There are things I believe in. Judy Live at Carnegie Hall and The Pretenders’ first album can be played back to back at equally top volume. I also covet Costello over Presley, love the White Stripes and Radiohead, have The Who on a pedestal, and secretly long for the return of Evelyn “Champagne” King. Call it eclectic musical taste.
I also have violent feelings about the state of pop music and the way “artists” sing these days. So when I was invited to be a judge for Charlotte’s American Idol auditions August 10, I saw it as a public service to weed out the nasal-impaired, the off-key and anything that smacked of theme park or beauty pageant singing.
300 IN LINE AND ONLY 200 GETTING IN THE DOORI arrive at WCCB’s parking lot about 7:45am on a Sunday, and cannot believe the scene. Over 300 people are waiting outside the station’s black iron security gates, the line snaking down the sidewalk. It’s sticky outside, people have brought lawn chairs, there are nylon pup tents here and there, and three radio stations are broadcasting from their mobile remote trucks across the street in the Cricket Arena parking lot. It’s a bigger deal than I thought.
I take a stealth stroll down the line to see what’s in store. One pair of silver lame pants, lots of micro-minis, many Timberlands. “How many people are out here?” I ask Jeff Arrowood, Fox18 promotions guru who’s in charge of the circus; he looks frazzled but happy for the media splash it’s giving his television station. A slew of Fox employees are working on their day off to handle the circus line, contestant registration, and the like.
“We’ve got about 300 out there right now, and we had people who camped out since Friday night,” he says.
“How many are getting in to audition?”
“About 200.”
Nineteen-year-old Abigail from Charlotte has the coveted blue “number 1” as the first in line. She stayed overnight, and somehow seems calm and fresh-faced. “I came here for the experience.” She’ll sing a gospel song, “Blessed.”
Down the line, it’s a littler wackier, as hopefuls clutching their magic blue numbers pass the time by practicing what they’re going to sing. The noises range from vocal scales to screeching.
IN CASE YOU WERE ON ANOTHER PLANETLove it, loathe it, or think it’s ruining pop music (which is ruined anyhow, isn’t it?), American Idol has been a bona fide ratings hit and national “appointment television” for the Fox network for two straight seasons.
Simply put, American Idol is a throwback: a live singing talent show, techno-savvy for the times and catering to teens and, surprisingly, their moms. Ted Mack rebooted as Mack Daddy.
A spin-off from the U.K.’s Pop Idol, the hooks are many: recognizable theme music, audience phone voting that determines who goes and who stays each week, and the Simon Factor. Instead of the standard talent show gush over folks who assault your ears, Brit Simon Cowell does the assaulting, with acidic wisecracks (“Do you have a lawyer? You should sue your vocal coach,” and “You may be the worst singer in America”) that took constructive criticism to a parallel universe. He said what we were thinking. Americans don’t dare to crush self-esteem these days, even when the ego in question is making noises that sound like mating alley cats.
Then there was the old-school product placement: judges sipping from red “Coke” glasses, Ford commercials disguised as mini-music videos with the Idol singers, and instant voting available through your AT&T celly! But it gets scarier.
The Idol concert tour drew 15,000 butts to the Charlotte Coliseum seats August 8, with panties and a few Depends thrown onstage. The May 21 TV finale, when the “Velvet Teddy Bear,” Ruben Studdard, won the popular vote title over Raleigh/Charlotte crooner Clay Aiken, was off the charts. In Charlotte, the show scored a whopping 31 rating and 41 share, higher than the national average, and almost quadrupling The Bachelor on ABC. Will the third go-round of Idol be as big, or has the novelty worn off? We’ll see in January.
In the music department, first season Idol winner Kelly Clarkson has had a number one CD, and sales expectations are high for upcoming entries by Studdard and Aiken. Music critics cry “cheesy” about the contest and the lack of musical integrity seeping from every pore. The other slings and arrows point toward the concept of pre-packaged “stars” styled, coiffed and choreographed. And they don’t even write their own songs.
Sounds a little like Motown, just without decent songs.
AND IN RODE THE TWO HUNDREDThe four Idol judges today are ushered to a dark studio with small stage and camera set-up by Arrowood. The lineup is three cool daddios from local radio stations — Tone-X from hip-hop/R&B WPEG-FM, Jeff Roper from country WSOC-FM, Drew Parham from Top 40 Kiss-FM — and moi. Arrowood has some tasty meatless Bo-biscuits waiting at our table, and explains the rules. “We are not picking “clinkers’ (rotten singers) to show up on the TV show. We’re picking one person to go on to Atlanta from the region, so look for the best.”
We’re not to really talk to the contestants, so doing the Simon thing is out. Damn, I looked forward to helping some poor kids to their next career choice.
Instead, each singer will get 30 seconds to wow us, and I’ll run the stopwatch to start. We fill out a form for each person, giving numerical scores ranging from 1 to 10 for voice, style, presence, and overall performance. Those get tallied and averaged, and Paula, we’ll have a winner. I don’t ask about how last season’s Charlotte judges screwed the pooch and passed on runner-up Clay (pre-hair iron and slick suits), but the pressure is on.
The following are my hastily scrawled notes taken as we proceeded to hear over 200 singers from 8:30am to 4pm, with one lunch break, two bathroom breaks (more on that later) and two Diet Cokes, the official soda of American Idol. Names have been omitted to protect the guilty, so I mention contestant numbers only.
9:15am: Have seen about 25 people. Mostly all are female, riffing and trilling it up. Church singing is great, but shouldn’t they sing pop music?
9:30am: Can no one sing? All that Mariah-vocal-run hell. A guy just murdered “God Bless America.” “God bless him,” cracks Drew. Fashion report: Cargo pants are in, as are unflattering micro-minis, bellies, and cleavage where necessary.
10:15: Time for a fried chicken break, and we’ve heard 62 singers. Tone-X and Jeff squabble over a chicken leg.
11:10: Hot dog! A guy with studded belt and Scott Stapp hair rocks out and actually sings Pearl Jam. Not real well, but he sings Pearl Jam.
11:20: No way — our third “God Bless America” rendition. Is there work in anthem singing out there?
Lunchtime arrives, and I go out for more stealth line inspection outside. Spirits are still good despite the humidity and the wait. Mock all you want, but many of these folks take this deal seriously. “It’s my way to go to the big time,” one woman with braids tells me.
“If I don’t win here, I’ll still go to (audition) in Atlanta,” a baggy-pants guy says.
Standing out in well-done makeup and flowing dress is #179, Leslie from Kannapolis, a Bank of America employee who looks like she’s serious about this thing. Friends wait with her, including a mom under an umbrella.
Back inside, the green room is full of energy, as the next auditioners we’ll see wait in the air-conditioning, singing for each other. A few applaud the others’ efforts, while some sit alone, wearing headsets to drown out the ruckus. Some are having a blast. Some look sweaty. Fox18 staffers manning the registration and the line have already seen several kids crying as they leave the audition. Call me a sap. I feel for them.
From the comfort of my restroom stall, I hear two girls talking about us judges.
“I hear they’re really mean,” a high voice with a heavy Southern accent says. “They don’t talk to you at all, and the woman with the stopwatch cuts you right off. One girl got cut off after 10 seconds!” (Not true.)
“No way!” says a deeper female voice.
12:50pm: I dreaded this moment, but here it is: “The Greatest Love of All,” a classic made famous by Whitney Houston that was mangled by many after her. Not bad, but not Whitney. Why do people pick insurmountable songs by signature singers?
Many of these women are named Ashley.
Next, a “Star Spangled Banner” sung at Mach 2. “Are you all right, man?” Jeff asks the guy after his last thunderous note.
2pm: Singer #162 actually gives us some Gloria Gaynor. I may NOT survive. A few folks later, our sixth singer to do “Amazing Grace” nails it with clear tones. Gives me a chill. But “Amazing Grace”?
Here’s the problem: No one is the total package. We either have great voices with no performance skills, stage presence with an off-key voice, or decent singing with hideous song selection. Thirty seconds ain’t a lot of time. You need to bring it, and few have.
2:20pm: #168 is a girl who drove all the way from Fayetteville to get in line at 4:30 this morning, and isn’t even complaining. I feel sappy again.
A slender guy, #181, takes the small stage set-up, moves, gestures, and sells it, hitting the highs and lows of “Sitting on the Dock of The Bay.” He makes eye contact, and has a good voice.
3pm: Aha! #192 gives us a credible version of “Superstar,” and has a little Ruben Studdard feel. We get a laugh when #196 tells us he doesn’t need a microphone (though he has to use it for the videotape feed). He was right. My right ear just popped.
“Does loud mean good?” I ask my fellow daddios. “NO,” Tone-X says.
3:15pm: A blonde teen from Albemarle does a dead-on imitation of “Oops, I Did it Again” by Britney Spears. Good job, we think, “but remember Britney can’t really sing,” Drew helpfully points out.
A large young man belts a Christian rock tune with shaky hands and red face. “I thought his shell choker was gonna explode,” Tone-X says.
Singer #215 was “Killing Me Softly,” but not in a good way.
3:55pm: #216 is the last one. What the hell was that song, anyway?
AND THE WINNER IS…Since our ballots have been whisked off for tabulations, we have no clue who will win, though we all have a few people in mind, and a couple that all four of us agree on. We won’t pick the champ this way: It will be strictly by the numbers.
A few minutes later, Jeff Arrowood lets us know that there is a winner, though the numbers were close. Twenty-three-year-old Etienne Harris (a.k.a. #181, who sang “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay”), who had tried out last year, will go before Idol producers in Atlanta in a few days.
Will Harris move beyond that? I can only hope, after poor Clay Aiken trucked it on to Atlanta to stand in line all over again. And look what happened to him.
Back in the restroom, again in my comfortable stall, three girls talk about their day. “I thought it was fun, but man, was I scared. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be,” says one.
“I thought the judges sucked,” says another. “Especially that woman with the stopwatch.”
CL media columnist Shannon Reichley is an independent television producer who won second place in her fourth grade talent show singing “Sugar, Sugar” by The Archies. E-mail her at Shannon.Reichley@cln.com
This article appears in Aug 20-26, 2003.
