what I am doing.
We were led through tunnels of the mall outside to a group of trailers (I was grateful that I was just carrying my coat, having no one to leave it with) and sat down in chairs, the five of us. Two "wranglers" (I assume; they didn't tell us their job title) explained to us that this is the holding area, we will go to another trailer to audition before producers. There was a water cooler in the trailer for which, having drained my bottle, I was glad. More groups trickled in; some, in numerical order after us also, were let out. Four people came in with the coveted yellow tickets to the next level of auditioning (I giggled at remembering my dialogues with Ka_crow about yellow tickets marking a prostitute in 19th century St. Petersburg) ; the rest sat around and chatted with each other and with the wranglers. The wranglers gave off an energy I remembered from the staff of TVO studios: that certain insanity of people who work in showbiz.
"They want to see if you make good TV, mostly," they said to us, and I shuddered at the memory. The difference between actually being good at your game and good TV is what we blame for my high school's failure at Reach for the Top championships for the last six years running. They are brilliant when it is the straight question format in regular competition; then they make it to the televised rounds and the format changes to make good TV, and everything goes pete tong. I have a certain hatred of the phrase "good Tv" for that.
So anyhow, finally (about twenty minutes after we were put in the holding area, and an hour and a half after I arrived) we five were led to another trailer where a producer guy and girl were sitting behind a desk. We were put against the wall, with one of us at a time stepping up to the marked X on the floor, first answering a few of the producers' questions about ourselves, and then singing a verse and a chorus of our designated song.
The younger Jennifer wasn't very bad, but she wasn't very alive, either, though she sang. The second girl flubbed the lyrics completely, had to restart, confessed to there being only one of her two songs she knew the chorus to, and in general did not have good tone at all. Next was the older Jennifer, the veteran, who sang "Jesus Loves Me (For The Bible Tells Me So)". She has a bachelor's degree in music and was good, very good at singing, doing vocal tricks that I would crack and whimper at doing. Then it was me.
I was asked about how I am and what brings me here, and said that I was supposed to be moral support for a friend who couldn't make it, so I decided to go myself, to check it out. He asked what I was doing in life, and I explained about math and linguistics and how the two may work together, which I think intimidated most of the girls behind me and possibly the producer himself.
Then I sang them some Patricia Kaas.
Overall, I am not at all ashamed of my performance. My voice held steady, I did not crack, and I actually lived the lyrics; I moved, I smiled, I sighed, I sang the song like I meant it, which I definitely used to do. I took a few steps and danced a little. My style was rather dramatically different from the almost-ululating pop vibrato most of the other girls assumed, but I didn't worry about that. I got into that headspace again of detached observation of myself, where I can think that I should be nervous and freaking out, and I am totally calm and doing what I mean to do. I like that headspace. I should give it a name. The older Jennifer clapped for me when I finished; I could feel the other girls being impressed behind me; dunno with what sense I feel these things, but I knew it.
The next girl, also 16, took voice lessons, and she sang once again in a pop-vibrato style. She was very good too, but she didn't sound like she meant the lyrics, I observed. I clapped for her too, as did Jennifer.
Then the producer spoke to us. He gave us the usual homilies about how there are a lot of people auditioning, a lot of very talented people, we have to pass on people who have good potential in favour of people who have great potential, it's an honour and an act of courage to make it this far, etc. Then he told us he was cutting the lot of us. General criticism overarching us all: performance. We can't just sing with our hands in our pockets; we need to observe more how real singers do us, and work on our performing style. Feel free to try again next season.
We picked up our stuff in the holding area and walked back to the mall, silently. What was there to say? Some people were getting dreams shattered. In the bathroom, I heard one girl say to another that "He said they've already picked all their good people..." which cannot possibly be true as the tour still has to come to Toronto, for one.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Did you really think that this could be the face of a pop star? the reflection replied to me. But you should wear eye makeup more often, girl. It suits you.
I rode the bus home, and very soon fell asleep, compensating for time change and some very stressful days in general.
I told and tell myself not to think of how things may have gone if I picked a different song, if the old rules of natural gestures only from Concours d'art oratoire didn't ring clear in my head, if I did something differently, etc. I do not know and shall never know, and Canadian Idol will not complicate my life this year. I enjoyed the experience overall; it was fun. Particularly the singing in front of judges bit.
Thus, for this year, beginneth and endeth my involvement with Canadian Idol.
It was fun.
And I got free safety pins out of it.
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although if i tried out for either Idol show, my only chance would be the blooper reel.... LOL!
maybe next year! would you try again?