the time I had my first audition of the new year

Today I went to New York and back.

It was time.

And for the occasion, I even got a new shirt complete with a big face on it that I first thought was Michael Jackson but then came to the conclusion that it was just some lady’s face. And then I sort of wore the shirt as a dress. You can do that when you wear leggings; it’s like magic, the way they transform a longish shirt into a very shortish dress.

But the reason I went to the city was to go sing for some people that have the power to cast me in a Broadway show. I’ve found that to be the key to getting jobs. Singing for those people, I mean. I enjoy singing for everybody, don’t get me wrong, but singing in my bedroom isn’t going to get me a show. Not unless those aforementioned people are in my bedroom too, but that just raises a whole slew of other questions I am not going to get into now.

So I go into the audition room and it’s just how it always is. A few people behind a table. An accompanist at the piano. A whole lot of nothing else. Except me, of course. Me and my book and my smile that says it’d be a really good idea to hire me, you know.

And for some reason I decide not to sing my whole song. I cut it down to 24 bars or so and those 24 bars go well. My only problem is that I am never quite sure where to look when I am singing about 4 feet away from the casting people. I mean, if I stare right at them, it’s creepy; if I look above and just past them, it’s reminiscent of some kind of televangelist who is conjuring up their future or something. Might as well just roll my eyes into the back of my head while I’m at it.

I compromise: I look at the tops of their heads.

And when I stop, they ask, Is that all? Can you sing more? Something else maybe?

Now this is a good thing and I know this is a good thing. Nobody ever wants more of something they don’t like. Especially not a casting director who has already sat through tons of hopefuls and let’s be real, it’s only 11:30 am.

The problem is I’ve committed the classic rookie mistake. Everybody knows you should only put music in your audition book that you know and can sing at the drop of a hat. But still, I have music in my book that I don’t know. That I don’t even remember putting in my book, actually.

I can sing Natural Woman for you, I suggest, hoping they’ll take this since it’s something I have and something I know.

Nope, he says. Needs to be broadway. Legit. A standard, he emphasizes.

Which is when the accompanist lands on something in my book, She has The Man I Love.

I do? I think, wracking my brain for that song, realizing that I don’t know it.

Uh-oh…Because I. Don’t. Know. It.

Great, the casting director says, Sing that.

I start walking towards the piano and as I do, I apologize. I’ve been on the road with A Chorus Line for a long time, I explain. I haven’t looked at my book in a while and I don’t really know that song.

That’s fine, the director says kindly, You can sight sing for us.

Great, I think. Sight singing. Just what I want to be doing in front of the casting director. Ugh.

But he starts playing and luckily the melody isn’t so tricky. It’s actually a little bit bluesy, this song, and I appreciate that. I’m having a good time, singing it pretty well. The verse gives way to a chorus and I try to pretend like I know it. It actually goes smoothly. Kind of. It ends low, on a D, and I’ve always gotten along well with a D and I’m also happy it’s over.

The director says I have a beautiful voice and I am going to be honest, compliments make me happy. He asks me how my dancing is and we talk a bit about being on the road. Then he tells me, I am going to ask you one more thing.

Um, anything! I think.

Seriously, directors can ask anything of auditionees and by goodness, we will do it or die trying. I once saw a guy do a tumbling pass to impress a director who had asked for anyone who can tumble to demonstrate. He might have overcompensated though, because this guy’s last back handspring landed on the production team’s table, knocking over some coffee and almost sending him right out the open window.

And can you believe that the poor guy didn’t get the job?

But the director asks me to sing the end of All that Jazz. It’s a big brassy belt. It’s hot and I’m excited to do it. I practice once and my voice forgets how to belt. The pianist looks at me and says, This is pie for your voice, you’ve got this. So I do it for real this time and it feels great. Like singing in the shower great. They all nod like I am the horse they were betting on and I have just won and didn’t they tell everyone I would win? It feels good.

As I leave I tell them that I like that song, The Man I Love, that I think I am going to learn it.

We all laugh and they say, You should; it sounds really good on your voice.

I walk out having no idea what, if anything, will come of this audition. But it sure does feel absolutely worth it to feel like you’ve at least made a good impression.

And I wasn’t kidding about The Man I Love, either.

I am going to learn it, since it’s already in my book and all.