Thursday, March 24, 2005

My Illustrious Singing Career

When I was little--maybe 7 or 8?--I decided that since I couldn't be in Mrs. Melville's performing group of children called "The Sunshine Generation," I would try out for a really posh and hoity-toity BYU children's choir instead. The details are all so fuzzy for me, though. For instance, I don't know what the posh BYU choir was called, or what is was for. I think it may have been to record some sort of church music album? I don't know when or how or where I heard about the auditions. All I remember is choosing "I Can't Smile Without You" by Barry Manilow as my audtion song, and making my mom leave work early to drive me to the try-outs. I remember going over the song once or twice before going to the Harris Fine Arts Center at the Brigham Young University. I didn't think I needed to practice, as I had been singing "I Can't Smile Without You" (in addition to many other Barry Manilow classics) from atop the piano while Kacy accompanied me since I was three.

My mom seemed a little worried, though. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she kept asking. "Are you ready? Have you practiced?" "What song will you sing? Do you have any back-up music?" The questions kept coming and coming, and I kept staying cool, saying "how hard can this be? I get up there, sing my song, and sit down." I was totally calm, positive that I would be chosen and then Mrs. Melville and her army of snotty "Sunshiners" would be really sorry that they thought they were better than me.

This confidence lasted through the entire car ride and the anxious questioning from my mother. It lasted through the walk in the parking lot. It lasted all the way up the maze of stairs leading to the building. I almost made it through the front door of the building, but then saw a child auditioning through a window. She was polished. We're talking better than even the "Sunshine Generation." Her hair was quaffed, her dress was frilly. She had choreography, for crying out loud. I was wearing a pair of jeans, most likely, and an old sweatshirt. When I saw her I realized just how unprepared I really was for this little gig. I turned and looked at my mother, who knew exactly what I was thinking. Without saying anything, we turned around and walked right back down the stairs of the HFAC, never looking back once. My mom may have run inside to take my name off the audition list. Like I said, the specific details have all left me. All I remember is the humiliation of thinking that I was up for such a cut-throat event, the embarrassment of making my mom take me all the way there only to turn around and leave.

Some people might think that I shouldn't have left the HFAC that day. Some would go on and on about never giving up, being brave, trying new things, etc. But those people are full of malarky. It was the right thing to do to walk away that day. My mother knew it before I did, and it wasn't because she had no faith in me. It was because she knew me better than I did. And she knew my strengths. And singing wasn't one of them. Still not convinced? Well, listen to this, then: when I did finally get up the nerve to audition for the high school musical (some ten years later), did I get a part? Even in the chorus? As an extra? A stage hand? NO. So the peeps who say to keep trying are wrong--when it comes to me and singing, that is. Now the only time I sing is in church, and Mike puts his ear really close to my face, pretending that he can't hear me. And he can't. Cause I give up.

12 comments:

  1. Oh man, that is funny. I'm glad you have moved on because I feel sad when you're sad.

    My illustrious singing career consisted of singing with my high school boyfriend and his parents at his mission farewell (I know, shoot me now for the cheesiness) to which the ward music coordinator kept asking during our practice, "Are you sure you don't want to play the piano for this number instead?" No, I sang loud and proud. If only I had had the wisdom of an 8-year-old Carly just to walk away.

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  2. This was another reason why I wanted to be your friend from the beginning, Marcy. ILY.

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  3. I can't believe I never knew this, although it is easy for me to picture.

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  4. You are lying. I saw you in that "Show and Chamber" choir performance in high school. And I've heard you sing. It makes the birds in the trees jealous. But, this was a valiant attempt at modesty. :P

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  5. Aiight, Annonymous. You ratted me out. I didn't mention choir because I felt that I was only in choir as a result of impeccable citizenship and nothing more. That's right, I slid by on good citizenship, not to mention forged practice forms. But thanks for the boost, whoever you are. Good to know I still have fans out there from my choir days.

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  6. Yeah, I'd have to agree with anonymous. Since I seem to remember sitting next to you in choir for FOUR years in high school! Bee bee bee bee bee bee bee bee king...

    And I don't think you snuck by on good behavior, because I remember my mom coming home from Parent Teacher Conferences (I think our Junior year) and telling me that Mr. Lindsay told her that while we were a nice addition to the choir, we talked too much. I don't think that's impeccable citizenship. (:

    So, like it or not, you do have an illustrious singing career!

    (I wasn't in Sunshine Generation...I felt bad about it then, but had I been in it I would feel bad about it now)

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  7. Robyn,
    I couldn't agree more on the "Sunshine Generation" thing. If I had been in it, I would definitley have to write a blog called "My Humiliating and Painful Past in the 'Sunshine Generation'" and who wants to read that?

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  8. I still haven't learned to "just walk away". I sing in my ward choir (they'll take anyone...no auditions required) and with a community choir (how nerdy is that?!) - but I only got into that one because 1)I'm friends with the director and 2)what I lack in talent, I make up for in enthusiasm! I love to sing! And someday someone will actually give me constructive criticism and teach me the right way to do it! LA LA LA LAAAAAAAAAAA!

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  9. I am the ward choir director for my singles ward. When they called me to this position I asked the 2nd councelor in the bishopric if they WANTED me to go inactive. Apparently they do not. I am choir director nonetheless. My pianist hates me. Too bad, because he is REALLY cute.

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  10. Aren't mom's great? She supported you all the way to the brink, and then protected you from humiliation with no fuss whatsoever.

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  11. No, I totally get the random audition thing. If I had grow up in a state where children's performance groups were legal, I would have MADE my mom sign me up.

    Throughout my life I have made myself audition for things that were WAY WAY WAY above my head (college plays, community plays, reality shows...). I must love rejection....

    You just keep on keepin' on...

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