Hometown Glory: "Idol" in Orlando

By Ryan Fitzgerald
Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Right now I'm downtown at the Amway Arena. It is 8 a.m. July 9, 2009. I am facing the south entrance. This is the second time "American Idol" has held auditions in Orlando, and the first at the Arena. Approximately 10,000 people have shown up. They are packed in the cascading rows of stairs just outside the south entrance doors. The overflow from that line spills into the parking lot. I hear Ryan Seacrest is around but I haven't spotted him. An eighties slow clap emits from the line. Camera crews roam the crowd's border, and when they give the point, Pavlovian cheering erupts.

It's early; there is a breeze that keeps the five flags being flown full mast popping. There is no sun out and the air is damp. I see a girl in a wedding dress and a girl in skintight pants a la alligator. I see a man wearing an Indian war bonnet. I see purple hair spiked high and pink hair spun up like cotton candy. I've spotted every hairstyle you've ever seen. Don't think I haven't. Everything here is over the top and meant to steal attention. There is a lot of line crossing. Envelope-pushing. Nothing is too sensational; some seem to stop just short of setting themselves on fire. It's a bit disorienting.

Behind me is a row of Port-A-Potties, for which there is also a line. There is a line for everything at "Idol." Next in line for the Port-A-Potty closest to me is a mother/daughter pair dressed in coordinated pageant regalia, each holding an oversized makeup bag. They've got pageant hair. The mother's got on nylons and a sea-splashed sequined gown. The daughter's in the same -- except her gown is shorter, with hints of pink, and instead of nylons she has a Mystic Tan. Before each enters to perform, they apply some last minute touch-ups to hair and makeup, draw in long pulls of air, then hold. They are in there approximately eight minutes. I kept track. When they exit, the daughter is visibly short of breath. The flush of her face is hidden behind a layer cake of makeup.

Still no sign of Seacrest, though I know for a fact he is here. I'd like to perhaps get some hair tips. I wonder if his pomade will melt in this heat, or if he has some kind of heat proof pomade, or better still, if he knows a trick to keep the pomade from melting, or if he just lets it melt then re-applies. I wonder if I can catch him in a candid frown. To my best recollection, I do not believe I've ever seen Seacrest not smiling. I don't believe I've ever seen him flat or stoic. Not even regular. He is always on. He is always smiling. It's a bit weird.

A two-part click is audible from the south entrance followed by the shutter of the doors. Cheering follows. The doors open. The entire crowd makes an about-face -- which throws everyone off balance. I'm sensing a this-could-get-out-of-hand feeling.

You can spot an auditioner by the yellow wristbands. Each auditioner is allowed one guest. The guests wear a white wristband. The other thing that separates the yellows from the whites is the upgrade in costume, hair, and makeup. Any other family or friends have to wait outside. Some family members are crying. Mothers and fathers execute a sort of paternal radar lock, trying never to lose sight of their young. Parents fix in on sons and daughters, in a crowd of thousands, and they can't bear to break sight. They tremble slightly. It's all kind of moving.

The people on the steps make their way into the Arena at a glacial pace. The people in the parking lot replace the people on the steps. Those people are walking briskly. Several people clip the heels of the person in front of them. There are lots of news cameras and people duck out of line to mug and give hometown shout-outs to best friends and to blow kisses and plug Myspace pages.

More people are showing up still. A brief scan down the two streets visible in my periphery shows a steady trickle of late arrivals all heading towards the arena at a healthy clip. The guys jog and the girls, most of who are in high heels, execute a cautious trot.

I've made my way past the rope line and I approach the migrating crowd. The line moves slow allowing time for the half dozen journalists to conduct interviews on the fly. Name, city, musical genre, and a brief sample are all there's time for. This is repeated dozens of times. The more flamboyantly dressed are chosen first. One girl belts out a country western number. She's got on frayed jeans and cowboy boots and she is holding a microphone in one hand and shimmying her hip with the other. Another girl in a catsuit also stands out.

As the crowd passes by, I take a brief survey of the songs people intend to sing once inside. "My Way" by Frank Sinatra, "Hot N Cold" by Katy Perry, "Take a Bow" by Rihanna, "Last Dance" by Donna Summer, and "Yesterday" by the Beatles. What's more striking is at least a dozen people polled had no clue what they will be singing.

"I'm just going to wing it," says one lady.

It's about 10:30 a.m. and auditions are well underway. I am just outside the south entrance under an awning taking notes, leaning against a rail, trying to process. I listen to a woman -- who doesn't look like she could sing the alphabet -- nail a Toni Braxton number, which leaves my legs a bit wobbly.

Most of the crowd has made it inside. Inside, they assign each person with a numbered section, and then they put the sections in order. The people with higher section numbers are allowed to walk around. It's just more waiting. This is the first hint of boredom. The boredom manifests into nervousness. The smoking section fills up. The non-smokers are jittery. They fidget. They are susceptible to bouts of nervous laughter. There's a sister trying to calm a nervous brother. "I'm so nervous," says the brother.

"Stop saying that," says the sister.

A girl with anxious hands fumbles an order of nachos spilling the orange cheese sauce all over her white shorts. It has run down her legs and gets on to her sandals. This amounts to a worst-case scenario.

OTownStyle.com talked to Angelique about the nacho cheese mishap. Check it out!

During the waiting there is a lot of shoptalk. People give and receive (mostly give) advice. "Try and project," one girl says to another. "The judges can't like what they can't hear.

"You should get a vocal coach."

"I have a vocal coach."

"Oh."

"..."

"You should go to my vocal coach."

"Idol" season is to vocal coaches what the 15th of April is to accountants.

I meet an Elvis impersonator. He tells me his name is Merlo. "Just like the wine, but without the T," he says. Merlo is wearing his hair up and gelled back in the style of young Elvis. I even perceive a slight curl to his lip. When he performs his song for our camera, he dances too. That dance where the hips and knees seem to bend all the wrong ways. He does the whole "Jailhouse Rock" jig.

Running up the steps is a pair of young girls -- one in a long black gown, black shoes, red lipstick, and a shower cap and the other girl has on black nail polish, a neon green tee cut all funky, a black rosary, and a pair of Chuck Taylors. The girls are sisters. They drove down from Louisiana together to audition. Britney, the older of the two (the one wearing the shower cap) describes herself as classical, with a love for opera. I ask about the shower cap. She says her hair is real curly and outside today it's real humid and rainy and she didn't want her hair to get all frizzy. Sarah, the other sister, has short, straight, jet black hair with purple streaks, regarding which -- I'm willing to bet -- she's long forgotten the natural color of. Both report singing in churches as evidence of training.

When asked, "Where do you sing?" most people report the same. Church singing ranks high among venue, behind (1) the shower and (2) the car. One guy sings at weddings. Training levels vary with the average response seeming to be high school choir or chorus. There is also some theater experience here.

One girl, Megan, has auditioned seven times. Boston, Puerto Rico, Miami twice, New York, to name a few. If she doesn't make it here, she says she'll go to Denver. Denver is the next location for auditions. "American Idol" does not restrict the amount of times you audition in a season. However, if you do make it into the top 35-40 in a previous season, you are disqualified from auditioning.

Megan shares some insider information with me. "They want you to sing a verse or chorus," she says. "You've got ten to thirty seconds."

I ask if it is hard to jump right into the middle of a song. She says, not really.

Megan tells me that when you lose, they stop you in the middle of your song, give a brief reason why, cut off your wristband, and send you to the "non-winners" line.

There are no losers at "American Idol" -- only "non-winners."

Some of the "non-winners" were starting to exit the building. "I didn't make it," says a girl in a purple dress. "They said my voice wasn't strong enough."

One "non-winner" is trembling. "This is my seventh time," she says. Another girl rushes to console her. "It's just so hard: you don't know what they're looking for. I just wish they'd tell me the real reason."

The other girl is still consoling her, saying, "There, there" in singsong while pulling her in for a bear hug.

"It's my look. They don't like my look," says the "non-winner." The "Idol" look is important. This is essentially America's premier popularity contest, with a singing competition as its talent portion -- and America is going to need to like your look, sorry to say, to text vote you to be its next "Idol."

Judging from the plurality of talent out here today -- there is big-time talent in Orlando -- the judges probably seek more than just singing ability. These auditions are not held blind. The "Idol" brand relies on the following: talent, look, image, transcendability, packagability, marketability. Most everyone out here can sing really well. A surprising fact, since most of the first weeks' episodes of past "Idol" seasons are filled with dreadful screechers. Exuding talent close to nada, they are silly and buffoonish. I saw little of that today.

"Idol" came calling, and our city answered with a crop of soon-to-be-superstars. ORLANDO: your nation's talent factory.

RELATED COVERAGE: Check out Daniel's video footage from the auditions -- watch it here