Quest to become 'Idol' fruitless and chaotic
The Crimson White
By Kathleen Buccleugh
Copy Editor
August 23, 2006

"American Idol," one of the most popular television shows on the air, has made a practical industry out of its quest to find the brightest talent in the country. Since two past winners and finalists have come from Birmingham, for its sixth season the show brought auditions to Alabama at the Birmingham-Jefferson Convention Complex. I decided to brave the likely mob and audition, but I discovered that I wasn't quite prepared for the ensuing insanity.

I woke up Saturday at 4:30 a.m. to make my way to the BJCC, where I stood in line for four hours waiting to register. This year, "Idol" registration was held during the two days prior to auditions. Birmingham registration began at 6 a.m. Saturday and continued through Monday morning right before auditions.

According to the Web site, no camping would be allowed at any of the venues this year, but I'm certain people slept outside overnight. Maybe they just didn't use tents.

After waiting four hours, registration took about 20 seconds. The person who registered me didn't even look at my two forms of ID - she just asked how old I am, slapped a gray band of death on my wrist, handed me some papers filled with "important information" and a seat ticket and sent me on my way.

The papers asked me to bring a pair of sunglasses, without any explanation as to why I would need them, and said I would need two songs of my choice to sing a cappella, with the advice to not ask the producers which songs to choose. I was forewarned to learn the words to "Sweet Home Alabama" so that I could participate in a joyous, state-pride crowd song.

I didn't sleep Sunday night and left Tuscaloosa for impending doom around 2 a.m.

Though a fair amount of people were already lined up when I got to the BJCC at 2:45 a.m., not much conversation or singing could be heard. I'm not sure whether the relative silence can be attributed to the early time or the anticipation of auditioning, but by 3:30, people were much more lively (in a terrible, terrible way).

As more "Idol" potentials arrived, I heard more chatter and spontaneous outbursts of singing, including renditions of the Righteous Brothers' "Unchained Melody" and Mariah Carey's "Hero."

An "Idol" official speaking through a megaphone walked along the line of auditioners several times during the next couple of hours, reminding everyone they would need their wristband, ticket, IDs and release form.

When he walked around at 3:40, he told everyone to be "patient and courteous," and he explained that our places in line were not important, as auditioners would be called by the section number on the seat tickets we were given.

By 4:20, the crowd had doubled in size since I'd gotten there.

Waiting in line, and really the entire audition process, was one of the oddest experiences I've had - people took turns singing for each other, expecting applause and praise. Instead of singing actual songs, they should have just put the words, "Ah! I'm an attention whore! Listen to me and tell me how wonderful I am!" to a melody.

A girl who was doing her best to sing everyone to death was interrupted by another girl, and they had a battle over who could sing louder.

A girl closer to the front insisted on singing over and over again. After she paused for praise one time, a guy behind me said, "Why are they clapping for her?" These people were capable of giving false support, but it was obvious they were all eager to win and wouldn't hide their true contempt for the other auditioners.

A couple of guys who had been mocking the singers took their turn and sang "This Little Light of Mine" in an obviously joking way. Nobody got the hint, though.

The lengths some people went to get to the auditions amazes me. I heard a guy talking about how he forgot his release form, so he borrowed someone else's, took it to Office Max, folded it to block the writing that was already there, wrote in the necessary information, came back and returned the original release form. Another couple of guys I met traveled "13 hours" from Virginia Beach. One was trying out, and Mike E. was his guest. Mike went to get a pair of sunglasses for his friend because they didn't realize that was a requirement.

Mike didn't seem confident about the likelihood of his friend being asked back for the second round. He said that though his friend is very talented, he thinks the audition process is "kind of messed up."

"The sad thing about it is the first people you audition for is the producers," Mike said.

I heard some interesting conversations while waiting, including song choice advice, favorite Simon Cowell quotes, who should have won in the past seasons and a conspiracy theory about finalists being chosen independently from any of the auditions.

Around 4:50, news helicopters began making their rounds above the BJCC. This sparked random outbursts of hollering.

To appease the crowd during the ridiculously long wait, items promoting Fox TV shows were passed out. I wasn't lucky enough to get anything, and I really had my eye on the "Vanished" compact and the "'Til Death" stress ball.

Soon after 5 a.m., the doors were opened and the first several people in line were allowed to enter the arena. The line moved slowly, and I didn't get in until just shy of 6:30.

We were warned soon after I sat in my seat that we would have to hear "Sweet Home Alabama" nonstop for the next few hours. I immediately got up to wander around, as to avoid hearing the song so loudly. I found people lined up in front of Gourmet Grill and The Dog House getting their breakfast of nachos, French fries, hamburgers and hot dogs.

Still, only a small percentage of people had been let in, and the rest got to stand on the steps outside the arena in the smoldering, humid heat. I wish I hadn't gotten in line as early as I did that morning, because I missed out on making some fantastic promotional videos with Fox 6. I watched gloomily through the window as the enthusiastic crowd got to raise the roof with Ryan Seacrest.

Around 8:45 a.m., the remaining "Idol" hopefuls were allowed to enter the arena. By this time I'd heard "Sweet Home Alabama" more times than Lynyrd Skynyrd has, and it didn't stop until 9:35.

Between 9:10 and 9:35 a guy named Ron stood on the arena floor and taught the crowd "Sweet Home Alabama" through a microphone, at which point I zoned out.

Then Ron taught the crowd several awesome cheers: "Ruben, Bo, Taylor and me - I'm the next 'American Idol!' Woooooo!"; "I'm the next 'American Idol!' Woooooo!"; "Birmingham - where idols are born! Woooooo!"; and "Welcome to the two-oh-five! Woooooo!"

Patrick, a friendly, caring producer, took the floor and told us about the specifics of the audition process. He said the "giant door" was designated for losers and the "tiny door" was for winners.

Fourteen tables were set up on the floor of the arena, and two producers would sit at each one to judge four people in a line at a time. We were instructed to have two songs ready, but he said we would probably only have time to sing a verse and the chorus of one. If the producers deemed us worthy, two weeks later we would be called back to audition for the three famous judges.

He then began a long, boring, pointless explanation about how a friend who wins should buy lunch for a loser friend. He also stressed that complaints about "Idol" should be done in front of the cameras. "The camera is here for you," Patrick said.

The final request Patrick made was for no one to sing Etta James' "At Last" unless they could do it extremely well. He said the producers don't want to hear it butchered anymore, as it's the most overdone song.

Auditions officially began at 10:25 with section 31. I was in section 23 and had to wait for a good hour-and-a-half for my section to be called.

When my section was finally asked to go down to the floor, everyone eagerly jumped up and began practicing quietly to themselves and offering false encouraging words to each other.

The best thing I heard was some chick talking to her mom: "OMG, Mom! Is my hat at the right angle? I need it to cast a shadow on this much of my eye. I'm so excited - they're going to love it when I whip off my hat!"

A lady took my release form, which made me agree to sell my soul to Fox, and I approached table five.

Two girls sang before me, both of whom were very good.

I sang the last verse of Paul Simon's "American Tune" for a couple of stone-faced producers. They weren't impressed by anyone in my group and, without hesitation, sent us all to have the wristbands snipped off.

Guess they couldn't use me to sell Ford trucks or Cingular phones.