Facing my fear of doing auditions
Reporter Lauren Pelley gets back in touch with her musical roots
This is part of a weekly series in which the Star looks at how one small decision can have big consequences — often, for the better. Each week, a Star reporter will make a change or face a fear, and document the effect on their lives.
I’m standing alone at the front of a room and five pairs of eyes are staring at me, waiting for me to begin.
My legs are trembling. My heart is racing. My armpits are sweating — profusely.
The pianist hits a single key. It’s an E, the starting note to my first audition song, and I’m already wondering why the hell I picked it.
It’s “Out Tonight,” a feisty, uptempo number sung by an exotic dancer in RENT, Jonathan Larson’s mid-1990s Broadway smash.
Except I’m not a Broadway star. I’m a reporter who sings in my office cover band, hams it up at karaoke nights and hasn’t had a theatre audition since high school — which, quite frankly, doesn’t really count.
But here I am, at the Lower Ossington Theatre, about to belt out one of my favourite songs in front of a room full of strangers, with just a week’s worth of preparation under my belt and zero professional acting experience. No big deal, right?
My mother always tells a story about my lifelong love of musical theatre.
As a little first-grader in Etobicoke, I was picked to sing “O Christmas Tree” while dressed as, yes, a Christmas tree, complete with sparkly green garland wrapped around me. Apparently another kid was onstage too — a boy, to ensure both genders were represented, or something like that — but I barely glanced over at the poor fellow, far too absorbed in the life-changing experience of belting out a holiday classic to a roomful of doting parents.
My unwavering passion for the stage lasted through high school. My best friends were the choir girls and band kids.
I acted in all our theatre productions, took vocal lessons for a year and relished every cheesy moment of the 2004 movie version of Phantom of the Opera.
My teenage bedroom closet was a giant mirror in which I’d re-enact the scenes, warbling through Christine’s operatic high notes.
But then my gumption started to slip. When I went off to university, I assumed — wrongly, most likely — that everyone else was a better performer than me. They’d probably starred in community theatre productions or went to one of those fan- cy arts schools.
When it came time to pick my extracurricular activities, I didn’t consider theatre. The notion of going to an audition, and bombing it, terrified me. So why bother?
Years later, as a young professional living in Toronto, the fears of my teenage years were starting to subside.
I think it’s that magical thing that happens when you’re an adult: You just stop caring what people think. Enter karaoke nights and my office cover band. Still, the one thing I couldn’t fathom doing was an actual audition. All those eyes staring at you — just you — and judging every note and movement? No, thanks. With that in mind, when I spotted an open audition for LOT’s production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, I decided to go for it.
I had to prepare two rock musical theatre songs, 32-bars each, and bring sheet music for a pianist I’d never met before. (Gulp.) My acting friends gave me advice: Focus on something in the distance. Take deep breaths. Wear a comfortable outfit. Be yourself.
So there I was. Being myself, singing a song I used to belt out in high school, from a Tony-award-winning musical I’ve loved for more than a decade.
My legs didn’t stop trembling and my heart didn’t stop racing, but I made it through — and felt even more confident on my second song, the wistful ballad “I Don’t Know How To Love Him” from Jesus Christ Superstar.
Sure, both performances were a bit pitchy, as they used to say on American Idol (RIP) and I’m not quitting my day job — or winning a Tony — anytime soon. But I did it: a real audition.
“Are you sure you don’t want to consider doing Joseph?” said one of the panel judges.
He might’ve been joking, but that’s good enough for me. Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat is running for 8 weeks, starting June 2, at the Lower Ossington Theatre. For ticket information, visit: lowerossingtontheatre.com
Next week: Reporter Jonathan Forani attempts to get over his facialhair phobia and grow “that outward expression of masculinity” known as the beard.