Published Aug. 15, 2004, in the Kirksville Daily Express

Story by Matthew Webber

ST. LOUIS - I waited 11 hours for a moment like this:

“Sorry. We had a lot of strong singers today. You’re just not what we’re looking for.”

Whatever the judges were looking for, I didn’t have it.

I am not the next American Idol.

Idol Personality

An estimated 5,000 to 6,000 wanna-be pop stars — triplets, a drag queen and a guy in a Spider-Man costume among them — descended upon the Edward Jones Dome in St. Louis last Sunday to audition for a panel of “American Idol” judges. Some people spent the night, while others showed up in the early hours of the morning.

And I, a shy, bespectacled Peter Parker-type myself, waited in line with the rest of them.

Beforehand, I thought of the tryout like an anthropology experiment. I, an objective reporter, would participate in and observe this foreign culture like a scientist, interviewing people and taking copious notes.

Also, I would try out myself. After all, if a dorky, skinny kid named Clay Aiken could find fame and fortune as an “American Idol” runner-up, then why couldn’t I, a dorky, skinny kid who writes songs and plays guitar?

Promptly at 8 a.m., after we were in our assigned seats, the executive producer of “American Idol,” Nigel Lythgoe, explained what the judges were looking for: personality, how you look, how you sing and what you sing. I noted he mentioned the nonmusical qualities first.

Throughout the day, I asked other Idol hopefuls what they thought the judges were looking for. All of them had noticed the same thing.

“They’re going to be looking for personality the most, because I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of people who can sing real good,” said Felix Bunn, 28, of Champaign, Ill. “If you get up there and you’ve got a great personality, that’s what the judges are really looking for.”

Vic Mazzone, 17, of Paducah, Ky., and Christy Demeulenaere, 22, of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, agreed.

“Well, they’re obviously looking for something, I don’t know, something a little bit different, a voice that doesn’t sound like everyone else out there,” Mazzone said. “And personality. Individuality, I guess.”

“I think it [what the judges are looking for] changes from season to season,” Demeulenaere said “They even said they’re not looking for anything specific. They’re just looking for whatever jumps at them, what they find the best, and probably something new and different and fresh, because they said, ‘We’re not looking for a Kelly Clarkson; we’re not looking for a Fantasia [Barrino, last season’s winner]. We want something that jumps and grabs us.”

Of course, it would have helped to sing beautifully. Up and down the hallways — and echoing in the bathrooms — contestants warmed up their voices. Girls applied mascara while singing “I Will Always Love You.” R&B groups traded vocals on “My Girl.” “Lean On Me” became a crowd sing-along. The dome sounded like a concert; it also sounded like church.

More than 5,000 people sounded like they had answered yes to Lythgoe’s question: “Are you the next American Idol?”

Awesome

Although the contestants were there to win, they were also there for the “awesome” experience of just trying out. Most realized their chances of advancing were slim, because only 300 or so people would go on to the next round.

They also said the word “awesome” a lot.

“It would be awesome if I got through, but it’s not gonna be the end of the world, I guess,” Mazzone said. “I’m not gonna be really torn up about it. But it would be so awesome to be able to go sing in front of [“American Idol” judges] Simon [Cowell] and Paula [Abdul] and Randy [Jackson].”

Demeulenaere said it would be flattering to advance, but she didn’t expect it.

“I would love to go on,” Demeulenaere said, “I think it would be a great experience. I mean, this is already a great experience overall, but to move on would just be awesome, even to the next round.

“There are so many people, and clearly there are so many talented people here. You can hear them singing. Any advancement would just be really flattering.”

Jenny Neathery, 20, of Woodstock, Ill., said she was there to support her friend, and she would be OK if she didn’t advance. After all, she said, “Clay didn’t make it the first time, and Clay’s amazing.”

“I think my friend will be more upset than I will,” she said. “But I think it would be an awesome experience just to be able to audition for them and get as far as the third round, or even the second round would be fun.”

Although I was there to write a story, I started to agree it would be awesome to advance. After two cups of coffee — as well as a slice of pizza and a foot-long hot dog from the dome’s concession stands — I started to get excited, nervous and scared. At least, these were the three emotions I kept asking other people if they were feeling.

Looking around and listening, I also started to feel my personality wasn’t “unique” or “distinctive” enough. Had trying out been a mistake?

Three Strikes

I know exactly why I didn’t advance.

Strike one: The first mistake I made Sunday was waking up at 5 a.m. When I entered the line outside the dome at 6:30 a.m., almost all of the other hopefuls were already there, and my ticket was in the very last section of people to try out. This is why I didn’t get to try out until 5:30 p.m., when I was the very last singer to audition for my table of judges.

Throughout the day, employees of the show released people to try out section by section. From our seats, we then walked around the football field and into some kind of storage room, where there were 12 tables with three judges apiece.

Three people approached a table, each of them sang, and then the judges made their decision.

Although the judges told me I had as equal a chance as anyone to advance — Fantasia had been the last singer at her audition — my body and voice were too tired from pacing the hallways and interviewing people.

Strike two: Also, that morning, when I showered, shaved, carefully mussed my hair, applied my numerous grooming products and chose what I thought was an American Idol-esque outfit — a button-down blue shirt and boot-cut blue jeans — I didn’t realize I would look like every other guy.

Later, my sister even said I looked like Clay — but the judges weren’t looking for another Clay.

Strike three: I wasn’t horrible enough. I wasn’t as tone-deaf as one of last season’s breakout stars: William Hung, who parlayed his off-key rendition of “She Bangs” into a record deal.

When I was in the storage room, I didn’t see the judges give their prized pieces of orange paper to anyone. Not the histrionic church singers. Not the guy in my group of three who sang a girl’s pop song, “I’m Like a Bird,” nor the beautiful cowgirl who should try out to be a model.

But I did see a chubby boy in pajamas dancing around and clutching an orange paper. The people in line with me — who had bonded over cell-phone calls to loved ones and shared mints —agreed: He must have been chosen because of how bad he was.

The rumor throughout the crowd was that Spider-Man also had advanced.

Exit

“You’re the last person we’re gonna hear,” a soft-spoken British judge told me, after the guy and the cowgirl had finished. “Better make it good.”

At this point, I was no longer detached. I was nervous, excited and scared. Eleven hours after it began, my anthropology experiment was about to end.

Would my personality be distinctive enough?

I thought my song choice was at least unique. I didn’t sing “A Moment Like This” or “A Whole New World,” the two songs an employee had told my section were the most popular.

Instead, I sang Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young,” a song I had never sung outside of my car but earlier in the afternoon had seemed like a good idea for some reason — and I stumbled on the words. I didn’t project my voice enough. Although I made eye contact with the Brit, I was too scared to move.

And I hadn’t embarrassed myself enough so they’d put me on TV to mock me.

“Sorry,” the judge began, and it was exactly as I had predicted: They hadn’t liked my personality. The woman judge who hadn’t said anything snipped off my yellow wristband with scissors.

As I exited the dome, I paused to take my final photograph of the day: the “American Idol” exit sign.

“You have the same sense of humor I do,” said a contestant behind me.

Cathy Black, 28, of Peoria, Ill., introduced herself. Although she, too, hadn’t made it, she was actually laughing.

We briefly traded audition stories. I told her I was a reporter who had never done anything like this. I told her my three emotions and how I hadn’t expected to advance.

“Hey, at least you did it,” she said, and she smiled.

In a moment like this, even though I didn’t advance, I actually felt awesome: Someone thought my personality was OK.

And at least I didn’t have to wait a lifetime to find out I can’t be a pop star.