I did it! I’m not proud of it, but I did it! I took the plunge, because I was that desperate. One year ago, I auditioned for American Idol, and for it, I walked away with an experience I will never forget… no matter how hard I try to repress it.

From the time American Idol first aired, my mother would watch it semi-religiously. I would be in the other room, doing whatever, and her sagely voice would come wafting down the hall…

“Oh you are a much better singer than that guy, you should audition on this show!”

To which I would reply, “Yes, let me get right on that. I’ll make sure they replace Simon with my mother next season. Then I’ll be sure to win”

The first of these back and forths came about around the time that I was still the lead singer and rhythm guitarist in a local heavy metal band, and this was when American Idol had a solid foot in the pop genre. In other words, rockers need not apply.

I would look at people like Justin Guarini and Kelly Clarkson, and they just seemed like such tools! And let’s not forget the movie they starred in together, “From Justin to Kelly”… On second thought, yes, let’s forget it. Please God let us forget it!

So a couple of years passed and my band wasn’t getting anywhere. My musical style was softening, because I was getting more and more into the music of The Beatles. It’s kind of like a diet: You are what you eat. I was taking in more Beatles and not as much heavy metal as before, so the influence that had on my composition of new material caused me to soften up, and my aggressive stuff started to feel more and more forced and inorganic. Proof of my proficiency in softer songs came about when a good friend of mine passed away, and I wrote an acoustic song, lyrics and music, in about 45 minutes on the night I found out about his passing, and then performed it two days later at his funeral.

In the band, we had three guitarists, and they were talking about making me strictly lead singer only, so I was a little sad over that.

So all of that, plus getting sick of playing for no one but the bartender at our shows caused me to finally quit the band and go solo acoustic.

When I struck out on my own, I started getting plenty of local shows, but I wasn’t reaching my goals as a musician as fast as I would like. Working my full time job was getting old real fast, and I was becoming miserable that I couldn’t provide for my wife and daughter in a way I would find ideal. I wanted music to be my full time job; to tour the world and make records every day for the rest of my life, but nothing was happening.

Then the Jordin Sparks season of American Idol wrapped, and she happened to live in Arizona, which is where I reside. Because of her, they decided to do auditions for the next season at Glendale Arena, which is only a one hour drive from my house.

Also, toward the end of that season, they did a tribute to The Beatles. So all of those factors, plus the success of rockers like Bo Bice and Chris Daughtry started to get me thinking that perhaps this was my time to test the fates.

That… plus I was getting sick of hearing my mom talk my ear off about it. That was my own fault though. I shouldn’t have told her I was even thinking about doing it.

I was apprehensive from the moment I started filling out the applications and the release forms. I was teetering on a thin tightrope on the verge of calling it a day and forgetting about the whole thing. But one person gave me some good advice:

“If you never do it, you will always be wondering if you coulda shoulda woulda for the rest of your life. This way, at least you know you tried.”

So I soldiered on and fought through the continuous knots that were twisting up my stomach, and before I knew it, the day was upon me.

I woke up at two in the morning (Not that I slept at all the night before anyway.), and I made my way across town to Glendale Arena. The organizational setup for the auditions sounds absurd, but when you're dealing with that many people, I am sure the way they did it was the only way without going out of their minds. This particular morning drive was not a commute to the auditions at all. It was the commute to picking up the bracelet that made you eligible for auditions two days later!

I was with a friend of mine who was really only along for moral support, but because we were so early, we sat toward the front of the line and waited along with all the other Idol hopefuls. The time drudged by while people napped on the hard concrete or played their guitars in their pajamas, waiting for the oppressive Arizona sun of late July to rise over the eastern horizon. To sum up the conditions of the morning, let’s just say that auditions like these are not referred to as ‘cattle calls’ for nothing.

It was, of course, a media circus. News vans pulled up to cover whoever was willing to make enough of an ass of themselves on television. When the way-too-chipper-for-five-in-the-goddamn-morning Aryan blonde news reporter hopped out of his van, he wanted us all to get up and wave and yell at the passing camera for the home viewing audience.

“Ok, everybody! Let’s see which of you can act like the biggest whores!”

So I waved at the camera and acted interested, because I knew that flipping off the camera would get me banned from the contest. I did inaudibly mouth a quick sarcastic “Fuck yeah!” to the camera as it passed though. I wasn’t about to let that neo-Nazi walk away unscathed!

Finally, the time came for the bastards to cut the tape, and let the hopefuls in.

“All right,” said one wrangler, “I want all of you to stand up in an orderly fashion!

“There will be no pushing in my line! You will be permitted inside the building in sections! At any given time, you may be on camera, so I want to see bright enthusiastic faces at all times, or you may be excused from the audition process!”

Around that time, a young girl who had been standing nearby and waiting as long as me collapsed and fainted from the heat of the sun, and lack of hydration. Paramedics were already nearby, probably a requirement for a gathering of this magnitude, and hauled the poor girl off to the hospital after waiting all that time. I heard later on that she was able to get her audition packet, so the bastards weren’t completely heartless.

After waiting for five hours between the hot night and the hellish dawn, I was finally allowed into the building as part of the third cluster of hopefuls.

My time inside the building clocked in at a record-breaking three minutes. We were swiftly directed to a table, which was one of about a dozen. Three people sat side by side at the table; two with paperwork, one with a wristband.

Everyone started at the first person and made their way to the third. The first person made us sign more paperwork. The second had a packet of audition instructions for us to take home, and the third person placed the wristbands around our left wrists, explicitly instructing us that we could not audition if the wristband was torn off or removed. From there, we were instructed to promptly get off of the premises, and await the audition date, two days later.

So like an idiot, I worked the whole day after tossing in bed all night. During my lunch break, I went to my desk and read the packet that I received at the arena along with the ticket to get inside.

I was required not only to keep the wristband intact, but also not to wear prominent brand names on my clothing, and to learn the songs ‘Wanted: Dead or Alive’, by Bon Jovi, and ‘Get Ready’, by The Temptations. Above all else, they made it abundantly clear that we were always to look happy and enthusiastic to be there.

The next day, I was to perform a solo acoustic show at a hotel lounge. While setting up my gear, I took notice of the local news playing on one of the televisions above the bar. They were interviewing a fellow about my age that was also auditioning for A.I. He reminded me of myself a little bit: Overweight, early or mid-20’s, tenor, did choir in high school, stuff like that.

It made me kind of realize that there were probably a lot of overweight, 20-25’s that did choir in high school that were going to be at that audition the next day. I was in no way, shape, or form a unique breed.

The next day, I returned to the Arena with my friend. The place was a fucking zoo! People were there, dressed like it was Halloween. Absolute mutants as far as the eye could behold! The minute I stepped into the line wrapped around the arena, I was sucked into the undertow. Camera crews were indeed everywhere, and people were now refreshed with a little more sleep, ready to whore themselves in front of the camera as much as possible.

When they finally opened the gates and took our tickets, we were directed into a specific section of the arena. While we waited for everyone to load up the half of the arena seats that were sectioned off for the event, they played all kinds of A.I. propaganda on the overhead scoreboard. At one point I went to the restroom, only to discover a guy pacing back and forth, practicing his Do-Re-Mi scales. I left my opinion of him in the last urinal of the second row, as far away from the scary bastard as possible.

When I returned to my seat, we continued to wait, occasionally standing up to let people into the seats further down the row. At one point, I looked up at one of the people I was letting in. It was the fellow from the news story the night before. I noticed that on the way to the audition, the poor bastard's trouser zipper had split, leaving him with an open fly, and nothing to do about it, unable to go home to change lest he miss the audition!

It was at that moment that I knew I didn’t want to be there. People were willing to become socially inept animals for the sake of a false chance at fame and fortune. Because, let’s face it, the odds of even making it to the actual show are pretty slim. Uncomfortable as I was to be there with this new mindset, I continued to soldier on, to see how far I would go.

So everyone was rounded up, and they did a few takes of the crane camera sweeping over the audience. So when you see the show on TV, and they show a little five second sweep of a huge audience, just know, that audience did it like five times before the version that made the telecast, and some little peon Gestapo is yelling at them between takes that he will face fuck them into the ground if one less-than-ecstatic shithead is ruining his sweep shot!

After the seven takes, they had us do the songs with the cameras rolling… complete with learned choreography, such as sparkle fingers and jazz hands.

I played along as much as I could without becoming nauseous from the drainage of my personal integrity. All the while, I couldn’t help but think about how ashamed Bob Dylan would be if he saw one of his kind fall into such treachery.

Now, as some of you can probably guess, you do not get to meet Simon, Randy and (at the time) Paula at the preliminary auditions. Instead they place a line of tables along the center of the arena floor. Three producers from the show occupy each table, and each of us A.I. space cadets is corralled into three lines adjacent to one another.

When a producer’s panel was ready, an attendant at the head of the line directed a cluster of nine cadets toward their booth.

The front three would sing, one at a time, then move to the back so the second row could sing, and likewise for the third row, till the front row was back up front again.

When it was my turn, I sang a few bars from ‘Oh! Darling’, by The Beatles. After everyone else sang, we stood before the auditors, who covered their faces with papers and whispered to themselves.

A moment later, me and the other eight space cadets dispersed.

“You guys just aren’t what the show is looking for this season, but thanks for coming out! [Insert fake Hollywood grin]”

In other words, none of us were amazing, and at the same time, none of us were spectacularly shitty for the sake of being an enthralling specimen to be torn apart by Simon in front of America. We were a middle of the road bunch.

I was just glad to get that stinking ratty wristband off of me, so I could go home and get some much needed sleep.

When I returned to my friend, who was waiting for me in the cheap seats, I told him, “Ok, we can leave now. Thank God that’s over!”

Now, one year later, I am over the age limit to audition for American Idol again, and I am happy… Because now, my mother can never pester me about doing it again!

So now, here I am… still by no means a successful musician, still behind on the bills, still not living the life I want to live.

But at least I can say I am not a whore!