I think I’m finally starting to understand “American Idol.”
Don’t get me wrong — I’m not about to start watching the show. My essential belief that the show exploits some very talented people, bleeding them dry for all they’re worth while calling it a “great opportunity,” still exists. Granted, it is a great opportunity for unknown singers and musicians to gain exposure, but at what expense? Speaking as a musician, I would much rather operate on a smaller level and maintain control over what I say, what I do, how I dress in public and most importantly, what songs I am writing and singing, than be a tool of the dying record industry in the U.S.
But back to my original point, which perhaps needs to be modified. I should say, I have a better understanding of the plight of “American Idol” judges Simon Cowell, Randy Jackson, newcomer Kara DioGuardi and recently departed Paula Abdul, than I did a mere three weeks ago.
Like them or hate them, agree or disagree with them, they have a challenging (though not unenviable) job in sorting the good from the bad. Early on in the “American Idol” season, they have the power to make or break someone’s dreams (at least for the short term on the show). And although Cowell seems to enjoy being brutally honest (read: a complete bastard) to the less-than-worthy contestants who audition, for the rest of the judges, it’s a difficult task to say the least.
Last month, I received a call at the office from a representative at Revolution Hall asking me to be one of three judges in the venue’s own “American Idol”-style talent competition, Capital Region’s Got Talent. Up for grabs for the one winner: $5,000, a demo recording and a future slot on Revolution Hall’s stage. “Why not?” I thought at the time. “How hard could it be?”
Most of my friends and family, knowing my disdain for “Idol,” found the fact that I would be a judge in this competition either funny or extremely funny. My father, a big “Idol” fan, and many others, seemed convinced that my judging style would fall along the lines of Mr. Cowell (read: a complete bastard). After all, I am a critic, and not just by profession.
I must admit I was also bemused, for many of the same reasons. But as the date of my first judging engagement approached on Sept. 17, my initial amusement turned into a feeling somewhere between inadequacy and utter terror (which usually happens to me in situations where I am forced to speak publicly).
My fellow judges — Sister Mary Anne Nelson, music department chairperson at the College of Saint Rose; and Jared Kingsley, manager of Revolution Hall — are professionals with deep backgrounds in music, coming from two separate angles within the industry. I’m a music geek who managed to land a cool job interviewing rock stars and going to shows. Honestly, what was I going to add to this discussion?
As per the usual, I worried too much. The two nights of auditions, Sept. 17 and 24, both went smoothly enough, although I’m still no public speaker. I came to the realization that the only way I would be able to judge this competition would be as a fan of music, giving advice as to what I would want to hear as a fan, because really, that’s all I am. That’s been my approach to everything I do at my job — as a fan, what do I want to know and read about these musicians? Since I’m still judging this competition and still have a job, I guess I’m doing something right.
The real challenge, as I said before, is not in the method of judging, but in the actual judging process. Thursday, Oct. 1, was the first night of the actual competition, featuring the 20 finalists my judging colleagues and myself chose from a pool of roughly 50 some-odd auditions. If I do say so myself, we did a good job — all 20 each had something unique to offer, and all 20 offered up formidable amounts of talent and musicianship.
We sent nine people home empty-handed last night. That’s what’s hard about this. I’m no Simon Cowell. I don’t enjoy telling talented people who gave it their all onstage in front an enthusiastic audience that they didn’t quite make the cut. Because really, who am I to judge?
