I got into Town Hall station and walked out. In the lobby there was a fellow playing flute and beatboxing at the same time, his flute case open in front of him. I dropped a two dollar coin in, and listened to him play a few numbers. He did Wanksta by 50 Cent and some Beyoncé track.
When he finished the track, he said “Hey, thanks man. I notice you’ve got a guitar on your back.”
“Yeah, tough to hide it. I’m auditioning for Australian Idol tomorrow.”
“Really? I won that.”
I looked at him with an amused expression, thinking “Okay, what’s the punchline?”
He said “No, I really did. When they put on Joel Turner and went looking around the country for beatboxers, I was one of those guys. My name’s Daniel McPherson, but they call me Fluteloop. What’s your name?”
“Jones.”
“Jones…?”
“Brixton.”
“Nice to meet you. Yeah, I performed in the Sydney Opera House, stuff like that. Then I decided to break off and do my own thing.” Do your own thing as in play for change at the train station? Though I have to admit, his case was pretty full.
I shook his hand and he started playing again.
The next morning I woke up. I looked at the pink card. It said I should go to Taronga Centre – “Just around the corner from Taronga Zoo.” I took the Ferry to Taronga Zoo. As it turns out, Taronga Centre isn’t “Just around the corner”, it’s about two kilometres walk up the road, in the blazing sun. Okay.
Executive producer Greg gave us a little motivational speech. “The judges aren’t going to ask you if you want to try again for a second chance. If you believe you can impress them by singing another song, don’t ask them if they want to hear another song. Just start singing. We’ve got a lot of people to get through, and they’re going to be hard on you unless you give them a reason to be otherwise.”
Now as far as I can ascertain, everyone who goes in to see the judges in the morning is put on as a joke. Everyone that goes in the afternoon, is put on as a serious contender. I didn’t know that at the time though. I was put on in the morning.
The guy before me went up and sang his heart out. They rejected him about twenty times before he convinced them that he should go through.
“I just argued with them until they said yes,” he told the cameraman. “I’m a pretty good arguer.”
It was my turn to go on, my chance at stardom. My chance to embarrass myself in front of a nationwide audience of millions… Should be fun.
Of course, they have a brilliant team dynamic when you get up there. Four judges. This is before Mark Holden got kicked off the show for doing too much cocaine (as rumour has it). They’re all fake as hell. You get up there and think Kyle is in your corner.
“That wasn’t so bad actually. I kind of liked it.”
The next minute he’s saying something extremely offensive in a subtle way.
“Now let me hear you do some Eminem. Rap some Eminem for us.”
“How about you guys give me a topic or word, and I’ll rap about it.”
“Nah. I want to hear some Eminem.”
This was the most intense social pressure I’d ever been subject to, ever. These days, I’d be able to handle it no problem. Back then, not so much. I was holding it together though. It didn’t hurt that I had never watched the show and didn’t even really know the judges by name.
Marcia was the worst though. She’s pretending to hate what I’m doing, and pretending to be polite about it.
“Okay… It wasn’t so bad. It was… peculiar.”
Then Dicko wants to have a crack.
“You rhymed ‘adventure’ with ‘mention’. ‘Convention’ would have rhymed a lot better.” It also wouldn’t have made any sense, Dickhole.
“Hey, who’s the rapper here anyway?” I said with a grin.
“Obviously not you,” he retorted. I laughed.
“Look, I’m sorry. You’re just not what we’re looking for,” said Marcia.
I conceded, and walked away. I gave it a fair crack… I got further than most.
I walked down the stairs and the cameraman got in my face. “So do you have anything more to say to the judges?”
“No, I think I said everything I had to say.”
“But do you have anything to say in rhyme?”
“I said what I wanted to their faces.” I pictured a sore loser on American Idol, coming down and saying “Yeah, that judge can kiss my black ass!” when a few minutes earlier he had been polite to the judge. No thanks.
I came and sat down. They were interviewing a sixteen year old rocker, wearing a leather jacket. His name was Matt Corby.
“Now, remember: You’ve got to speak in full sentences. What I say isn’t going to be on the video. What’s your name?”
“Matt Corby.”
“Full sentences.”
“Oh right. My name is Matthew Corby.”
“Okay Matt. Now tell me why you want to be on Australian Idol.”
“I dunno, I just thought I’d come and give it a go. Thought it would be fun.”
“Okay… hm. Tell me what inspired you to come here today.”
“I like making music and thought it would be a laugh. See how I go, you know.”
The camerawoman got frustrated and said she’d come back later.
Matt turned and talked to his friends. “I don’t understand why they’re being like that. They tell me they want to find out about me and ask me to talk about myself, but when I do it, they get frustrated like I’ve given them the wrong answer.” What Matt didn’t understand was that the camerawoman wanted to get him to show some passion, excitement, or determination. They didn’t want to show a video of him to the Australian public saying he was coming there just for a laugh, considering so many people go there with their hopes and dreams resting on it. They wanted to portray him as a champion.
He went into the room with the judges and just aced it. A great musician – I just hope his PR skills have improved as well.
I picked up my guitar, and went home.
A few weeks or months later, I was knocking on doors on an Energy Australia retention campaign. “If you stay with Energy Australia for two years, we give you a month’s free electricity, or a three month’s subscription to the Sydney Morning Herald. Which do you prefer?”
“Uh… free electricity I guess.” $35 a piece. Easiest campaign ever.
Just then I got a text from Venezia. “OMG you were just on TV. So awesome!!!”
“Really? How did I come off?”
“Great! They were like ‘Just when we thought there was no talent in Sydney, we found out it wasn’t all bad’ and then you came on!”
“That’s perfect.”
Then I got home and watched the video. It wasn’t perfect. Venezia had misheard the voiceover guy.
“Just when we thought Sydney couldn’t get any worse… it did!” And then I came on, beatboxing O Fortuna. Obviously opera beatboxing wasn’t quite as marketable as I thought. I sounded terrible.
But the good thing was… nobody noticed. Not a single person said to me “Hey! You’re that guy who was embarrassed on national television!”
Instead, Missy Fitzsimmons, who was supposed to be the hottest girl in 10th grade when I was in 11th grade, came up to me at the Belmore and said “Aren’t you Jones Brixton? Your brother was on Idol wasn’t he?”
“That wasn’t my brother. That was me.”
She swooned a drunken swoon. Missy had auditioned for Idol about three times and never got past the very first round.
“Hey, good job on Idol buddy!”
“Didn’t I see you on TV the other night?”
“I knew you looked familiar!”
To the people of Maitland, the subcommunication of me being on TV was much more important than the overt communication of me being a muppet. Job well done.
{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }
matt corby is a living legend