Fancast: Inside TV

Safely back in the waiting room, I sat and went over lyrics in my head. I was planning to sing “Who’s Loving You” (The Jackson 5), a song I could sing in my sleep…and probably have, to the chagrin of the woman sleeping next to me. The other was my slight worry. “Blame it on the Sun” (Stevie) I can’t remember where I heard this song for the first time, but when I did it immediately spoke to me. Little did I know that years later I’d get to meet, hang out with, and even sing with the man himself. I don’t think it ended up making the final cut of the show, but it was a good one.

In the waiting room, slowly but surely, people went in and they came out. I can’t really remember anyone coming out with a “golden ticket”, I’m not sure they even had that yet…it could have been papyrus scrolls that they handed to us for all I recall…I was that focused. I hadn’t stood outside in the cold streets of New York for hours, sat in my own personal hell of a conference room, been questioned (probably given a cursory background check), waited some more, auditioned in a chorus line, waited even more, come for call backs, waited so much I fell asleep, auditioned for some of the production top-brass, waited, made sure that my bathroom performance was the single cleanliest in the history of Man, and waaaaited…to blow it now.

As I was running the lyrics in my head for the umpteenth time, I heard the slide and scrape of the huge metal door that stood between the judge’s antechambers and us. Forgot to mention that did I? Yes, there was a huge door, no lie, and it was almost as imposing as the thought of actually walking through it.

So there I was, totally distracted by the slight scrape of metal on metal, and even worst the uncontrollable sobs of a distraught girl. Not good. Even worse, the camera was there to catch every minute of it. Every tear, every sob, every sniffle was exposed by the high-watt bulb mounted on the camera. Ryan and Brian were consoling, and I was wondering what I had gotten myself into.

What could possibly lie on the other side of that door, and was it laying in wait for me? I was a blank, and the entire process was taking forever. Almost all of the people I can remember coming out, came out either shaking their bowed heads or crying. Were they being subjected to mental torture? In hind-sight I would tend towards a ‘yes’, but they couldn’t have been suffering as much as the judges. Imagine how you’d feel if you had to spend all day eating week old hot-dogs (no condiments). Think about how appreciative you’d be when someone threw you a nice piece of Filet Mignon. The judge’s musical palates are no different than ours would be in the “evil hotdog” situation.

As I got closer in line to the sliding metal door of broken dreams, I got more focused, and nervous. I don’t care how many people I’ve ever sang in front of (my record was 10,000 at the time…soon to be pulverized) I still get nervous. There were only 3, or so I was told.

I’d really love to paint a really dramatic point of tension right before I walked into the room, but no truth would be in it. Yes, I was nervous. Yes, I assumed it was an important audition. However, I still really had no clue what I was getting into. The door slid open and it was my turn. It was as simple as that.

I took a breath and walked through the huge door, and then through another…into the light.

I smiled and put on my best cool-guy walk, not too cool lest I be thought pretentious, and there before me sat “the 3”. My first impression was of Paula. She said ‘hi Justin’ and that was all it took. I was smitten…chock full of smit actually. The other two gentleman smiled nicely at me as I approached my mark (a little t-shaped tape mark on the floor)

In the seconds before I sang, I took stock of the room. Big bright lights, cameras, some big letters spelling out New York on the floor, and a bleacher full of suits and people with clipboards looking at monitors. Odd that they’d be here, I thought, but I had no real frame of reference to make any real assessment. I knew next to nothing about television production. Another observation that I found a little strange was the fact that there was a gentleman off to the side sitting on a padded stool who seemed to be running everything. The judges did their thing, but he always seemed to have his hands on the reins. Later I would find out that the was Nigel Lythgoe, an executive producer, I would even dare to say the senior executive producer…but that would probably tick off Kenny Warwick, and Brian Gadinsky, so I won’t.

Before I even opened my mouth to sing I noticed that Nigel looked like a kid in a candy store. In hindsight, I would have looked the same way if I knew that I was going to get some of the most hilarious performance footage (along with the good stuff too) in recent American television history. Smiling all the while Nigel told me where to stand and left the rest up to the judges.

As I had mentioned before, Paula was the first to greet me, and I replied cordially if not a little too familiar, but if there was any breach in etiquette it was lost in the moment.

It was my turn and there was only one thing to do, tell ‘em what I was going to sing and then sing it. Well…I guess that’s two things. So sue me.

First song- “Who’s Loving You”, they knew it, and so did I. It’s actually the song you hear me sing on the air. Not many people know this about me, but the more nervous I get, the more composed I usually look. In rare instances I’ll give away hints of it if you look closely enough. Well, in this case, I think I looked completely composed…almost.
While I was singing, I was very nervous. Extremely so, in fact. So much so that I had to focus on one particular part of the room, and one part only, in order to make it through. The middle seat, the white hat, and the gorgeous smile. P-A-U-L-A…I gush, therefore I am.

I sang to her, because…hey who wouldn’t want to sing to her, especially a love song from the point of a man pouring his love-lorn, shameful heart out to her? I also sang to her because she was familiar. I can sing to a woman, it’s in my DNA…as it is in most males.

What was their response…good, obviously, I did make it to Hollywood, but what did they say that the cameras didn’t show?

That, my friends is for tomorrow.

Happy Mardi Gras. Happy Super Tuesday!

Justin

homepage photo credit: Matt Beard