First moments of fame (or infamy)
Emma Page joins the crowd for auditions for the latest season of
It’s early December and the final auditions for the epic talent show The X Factor NZ are drawing to a close. Crowds are lining up under the base of Auckland’s Sky Tower, waiting to take their seats as the early evening sun shines hotly and the talent, those lucky-and-ortalented performers who made it through the regional auditions, are doing interviews. Everything is captured – who knows who’s going to be a star, this could be their first moments of fame.
Inside the theatre, the audience are excited. We’re told to boo and cheer, get enthusiastic and not pick our noses.
The contestants come out, most with a guitar, all with a number on their chest and all hoping for the four yeses that will send them to boot camp from where the judges will chose their top 24 contestants.
The judges say harsh things. They say nice things. The crowd boos. And cheers. They bring snacks. The family sitting behind me have been in the audience several nights in a row. Their son edges closer to Mel Blatt and scores an autograph.
Here’s a couple of things you don’t see on the TV:
At one point in the night, Blatt, always so stylish, slipped off her heels and sat barefooted on her swivel chair behind the judges’ desk.
Whenever there’s a break, a team of stylists hit the stage, readjusting clothes, reapplying makeup, brushing fringes just so.
That opening sequence? The one where the judges run down the aisle cheered on by exuberant fans? That took several takes with a stage manager expertly priming the crowd.
Seeing this is all part of the fun and like most musical performances there is something special about witnessing the auditions live.
Every time a new person walks onto the stage you can feel the audience willing them to be good. When they are, the tension, built from waiting and hoping and a
Every time a new person walks onto the stage you can feel the audience willing them to be good.
collective kind-spirited camaraderie, explodes into furious rounds of clapping, cheers and squeals.
Isaiah, an unassuming 16-yearold from Whanganui, who chose to sing the Stan Walker song Army Fall, is the first of the night to get this in full force, with a standing ovation from crowd. The judges concur. ‘‘Isaiah you are powerful,’’ says Natalia Kills. ‘‘I mean, I once spent a week in the studio with Bruno Mars and your voice reminds me of him . . . that was absolutely magical.’’
Stan Walker is so excited he’s almost speechless. ‘‘Ah man, I’m so glad you sung that song, bro, you sang it even better than me! Honestly, bro, you, ah, you’re so unexpected and it’s so good because I actually don’t think that you even realise how big and great your voice is . . . Aotearoa is going to fall in love with you, bro.’’
Then it’s Blatt’s turn. ‘‘There’s not much more I can add to what’s been said already, the power, and how old are you? 16? You’ve put a lot of the singers in this competition to shame.’’
Which is followed by Willy Moon talking about how some people come in to the competition with ‘‘paper planes, expecting to soar’’ but ‘‘you my friend have a jumbo jet of a voice’’.
It’s all good news – the perfect audition – but the technical side hasn’t gone so smoothly and Isaiah has to come back out on stage and sing the opening lines again for the cameras.
The audience doesn’t mind. This is fun. This is what it means to be at a live show – you’re part of it, complicit. And later, when you’re watching the show with friends, you can say, ‘‘I was there’’.
Tonight, 7pm, TV3.