Fancast: Inside TV

I am truly touched by her story, and I actually feel good about watching this show. Usually the bash-the-bad-singer-audition-round shows bring up an icky feeling. We’re off to a good start.

Maybe I spoke too soon. Paul Stafford appeared next – and suddenly in my head I’m hearing Electric Light Orchestra’s classic “Don’t bring me down…”

Poor Paul. He’s a bubbly 9 year old trapped in a 25 year-olds body. I don’t know what makes me cringe more: Ryan’s patronizing interview or how truly genuine and completely unaware Paul is. It’s as though he’s stumbled into a booby trap and all he can do is comment about how he loves roller coasters.

But the judges are showing a lot of heart. I’m grateful for that measure of self-control. I wonder if this is planned or an intuitive reflection of what the country needs to hear as it goes through rough times with the economy and war. Maybe we got too rough and crude and need to be reminded without preachiness of our civility and humanity.

We’re going to see Paula, Randy and Simon laugh and cringe straight to the face of contestants and cripple their self-esteem. That’s good television. They’ll also question those auditioning in a way that puts their existence on trial. But…from what I’m seeing, this year the judges have got heart. More so than any other year.

Take Paul. In him, they see a nice, nice, genuine guy who is enthusiastic (as Simon put it) but just not cut out for the show, and they gently usher him out the door…with a smile. They also walked a genuinely sweet, and sobbing girl out the door to her family and praised her the whole way out. In years past, such an event would not have happened, or wouldn’t have made the cut in lieu of footage of a pour soul being hacked off at the knees by Simon.

Again, I am pleasantly surprised, and proud of the new angle the show is taking.

We’ll see if it lasts.

Speaking of the judges, a quick note on my feelings about them:

Randy: For all the "dogisms", and "yeauh's", Randy is a standup
guy. Most people don't know that he's an amazing musician, and all in all a great guy.

Paula: My heart. She’s sharper than ever this year, still gorgeous,
and I am entertained by the interplay between her and Simon. They remind me of Sam and Diane from Cheers.

Simon: A little toned down this first show. I was surprised! He’s only made a few scathing comments. I want more!

It’s funny. As I watch the crowd in Dallas, everyone knows exactly what to expect from the judges. Some even want a tongue lashing from Simon. However, back when I auditioned, I had no idea. None of us did. In yesterday’s blog, I left off while waiting in line, surrounded by about 70 different versions of “Fallin’” being sung simultaneously. I had no sense of the life-changing experience ahead of me.

It was 3 am. Shaking off my sleepiness I saw that there was some movement going on. ‘Whoo Hoo’! I thought. Finally, I was gonna get warmed up and away from a strange, unattractive naked woman (I forgot to mention that yesterday) that was the other bookend to the incessant choruses mentioned above.

You would think that as an amusement park junkie who has spent hundreds of hours in lines for the newest and fasted rollercoasters, I would have known a think or two about dealing with the impatience of waiting. But no, the line didn’t get shorter just around the corner.

I think I’ve failed to mention where I was. New York City. Outside the Millennium Hotel. That’s where we finally shuffled into, and it was a nice spot. I remember the lighting was dim, so everyone looked great.

Once inside, I can’t recall if we took elevators or the stairs. When herding a slew of teenagers and early 20-somethings into a building, I think the rulebook says take the stairs. That way you can keep an eye on all of them. Either way I made it to what I thought was the floor of destiny only to find out that it was another holding pen. More frustration. God does have a sense of humor, I’m sure of it -- and I love it…mostly in hindsight.

After penning my name in the register, getting my number, I walked into the banquet from hell. It was one of those enormous rooms. The acoustics were terrible. Every sound bounced off the walls like children on a sugar-high. I said to hell with it, got down on the floor, and slept. It was that kind of morning.

Most people think that you stand in line and then go straight to the judges for adjudication. If this were the case, the show would never have happened after that first season. The judges would’ve suffered early deaths from dementia, premature aging, or most likely both. Nowadays a flabillion -- yes, flabillion, I made up the word and am filing the patent papers now -- people show up to audition. A trip to Mars would go quicker than the judges having to suffer through even one minute with all of them. Hence, there are production assistants.

Enter production assistants. Most of these folks are first cousins of the students who became ‘hall-monitors’ in elementary school. Some of them are more closely related to the sturdy ‘currier’, while others are inexorably linked to the much-maligned ‘snitch’. The P.A.’s I encountered, one of whom is now an exec producer for Dancing with the Stars (sniffle…they grow up so fast) were of the ‘no-nonsense get ‘em in, and get ‘em out out’ tribe.

We were told that we’d be called to the next place in groups of 30. After waiting another few hours in the holding pen, I was part of a group taken to another large room. Thirty chairs lined the walls of a square room, all facing the center where two chairs sat, facing each other. This was the interview process – the first time when the American Idol producers get their first true litmus test of whether the wanna-be superstar is a) normal, b) slightly odd, or c) a whack-job.

Billy was the guy that interviewed me. I sat down and introduced myself to him. The usual questions ensued, and I won’t bore you with them. Just think of it as a job interview. Satisfied with my answers, he scribbled his notes, said thanks, and called in the next person.

I’ve never been in a beauty pageant -- for obvious reasons (Justin=Male) -- but what lay in store for me just around the bend was a taste that I’ll never forget.

The room.

If you’ve ever seen “A Clock Work Orange,” you’ll know what I mean when I say that we all thought (to varying degrees) we were going to that room.

When it came time to go in there, this time in groups of five, waves of terror swept over all of us again. That was my impression anyway. It was certainly true in my case.

I always feel nervous before a performance, and regard it as healthy. I actually welcome the sensation. It makes me feel all the more alive. I’ve heard seasoned performers, superstars, say that when you lose that, you don’t care anymore. I can’t imagine not caring. When I step on stage to perform for thousands, hundreds, or even an intimate gathering, my palms sweat and my breath catches in my throat as I meet eyes in the audience. With the first note from my diaphragm, the feeling dissipates and I stop thinking altogether. It is a sensation unlike any other I ever experience, and as close to a Zen moment as I will ever get. Magic happens in that space.

The feeling I remember most from back in 2002 was the clammy hand of a sweet girl I met while waiting for Billy to call my name. She was so nervous that she asked me, a stranger, in a very strange land, to hold her hand as we all went into the room. The safety of the herd allowed us to mask our fears of being singled out and having our self-confidence and self-esteem stripped away. She was not an “American Idol” as the judges now say…but she was brave, and I give her all the credit for seeing it through, where so many others couldn’t.

Then it was my turn!

We lined up like we were facing a firing squad and each of us stepped forward and proffered our wares to the next set of PA’s, or perhaps AP’s (associate producers). I remember the pageant feeling sweeping over me as I stepped forward and delivered my chorus of “Who’s Loving You” by the Jackson 5. I don’t remember the reaction I expected, if any, and if I expected raucous applause I was mistaken. What I got was the sharp crack of ‘next’, and the dull scraping sound of pencil on paper.

I didn’t know what to make of that. I looked around and saw, hopefully not with frightened eyes, a video camera in the corner picking up every gesture, facial tick, eye flutter and bead of sweat that came out of us…all for further review at a later date. Why hadn’t I noticed earlier? How had I done? What notes had the guy made?

We had to wait another hour before a sheet was posted with the names of people they wanted to return. I remember hurrying over to the list. I was taller than most of the others. The list was in alphabetical order. I looked for the Gs – and found my name! Oh my God!

I was told to report back two days later. I didn’t know who I’d see or what would happen next, but boy, was I in for a big surprise – and a lot of fun.