The audition. day two


So, I got called back for a second audition at FCT today.  “Read nothing into it” they said.

I wasn’t really sure what the experience was going to entail so turned up relatively carefree, and a bit late as it turned out, which was a pity because the assembled kids had been taken through two songs, Fagens’s “You gotta pick a pocket or two” and a negro spiritual.

I missed the practice totally.

Half an hour later I was called with four other guys, all of whom could have taken lead roles at the Royal Opera House, to make a complete and utter tit of myself.

In turn, we had to sing two verses from each song for which I was more or less completely unprepared and talent-free.

It was probably the most terrifying ten minutes of my life (although it felt like several hours).

As Pavarotti, Domingo and Careras strutted their stuff I evacuated my bowels.  And then I had to sing this spiritual number that would have challenged a Castrato; the objective being to check out our range, (Well, I’ll tell you now I ain’t no Tenor, I’m a baritone!)

The only thing that shook more than the paper in my hands containing the words was my voice.  Which trembled like the World Trade Centres on 9/11.

I tell you, I was completely and utterly petrified.  My stools were fluid.  My life unliveable.  My shame unparalleled.

I was not good.

In fact I was not even bad.

My dancing experience, yesterday, suddenly seemed bearable.

I think I might be psychologically scarred for the rest of my life.