OK.  For the second installment, I will simply pick up where I left off.  My last post ended right when I was deciding on whether or not to run from Soldier out of  intimidation, or stay put and audition... you may want to check out the first post before continuing, but if not, I'm sure you'll be able to follow. 

Obviously, I stayed.

Here's out it worked out: Once you gain access to the stadium, you wait inside (eating fruit snacks and yogurt—not an amazing combo, especially for singers) until you hear an announcement made on the overhead speakers for everyone to start filing into the stadium seats. There were about 20,000 of us. Then began the epic filming process, where we spent about an hour posing for different stadium shots that you see each season in the sweeping montage of photos and video.

During this time, I got to know an FBI agent (I think it was the FBI anyway) that was sitting in the seat to my right. His job was to train the agents in hand-to-hand combat. Interestingly enough, he said that in a fighting situation, your adrenaline is so high that any kind of complex or multi-faceted move won't work because your body will become so paralyzed that only the most basic and simple movements will be able to be carried out, especially during someone's first fighting experience. As he was talking, I wondered whether or not any of the information could transfer to what I was about to go through. 

After they were done filming, we were given the rundown of how the auditions were to proceed. When it was your row's turn to audition, you would stand up, follow the line around to the other side of the stadium where you would enter onto the field. Once you were on the field, you were split up and directed into one of 15 different lines. Each line lead to a big, open tent on the field. Each tent had a table with two producers sitting at the table. Naturally, rumors were flying like wildfire through the stadium as to which producers were harsher than the others, nicer, etc.

When it was finally my turn to start heading toward the tents with my friend, I remember being told by someone that tent number 15 was the most desirable tent for contestants, while either tent number two or three was to be avoided at all costs. Apparently, the producer at tent number two was in a particularly ungracious mood mood.

Shortly after being told this, we were split up. By God's grace, I was shepherded over to tent number 15, while my unfortunate friend was assigned to the dreaded producer's lair. We wished each other good luck before we parted, but I never saw her again that day. I remember nervously dialing the number nine on my phone and listening back again to the D flat that sounded each time. This may sound strange, but I was actually just listening to the first pitch that I needed to sing in my audition song, "The Summer Winds."

Here's how the line works:

You are actually in one of four lines of people that approach the same two producers all together. Four contestants all walk up to their places in a horizontal line before the producers. When it is their turn, each contestant is signaled to start singing their audition piece. This could last anywhere between five and 30 seconds. If anyone in particular impresses the judge, they are handed a "golden ticket" and are sent up the stadium stairs where the next phase of auditions were held.

It was almost like watching a massive real-life video game—beat the level, get the prize, advance to the next level, defeat the boss (let's call him Simon) and rescue the princess—except the princess bit was swapped out with winning a $1 million record deal.

I'll take the record deal. I digress.

Anyway, it was my turn to sing. And so with a pounding heart and a Db still ringing in my ear, I began singing the Frank Sinatra tune that I had lived with the past few years. It lasted about twenty seconds. A hand went up from one of the producers, indicating for me to stop. He shook his head and said "what else do you have?" I was prepared for this, and so I began singing Moondance without missing a beat.

Five seconds.

The same hand went up again.

"No," he said. Then, pointing to the judge next to him, he said, "You have to sing it to her. Make it believable."

"OK," I thought. "I have no idea what I'm even about to do."

And so, mustering up every ounce of performer that I had in me, I sang to her.

Looking back, it was all probably very cheesy. After what seemed like a full minute, his hand went up for the final time, however this time it was accompanied with a smile of approval.

There were still three others to sing. Patiently, I waited until everyone was finished. The producer signaled for us all to approach the table. He then thanked all of us for attending the auditions, and encouraged us to continue pursuing music performance with our lives. Then, he said something to two of them, indicating that they had not been the kind of material American Idol was looking for at the time.

My head was swimming. I knew I had just made it through the first round. He filled out our tickets (another girl in my line had made it as well) and pointed us toward the staircase that lead up to the second level of the stadium, while I desperately scanned the crowd across the field for my mom. I could not see her, but when I held up my golden ticket, the crowd cheered, and I'm sure my mom was cheering louder than them all. 

A brief word of advice to those hopeful of auditioning for American Idol (or really any vocal performance gig) in the future. When selecting your songs, choose a piece that is:

1. Well within your range every day of the week—don't "hope" that you will come up huge with that miracle high Bb the day of your audition—you probably won't.
2. One of your favorite songs that suits your voice—don't try to guess at what the judges want to hear, you will most likely be wrong—just choose something you really love to sing that best represents your style.
3. Shows your strengths—choose something that really highlights what you are most capable of as a singer. If you find that you sound best when singing country tunes that have long, sustained notes, don't choose a fast R&B song with a ton of riffs. Stick with what you know you're good at. 

Back to the story...

I ran up the staircase, finally thinking that the waiting part was over; that everything would be much more smooth and transparent from here on out. I was wrong.

More lines was all that the golden ticket had earned me for the time being, though at least I was now in the "golden" lines, although it didn't help me thinking about it that way either.

After filling out a good deal of paperwork, trying to call my mom about 10 times to no avail, and walking through a maze of lines, I was finally handed my next assignment. A man wearing an "American Idol Staff" T-shirt gave me a set of lyrics that, upon first glance, were only vaguely familiar. This, he told me, was my next audition piece, which everyone was to learn and sing before the executive producers. I glanced back down at the lyrics and recalled Christina Aguilera's voice in my head, singing the familiar french line "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi (ce soir)" as I read the title "Lady Marmalade."

Great. Just what a guy trying to make it as a crooner singer needs: A song made for some soulful African American lady who can belt like nobody's business. Oh well.

After having been finally reunited with my mom after a series of dropped calls, I was lead to a rehearsal room that contained all the second-round contestants. I opened the door and was immediately blasted by about 100 simultaneous renditions of Lady Marmalade in different keys (not a pleasing sound), as the contestants were all preparing for the next phase of auditions. The post up until this point has covered around six hours of time. The next six were spent in this room and in the hallways outside of it, rehearsing and waiting for my turn to sing before the executive producers.

7 p.m. came and went. 8 p.m., 9 p.m., 10 p.m., all past.

At around 10:30 p.m. one of the producers walked out and announced that auditions were finished for the day, and were to be continued the next morning at the "W" hotel in downtown Chicago. Perfect—no hotel room, and an early call time in the morning with no way back home in between. Thank the Lord for grandpa's who love you.

I called my grandpa, who was vacationing in South Carolina, and asked if he could try and book us a hotel room from his computer. Within an hour, we had a room at the "W" hotel in Chicago.

Tired and anxious, my mom and I hailed a cab, stumbled into the hotel lobby, found our room and tried to stop ourselves from speculating on what tomorrow would hold in order to get some sleep for the next day's audition.

All in all, it was one of the craziest 24 hours of my life.

I hope you have enjoyed the story so far, but this is where I will stop for now. I'll continue this next week. Also, please feel free to leave your comments and questions below! I would love to here what you think.

Thanks for reading.