Every single one's got a story to tell...
Once upon a time, I was 10 years old. I went to my piano lesson as I did every Monday, not expecting such daunting news being told to me. My piano teacher had found out about a contest on a local station that was holding a contest called "Oh Say Can You Sing?".
Pretty much what it was is you sent in an audition tape and then it was judged. If you made it, you were sent to a newsstation to sing the song in front of a greenscreen. The backdrop was the american flag, something I would have highly protested against nowadays. The rest was like American Idol: All our performances showed up on TV, and people called in to vote. If you got the most votes, then you were singing at a New Hampshire Fishercats game (minor-league baseball team).
A couple weeks after I sent in the tape, I found myself at the news station. I distinctly remember rolling up to the station and seeing how bland and isolated it was from the rest of the city. It was eerie. The finalists and I waited for what felt like hours. We were given parting gifts to ease the wait. My parting gift was the game Karaoke Revolution (everyone else got crap prizes, but I, being the only under 18 participant got a kick-ass game).
After minutes that felt like hours of waiting, I was sent into the newsroom and brought to the greenscreen. First to go. Before we even started, the butterflies in my stomach felt I was being eaten alive. After a couple of last-minute preparations, it started. As the camera (that looked an awful lot like a camcorder, had the quality of one as well) started rolling, I merely stared at it wondering what the hell to do. Someone actually yelled "Cut!" and gave me a couple of words of advice.
"When the red light goes on, start singing. And when it goes off, stop singing. OK?"
"ok."
Take 2 went much smoother and I was in and out of the room in 10 minutes. A sigh of relief rushed over me as I left the building, the eyes of all the other finalists gazing at me. I had the cute factor, it's almost as if I was a shoo-in to win.
A couple weeks later, the performances showed up on the station (WNDS, the crappiest channel of all time... it's since been replaced with "MyTV"... don't know which is worse) and people voted. We got a call a couple days after that saying that, with half the votes (6 out of 12, as I said before, it's the crappiest channel of all time), I won the competition. I was playing at the Fishercats game whether I liked it or not. To be honest with you, I was virtually forced into doing this. My parents and my teacher asked me if I wanted to do it, and of course, I accepted. I was 10.
Fast-forward to July 18, 2003. It's a rather sunny day in Manchester, although I'm a thunder storm internally.
"My heart is pounding faster, then it ever has before. My lungs are being crushed and my throat is sore"- Internal Clock. Yes, that is what this song is about.
After travelling through several confusing pathways, almost like an underground system, I found myself in the dugout of the Fishercats. There was no one in there but me. The announcer called my name. I went onto the field. Cheers, although no one knew who I was. It was scary. Strangers were praising me. The mic was already screeching out feedback. Several seconds of awkward silence. I was afraid to start. Eventually I did. I had no idea what "mic technique" was, so I started with the mic being too far away. No one heard the first few words. Thinking quickly and without stopping, I moved the mic up to my lips and then I could be heard. The nerves threw my voice off-key, but I kept pushing forward. I had to get it done. I was afraid to stop. And then halfway through...
"And the r------------- are"
"--------burs------n----"
"Gave proo---- through the -----"
The mic was going out on me!!! Scared, I kept going, on tempo, off key. To compensate for the mic going out, I started virtually screaming the song. My face was flushed red as soon as I noticed. Embarrassed beyond my wits (although it wasn't my fault, it was the f'ing sound guy), I forgot a couple of words.
During the last line, the sun literally erupted from the clouds, beating down on my red face. My voice came together, my embarrassment dwindled, the mic stopped being a bitch:
"AND THE HOME OF THE BRAVE!"
2 seconds of silence. The crowd goes wild. Nearly crying, I run off the field to my parents. After hugs and all, we sat down with some friends and enjoyed the game. After the game was over, I saw the attendance light up. 3,017. The mic went out in front of 3,017 people.
I have not had too many positive experiences as a musician :)
