Pop: short for popular. Culture: root word, “cult.” A system of belief and worship.
I am not the kind of singer who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning. Commercial radio is not my bag, and my favorite musicians are the ones who push listeners to think outside of pop culture.
I’ve been writing songs since age 12, with dreams of following in the footsteps of Ani DiFranco and Dave Matthews, Tori Amos and Jeff Buckley, artists with sincerity and soul. I host an open mic every Monday at Stevie Ray’s, where like-minded artists and I strive to make names for ourselves.
There’s never been a line like this at Stevie Ray’s.
It’s 5 a.m. on a Saturday in July, and I’m one of thousands wrapped around Freedom Hall in pursuit of a wristband — and the opportunity to audition for “American Idol.”
Carrie Underwood, I’m not. But who doesn’t fantasize about having their songs heard by millions? So that’s why I’m here, huddled in the early morning fog, listening to fame-seekers butcher soul standards as I indulge a newfound interest in pop culture.
5 a.m., July 19: I take my first sip of coffee and start packing food and drink — turkey sandwiches, potato chips, a big container of ice water and fresh fruit — for what I know will be an exhausting day in line at Freedom Hall.
The “American Idol” Web site says gates will open at 5 a.m. and registration begins at 8 a.m. My friend Amanda has decided to come as my support system. Today’s goal: acquire the wristband that gets you into auditions two days later. About 10,000 will be distributed today and Sunday, but it makes sense to get there early.
We arrive at Freedom Hall at 6 a.m., where a massive crowd of hopefuls has already gathered. Some have iPods in their ears. Some are singing as if the auditions are already underway. Others are in lawn chairs, wrapped in blankets. They have been here all night. Camping was supposed to be against the rules, but I guess Freedom Hall officials looked the other way.
The walk to the end of the line is a long one; we pass perhaps 3,000 people. We reach the end, where we begin to size up the competition. Most people seem to be in their teens or early 20s. At 25, I feel really weird about auditioning for a competition that pits 16-year-olds against 25- to 29-year-olds. Since experience is a big part of a competition, how can the blonde in front of me who just got her driver’s license possibly be ready to compete against some 26-year-old male who has been rocking bars since the Clinton administration? These 16-year-olds can’t buy cigarettes, but they can be the next “American Idol”?
The line moves surprisingly fast, and we’re to the front by 9 a.m. Inside Freedom Hall, “Idol” staffers in orange T-shirts — the orange army — sit at tables handing out the prized wristbands. They all wear blank faces. The orange army is a humorless one.
Finally, it’s my turn. I approach with a smile, expecting one back. We are all happy to be here, right? Not so much. The staffer gives wristbands to Amanda and me, ordering us not to remove them. I look at the wristband and ask if it is waterproof.
“No,” she replies, “but you can put a bag over it.”
Our day is complete.
