Last Tuesday, after taking about two months’ worth of voice lessons, I tried out for NBC’s The Voice. In the past, my immigration status would’ve prevented me from even thinking about it, but it’s a year for new things, and I figured that even though my chances of making it were only marginally better than winning the lottery, the experience would be something to remember.
I rolled out of bed before dawn on the 23rd. Every registrant had a specified audition time, and I was lucky enough to draw 7am. By the time I arrived, there was already a line around the building that sectioned off, then wove around the parking lot. My fellow hopefuls and I quickly bonded over nerves, excitement, and feeling slightly like herded cattle. Announcers repeatedly informed us via bullhorn that once we got inside the conference center, we’d have 3-5 hours more to wait (though it turned out to be more like 2-3).
A lot of people seemed unsure what to expect, but thanks to internet nerdery and Google-fu, I’d already found several accounts of this year’s audition process via blogs and YouTube videos from those in earlier cities. It was no surprise when we were eventually sat down in an auditorium and split off into groups of 10 right before lining up to see a producer.
For all the plethora of information, I hadn’t realized that there would be multiple producers; four groups were auditioning at any given time. In the hallway outside the Last Room(s), we heard belters pouring their soul into the approximate 30 seconds or so they had to impress. My group’s door opened, and the previous set of 10 filed out, getting their tryout wristbands snipped off one by one. I knew that not one of them had gotten a callback.
Then it was our turn. We walked into the powerfully air conditioned room and sat down once again in a row. The producer peered at us from behind his MacBook Pro and went through his opening spiel — remember to enjoy ourselves, get to the good part of our song quick, and watch him so that if he held his hand up, we’d know to stop. “If you forget the words to your song, just sing la la la or whatever — just keep going. Now, when I call your name, step forward.”
The producer had each of us state our age and the song we were going to sing. Only the male 17-year-old crooner was asked to go through a second song, although he wasn’t quite prepared for the request for a current number. “I mean, you’re 17, you know?” our judge remarked critically.
I was in the middle of our lineup. As I stepped forward and began Grace Potter’s “Nothing But the Water (Part I)”, my limbs refused to unfreeze themselves from fear, but my voice betrayed no nerves (THANK YOU, daily practicing). To my utter shock, I saw the producer initially register some pleasant surprise in his eyes and nod along, but by the chorus, I could see I’d lost him. I finished my song steadily, though without conviction.
The producer took a breath after Singer #10. “You know, the bar has been set so high from last season… I’m not going to schedule any of you for a callback.” He did ask for the 17-year-old to keep his phone on, just in case, “but if you don’t get a call by about 8pm, that’s it. Thank you [all] for being a part of NBC’s The Voice, Season 2.”
When I looked around, my relative zen was offset by stricken faces on both sides. One girl stayed behind as the rest of us stepped out. “It’s like I said,” I heard the producer explaining calmly. “The bar was set so high…”
Overall, I’m utterly relieved to have made it through without royally embarrassing myself and I definitely had fun throughout the morning. Will I try again sometime? I’m not so sure. Even if my voice somehow gets up to par, it’s still a casting rather than a pure audition, and I tend to favor new situations from which I get to learn and improve greatly, so…we shall see.
Tagged: auditions, nbcthevoice, singing, thevoice