Sunday Sermonette: Le'Andria Johnson's Auditon for Sunday Best

When Le'Andria Johnson showed up from Orlando, Florida to audition for BET's reality tv show Sunday Best, she was already a seasoned performer, producer and a singer-songwriter. She had led the prayer and praise worship in her father's church for years and had been singing since she was 2 years old. She was also twice divorced with 3 children and had just lost her house to foreclosure.  Jump cut to the end of the story: not only does she win season three, the 7 song album they quickly release debuts at number one on the gospel chart and her life is nothing but roses.

Of course, another hit album, a Grammy and plenty of scandal quickly followed -- but it's interesting to see the moment when the world discovered her, and to watch everything change and shift at the judges' table just as soon as she opened her mouth.

I love this woman's voice.

Some people think that this is what's supposed to happen when you sing gospel music, that you are supposed to let God move through you and sing from your soul.  I think this is what's supposed to happen when you sing anything.  Or what's the point?

Here it is, Le'Andria's audition tape. Listen in and be blessed.

a random snapshot

i have three songs to learn for a musical theater audition on saturday. when i got stuck and couldn't find anyone to plunk out a particular melody for me, i called a blactress and thanks to her, i reconnected with a pianist who had my back when i found myself lost somewhere inbetween an audition and a callback a few months ago. he's a nice midwestern white boy from kansas city who lives a few blocks away from me. and that's exactly where our story would end -- in kansas city where he's visiting his folks until monday -- if it weren't for his quick thinking.  a flurry of emails ensued and ka-BOOM -- i've got mp3s of the melody and the chords without the melody, so i can sing along to it and practice.  unfortunately, i won't be able to go into that room with a pianist but i will go in ready. you really can't get much better than that.

is this guy a gem or what.

i don't feel bad when i don't get the gig.  i feel bad if i did a lousy audition and i don't get the gig. usually, there's at least a million reasons for not getting the gig and hardly any of them have anything to do with talent.  but that's really difficult to explain to people who have these weird ideas about what it takes to make it in the entertainment industry because they watch way too much pop tv and they think that talent matters.

ok, enough with the beating of that dead horse. back to learning these songs, guitar practice, p & g tips, pilates and the grace that gets me through all of it.

Working Can Wait -- This Is Paradise!

i'm too busy prepping for auditions and hustling for gigs this weekend to blog anything worthwhile today.  the weather is crummy. i have no endurance in boxing conditioning class and i'm hoping running will fix that.  i'm still decluttering and editing my closets and scouring everything and eating clean.  i'm diligently practicing the ukulele, mostly because it's fun. it's time for a guitar lesson from kelvyn bell.  it's time to get recalibrated. yes, my plate is full.

whenever i'm especially busy, i always think of this porky pig cartoon porky's bear facts with it's sing-a-long song working can wait.  when i first came to the city and no one would give me a job, i gave myself a job and hustled until i had gigs singing in bars and restaurants almost every night of the week. my brother ramon (who was touring back and forth with ronald shannon jackson at the time) and i used to sit around the harlem apartment we shared and sing this  --  sarcastically, of course. I was half-killing myself, I was working so hard.

stuff that happens before a legit audition

in today's audition, i must use my legit (otherwise known as legitimate) voice -- something that traditional musical theater requires. this voice is operatic, open and full.



that's a little sticky for me today because i've got some mucus rattling around in my throat, and it won't leave. maybe it's the cheese i had yesterday. maybe it's the milk in my tea. maybe it's the fact that i left the bedroom window open the other night when the temperature dropped so abrubtly. i don't want to wait for an agent submission for this one. i want to make sure my hat is in the ring, now.

according to aea audition rules, this is an open call. that's cool. no one (that i know of, anyway) is born with an equity card. we were all non-union once upon a time. they start seeing women at 10am. that means they call names and numbers from the sign-in sheet by 9:30am. that means i should leave home by 8:30am to be sure that i get there by 9:30am. that means i should get up by 7:30am to give me and my voice time to wake up and warm up before i leave the house.



it's gray, damp and raining, and it's so early, it's still dark outside. i've already put the kettle on. i'm starting to vocalize and move around to loosen up physically. i give myself an hour to sink into things and let my voice wake up. i showered and shaved last night, so i can have this gigantic cup of tea and not think about anything. unfortunately, i can't stop thinking. i've laid out what i'm going to wear but i don't like it anymore. momentary panic ensues. all of a sudden, i have no clothes.

if it weren't so soggy outside, i'd go for a quick run in riverbank state park. nothing gets rid of that nervous edgy feeling like physical exhaustion. after a few miles, i'm quite literally too tired to care. but that can't happen today. there's no time for a quick pit-stop at the gym, either. i have to pack a bag. usually it's a small suitcase. it's basically as many outfits that i need for all of my auditions. this is all that's happening for today, so i pack heels, wear flats and dress appropriately. i also pack sheet music (sometimes that means bringing my book), headshot, makeup and whatever else i can think of. like breath mints.

i get out by 9am and somehow magically, i get there before 10am. and that's where the rubber hits the road...

pie!

so there i was on saturday morning, flying through the underbelly of the city on the 1 train with my gigantic vintage purse next to me, listening to public enemy, looking for all the world like it was 1922 - bob wig, lashes, heels, the works. i am surrounded by what can only be described as the unwashed masses. why shouldn't they gawk at me, i remember thinking. i would. i looked like i lived in a time warp. or a time machine.

here's a colorful tidbit: the navy blue dress i wore was a special number that i fought for on ebay like a frackin' tigress. it had this bizarrely conservative off-white/ecru doily of a lace collar that was so starchy and conservative, it seemed anything but tame to my way of thinking. i looked for all the world like a sexy librarian -- my favorite way to dress up.

to be completely honest with you, my dress is technically straight out of the 1930s. when it comes to dressing in 1920s attire, i'm a little insecure about my overall look because i'm not flat-chested and i don't have an androgynous boy body that the clothes seem to require. my decade is the 1940s or the 1950s because my hips and my chest are the same inchwise, i've got a total hat head and -- as many a construction worker in this town tells me constantly -- i've got good legs.

the kicker is that i had carefully wrapped, straight-out-of-the-oven hot property perched in my lap. i entered the roaring 20s jazz age lawn party's pie contest with not just any pie, mind you. i made a sweet apple wood smoked bacon apple pie. and i was really excited about it. so excited, in fact, that i wasn't really wound up at all about the audition i was heading towards at telsey casting in midtown -- the lead role in the broadway musical sister act.

yeah, you heard me the first time -- but i don't mind repeating this one. they turned the movie sister act into a musical, developed it in san diego (i think), ran it for awhile in london's west end with whoopi goldberg in the starring role, briefly. and now, it's time for the broadway run. they had auditions for most of the cast two weeks ago. rehearsals start in january of 2011. interesingly enough, whoopi goldberg produced this. i met her when she was one of several producers for george c. wolfe's harlem song.

renee emailed me about this open call on a saturday -- a blue sky, sun drenched, picture-perfect saturday, by the way -- which also happened to be the first day of the lawn party and the only day for the pie contest. everything happened all at once. i should have been crawling the walls about the audition but instead, i was obsessing over pie. pie! would the crust be flaky enough? did i put in too much sugar? what about the bacon and the tartness of the granny smith apples -- would that combination work?

i didn't even bring my book to the audition. i brought one song -- unthinkable! because if they didn't like what i was singing, they could ask me to sing something else and (heh!) i had nothing else, so that would be that. but for some reason, i wasn't sweating it. pie!

this character is an aspiring disco diva, so i picked my favorite abba song, updated my resume and sailed in as close to the noon start time as i could. not that it mattered. the room was packed. everyone was well dressed and well-heeled and chatty, with just enough makeup on to look fresh in the blazing heat. when i saw someone holding a card that said 205 in big type, i thought, 205 people? i almost left. but for some reason, they started with 200, like a weird checkbook. so i stayed. i sat there, panic-stricken, as #239. that pie had to be on the judge's table on governor's island by 3pm. would i make that deadline?

fortunately, God always sends help when i really need it. even if what i'm agonizing over is something that's as insignificant and meaningless as a pie contest. for lo and behold, my friend mindy sailed into the audition room like a superhero, changed into her vintage attire in the bathroom and took the pie to governor's island. before i got seen, she texted me that the pie hit the table as #9. i was free to panic something else but there was no time. all of a sudden, i was next and then all of a sudden, i was in the room and then all of a sudden, i was done.

i must say, it was a good feeling, stepping into a room full of beautiful talented black women in that 25 - 45 year old age range, all of us our own individual lovely selves. we aren't an anomaly. we aren't anyone's stereotype. and we are legion. i met quite a few who were from the south. two from atlanta, in fact. and one of them had only been here for a few weeks.

who knows if i got the part. who knows if i'm what they want. who knows. it's such a massive crap shoot. and ironically enough, as i've said time and time again on this blog and as is often the case with acting and "getting the part", talent has absolutely nothing to do with it. what's important is that i threw my hat in the ring. i didn't leave that stone unturned. i got seen for it and i did a solid audition. who doesn't love the song dancing queen, anyway? who's that idiot? in a way, the pie contest probably allowed me to relax and not take any of it too seriously, and that usually means a better performance.

oh, and about that pie contest? i won!

drift overload

yesterday was crazy. or maybe it was just me.

there i was, popping gum absentmindedly and listening to boston's more than a feeling on my iswitch while i was waiting to be seen for a musical theater audition, swinging my crossed leg back and forth like a metronome and thanking Jesus that they only wanted 16 bars of two contrasting songs because that's pretty much all i had in me. i remember looking down at my bag and seeing my boxing gloves, knowing that i would go to class after this and feeling the muscles in my shoulders jump a little, just thinking about my feeble puny arms and all the pushups i wouldn't be able to do.

and then my mind just kind of trailed off...

i love boston. i would get through boxing class a lot easier if i could listen to 70s dinosaur rock. or even dinosaur jr. junior kimbrough. kim wilson and the fabulous thunderbirds, austin texas, the nation's capital, capital punishment, crime and punishment, dostoyevski, bee beards, hippies, beautiful hippies, the groovy murders, the east village, the lower east side, side by side by sondheim, musical, i'm here for a musical, an original new musical, why do i love musicals?

these shoes are murder, murder she wrote, angela lansbury, catherine zeta jones, tommy lee jones, men in black, the man in black, johnny cash, cash and carry, carry nation, sufferagettes, david bowie, bowie knife, knife in the water, water? whoa - i'm thirsty! where's the water fountain? the fountainhead, ayn rand, randy the cowboy in the village people, that beautiful indian, i wonder if he was gay, gay 70s disco, gloria gaynor, i will survive, i will survive this audition, audition the book, audition a musical about auditioning, a chorus line, i can't dance well enough to be in the chorus of any musical, i'm auditioning for a musical, am i up yet or what.

what am i singing. only 32 bars. i can make it through 32 bars. bars. bars of chocolate. chocolately klondike bars! what would i do for a klondike bar. not much, actually. i'd rather eat an apple. less work burning it off on the back end. work out, right after this! oh God please don't let me be late for boxing class...

the things i'm going to miss

i'm going to miss boxing class today and all the stuff that goes with it -- the run that happens when i come out of the room and the steam/sauna that happens after that. but mostly sparring with my instructor and pounding that bag.

i'm going to miss that long and arduous bike ride up and down the west side highway's bike lane, because i've got so much crap to do that only a fast-moving train will accommodate me.

i'm going to miss sleeping in and daydreaming and chugging water mindlessly and yes, i will miss my guitar.

i am in audition and callback purgatory. that means everything and nothing. it's like chasing a shadow in the midst of a fog that disappears as suddenly as it arrives. even if you get whatever it is, there's always the possibility that it can slip through your fingers like a vapor. they can edit your character out of the scene or even the entire episode. they can call you back ten times and then not give it to you. or they can go in another direction after you're absolutely certain that it's yours. (that one is my personal favorite - it's such a great way to say "we don't want you.")

and yet, i jump through those hoops.

it's a full time job, to stay in a constant state of readiness. more and more, it feels like that's a battle that i'm winning. probably because i'm into boxing and it's fun, and i'm getting my body back. once i get the gig in question, the work is fun, too. getting lost in that process, growing into a character, shooting ideas into the air and trying new things. that's too much fun.

no -- the audition is where the fun stops. the audition is the work. it is punishing, it is backbreaking, it is unforgiving. sometimes i'm good at it. (i think.)

i've got to stick to my routine in my downtime. (stick and move, stick and move...) tom petty was right. the waiting is the hardest part.

a day in the life of queen esther

wake up early. too early.

realize that you're not ready for your 10:20am audition because you haven't learned the original song they sent you. no, they didn't send the actual song. they sent sheet music. and you know what that means. it means that you have to find the song on iTunes, and if it doesn't sync with what's on paper, you have to find a pianist to play through the song so you can record it and obsess over it for nearly a week until you know it well enough to give some semblance of a performance when you go into that audition room and face most of the production team. not a "sing your way through this" kind of a deal. i mean, nail it to the wall. perform.

thinking about this exhausts you so much that you immediately go back to bed. and thinking of standing in front of that long table freaks you out so totally, you can't go back to sleep. so you lie there and stare at the ceiling and try to remember the melody of the song, to somehow reassure yourself that you've got some of it marinating in your head. but the only thing that comes floating back to you is the last song you had to learn overnight. it's called how blessed we are from the musical big river: the adventures of huckleberry finn. and once it comes back, it stays.

this is the start of your day. fun, right?

when you finally crawl out of bed, you are more than relieved that you popped a zantac before you went to bed because you ate something before you abrubtly fell out. simply put, acid reflux is a bitch. nevermind what you're supposed to eat. none of that really matters. not with you, anyway.

by 9:30am, you run out of the house like your butt is on fire - with the wrong address. once you actually get there, they've been alerted and all is forgiven. you go into the room and give one of the best auditions you've ever squeezed out of yourself, ever. everyone is smiling and warm and glowy. it feels like an amazing first date.

and to think - they were actually expecting queen esther marrow.

you run out, get time sheets, run to the bank, deposit money, run out of the bank, find a mailbox and mail stuff, run to drop off the time sheets. somewhere in all that running, your commercial agent calls. you've got an audition in the flatiron district for a lowe's spot. you stop and ask: what about the one i thought i missed yesterday, the pizza hut spot? they put you on hold, pop back on the line after a brief pause and say, you can go in for it but you have to go before 12:45pm. that means you drop everything and go now. everything is your new boxing gloves. you're annoyed that you're going to miss your 12:30pm kickboxing class but a national commercial is at stake. you very quickly get over it.

you zip over to chelsea from columbus circle, you do the deed. you go home and change clothes because you need casual attire for the lowe's spot and you know the wrap dress you're wearing just won't cut it.

when you come out of the subway, you buy a gigantic melon in the street from some mild-mannered dominicans. and it's so supercheap, you smile all the way home. you turn on the soaps while you check your makeup and change your clothes and slice that melon and shove it in the fridge to chill. you leave your place in a t-shirt and blue jean skirt. you think to yourself, yeah, i look like i'm married and shopping for stainmaster carpet. as you're running down the street in the flatiron district, looking for the address, you run into chris. he comes to the audition with you and afterwards, he takes you to lunch at la petit abielle. a really terrific salmon salad, actually. you have a wonderful conversation. as it turns out, chris used to box as a kid. you show him your boxing gloves. he laughs at your pink hand wraps. we take the 1 uptown - you jump off at 50th and hit the gym. he goes to catch up with a friend for the museum mile festival, which sounded like way too much fun.

after the gym - which did not include boxing conditioning class, and that makes you feel cheated, somehow - you could go run around but you'd rather go home. because you haven't touched your guitar what feels like forever, you've got rewrites to deal with and yes, you are officially in preproduction on something else. besides -- it's taco night.

the end -- more or less.

oh. here's that song that you couldn't stop singing all day long, from that musical you weren't auditioning for, as sung by jennifer leigh warren, for those of you keeping score at home. enjoy the money note!

hair apparent

guess what, sports fans. i got a callback for a capital one commercial. yeah, that's right - the series with the visigoths tromping around wrecking stuff. maybe it's me, but i think they all look like bears. imagine that! (heh.)

frankly, i was totally shocked that they wanted to see me again because i didn't wear a wig. i was totally going to wear a wig. i was planning on it. i had it all picked out and everything. even my agent told me to wear one. (think about that.) should i wear a wig or not, i asked her assistant innocuously and i could hear her yell out in the background, wear a wig! like she was a little kid in class and she had the right answer and she had to just let it out.

wear a wig! that little phrase reverberated all the way through the rest of my afternoon like an echo. i made every effort to make it happen. and therein lies the rub. doing my hair is an all day event. the longer it gets, the more upper body strength i need. they called me in the middle of the afternoon to let me in on the audition that was happeing the next day. no bueno. i wore myself out with a 14+ mile bike ride and a thorough gym workout that's still kicking my butt. i had the strength to ride home after class, to make a spectacular dinner, to houseclean. but i simply didn't have the strength to do my hair. again, no bueno.

and you know what? this is impossible to explain to anyone except other black women out there with a head full of healthy natural hair. if you're not in that particular group, i honestly don't expect you to "get" what i'm saying. it's just hair, some idiot said to me last week. no, it's not. in certain situations, it's a fairly bold political statement. and here's why.

my hair was (um, i mean is) a freshly undone and filthy, tangled, glorious mess of raw heavyness. it is a mystery and a wonder. it is indignant. it is unapologetic. it is relentless. it is unforgivable. indeed, it is the epitome of what i like to describe as unforgivable blackness. my hair is a highly visible societal indicator, the one thing i've got that shows my compliance to the powers that be. to walk into a situation with this african face and hair so raw and full that african cab drivers give me the dap as i traipse up the block means that when i show up, i will be considered suspect, no matter how shiny my penny loafers are.

you have to think about this stuff when you audition for commercials. you have to think about everything. they will type you out in a flash, solely based on what you look like. and exactly where are they getting the idea of what they think i should look like, as a black woman? you tell me.

good thing they caught me at a weak moment -- too weak to wash my hair. oy! and oh yeah. i thought i did a super crappy read.

i got nothin'!

i'd like to blog something interesting, but i'm overwhelmed at the moment. working by day, working on more songs, working out -- work, work, work. and yeah, i've got a commercial audition tomorrow. still and all, it was nice to take a long walk in the sun this afternoon and get a taste of summer.

my biggest question at the moment is whether i should wear a wig for this audition or not.

another day, another (dance!) audition: boardwwalk empire

i got called in to be seen yesterday for the hbo series boardwalk empire. maybe you've heard about it: it's all about big time gangsters and city corruption on the jersey shore - based on actual people and events, no less - and set in the 1920s. martin scorsese is producing it. hbo has already committed to 12 episodes. mr. scorsese has already shot the first one.

what they wanted me to do was dance. i almost laughed out loud when i read the breakdown. me, dance? i'm the one that everyone would make fun of when i walked across the room, much less danced at parties or family gatherings or whatever. i'm the one that never knew how to properly execute the latest dance that was sweeping the black nation - i just moved with feeling, and that was never enough. i'm the one with the older brother who, when he was a dancer and hard at work in that world briefly, reassured me time and again that i couldn't dance. all of that criticism and ridicule made me feel awkward and stunted whatever natural grace i had. eventually, i didn't move at all. why bother, when i would only end up humiliating myself. the party would be on fire in the other room while i was the one in the kitchen, sitting at the table in relative darkness, chugging ice water and having long winding conversations into the night with fascinating people about books and ideas and life.

i danced when i had to and only when i had to, which is usually when someone paid me to do it, i.e. some grand musical theater production or a play that required movement. i wanted to take class formally - i even interned at broadway dance center - but i just couldn't afford the classes. actually, i didn't know of very many dancers who could afford the classes. what was especially annoying is when i would work hard and get lean and strong and people would look at me and assume that i was a dancer.

and then something clicked: swing music exploded all over creation and all of a sudden, dancing was fun, fun, fun. here's the kicker: i was good at it! as it turns out, i could dance all along. who knew?

i was going to call my agent and tell them to get me out of this one, but then i realized that they probably wouldn't choreograph anything because it was a scene in a jook/juke joint (i thought those were only in my part of the south!). yankees call them roadhouses, i guess. though those are something totally different in other parts of the south, too. i actually liked the tea dances of the 1920s, and had been going to see michael arenella and his dreamland orchestra long enough to practice them. as i dug out my character shoes and dusted them off, i thought that if there was no structured "...five, six, seven, eight!" situation, i would get through it with my dignity intact. heck. it might even be a good time.

the day before this particular dance call, they wanted me to lip-synch a mamie smith song called crazy blues - in full vintage regalia, no less. i know i nailed that one - i like all the smiths, not just bessie - but they wanted a medium sized black woman and i don't think that's me, because i'm a size 6. a few weeks before that, i read for an under 5 role of the babysitter, which was interesting. so here i was, in my long black gym shorts and a t-shirt, black socks and character shoes, back for a third try and ready to rip it up.

once we were all signed in, given numbers, photographed and led out of holding, the casting folk took us to a room and tried to make themselves as invisible as possible. we sort of paired ourselves up in this effortless way, the way you look over at someone and both of you point at each other at the same time. the choreographer, an older pixie-ish lady whose one syllabled name escapes me, was a real pip. she explained the dances, showed us how they should be executed with a few small deft moves, told us what she was looking for specifically and pretty much pushed play on the cd player across the room and left us to our own devices, watching all of us carefully. my partner was a tall lean beautiful lightskinned brother named kyle who looked like he just breezed in from classes at ailey. i smiled at him, relieved and grateful - how exciting, i thought. i get to move around the room with a real dancer! when i told him that, he smiled broadly and waved me off.

we did the black bottom, the shim sham shimmy, and a few others that i liked. we just danced and pretended like we were at a party and whatnot. at one point, kyle went into a six count swing out and i blurted, that's the lindy hop, that's the 30s! and he said, i'm sorry, i couldn't help it! and we just laughed and kept going.

my favorite one was the grizzly bear. here's a fairly good example of the way it looks:



it's so fun!

interestingly, there was strictly no charleston. she was really pointed about that. the year in this scene was 1920. the charleston - straight out of a small island off the coast of south carolina, no less! - hadn't been invented yet.

when we were done, the little lady made a small apologetic statement. something like, i'm sorry, you're all wonderful but we have to let a few of you go - and boy, haven't i heard that a million times! - and then she starts cutting people. by the time she gets to me, i'm mentally out the door and on with the rest of my day, but instead of dismissing me, she says, you can stay. and then she turns to my partner and thanks him for his time but no, he's not right for this part.

you could have knocked me over with a breath of fresh air.

after digging for white rhinestones in chinatown (don't ask), i skip over to the coffee pot in midtown to catch up with renee and stacy (who should have been at this audition, really) and before we separate, i get a call from the casting agent letting me know that i got the part. yeesh - they beat the talent agent to the punch?!

costume fitting tomorrow afternoon, deep in the heart of brooklyn. huzzah!

long day, long night

i've got an audition today late in the afternoon for a regional musical, and i'm just not ready, on so many levels - so i'm spending the better part of my day absorbing this material and prepping my voice, which is kind of crunchy. i found the song in question on iTunes and downloaded it onto my iSwitch, which is what i'll be listening to while i do my usual everyday runaround.

after the audition, i'll go for a nice hard run to burn off whatever nervous energy will still be chewing away at me and then i'll pick up my dan electro guitar from gotham guitar works and then i'll go home and get lost in my junk room, plug that guitar into my pignose amp and practice, practice, practice.

tonight, i'm submitting material to naked angels theater company's tuesday @9, their weekly workshop that lets you put your ideas up - plays, screenplays, even fiction - in this really impromptu way, once its accepted. i can't mail it in, i have to go there to give them what i have, and i have to stay to see their process and get a feel for how everything works.

because basically, i realized i have all these unfinished undeveloped ideas and the only way they're going to jump off the page is if i get with a theater company and grow them. what's cool is that everyone seems to have a literary component for fiction and experimental work, so i can throw everything i've got against the wall and see what sticks.

oh, yeah. and i have to find a horn player for my gig next week.

i've got something cool jumping every day and every night of this week. it feels good and right and true, to rip through a crossword puzzle straightaway, and then read and write and think every morning. if i can find it in me to work out before i do anything else, i'll be batting a thousand.

Yay! Another Commercial Audition! Out of Nowhere! On the Street! Yay!

i jumped off of the 1 train at 18th street the other day in the early afternoon and headed west, on my way to the nyc discmakers offices near 5th avenue for an impromptu meeting about my newly released cd. my mind was flush with a long list of questions and suggestions and situations that i kept reconfiguring as i neared my destination, like a jigsaw puzzle that wouldn't leave me alone. it was cold and sunny, which always aggravates me. the heat of the sun never seems to penetrate the iciness of the day -- and in the end, its all just one big miserable tease that leaves me yearning for the unyielding warmth of the south and a home i would never see again, a home that is alive and well, inside me.

what was i wearing? a hat with ears on it. snow pants, of course. and underneath it all, my gym clothes. as a fledgling pugilist, i have very little upper body strength and even less endurance. so i run and lift weights to boost my staying power. the truth is, most days in boxing class find me leaning against a wall like a cripple and gasping for breath, my heart pounding in my chest like thunder, every beat a sonic boom that reverberates so heavily through the rest of my body, it rattles my teeth. i am pushing myself to my limit. in these moments, my instructor george never looks at me sideways - much to his credit. because he's pushing me, too.

the other day he said to me, "there's no such thing as fighting like a girl. either you can fight or you can't." then he turned waved his arm towards the rest of the class and continued nonchalantly. "hitting isn't gender specific. you think all these guys came in here knowing how to hit?" and with that, he snorted and made a face. "no," he said flatly. "they came in here hitting like you." and with that, i twisted at my hips, pushed my foot forward and gave him a solid left hook that made his face light up with pleasure. now, that was a good day.

when it's all over, i congratulate myself for making it all the way through yet another round. my arms are so weak, i can hardly lift them. it hurts my ribs to take a deep breath. i can hear the blood rushing through my veins as i ask myself, when am i going to get better at this? and then i realize i'm getting stronger. and leaner. i just have to stick with it. that's usually the hard part.

so there i was, thinking about discmakers and what i was going to tell these people and what they were going to tell me, thinking about my left hook and my right cross, thinking about running a mile in less than 10 minutes. thinking about a hot shower afterwards and exfoliating and sitting in the steam room until my muscles melted and my beloved moroccan oil. thinking about finding a piano tuner. thinking about how i couldn't afford the mezcal i really wanted and thinking maybe ralph would split it with me so i could at least have some in my leather-bound flask that lives in my purse, for an emergency cocktail now and then. thinking about my chinese acupuncturist. thinking about kwanzaa presents i have to finish. thinking about the boxing gloves i'd get from modell's the following week. thinking and thinking and thinking. and listening to music. t-connection, i believe it was. don't let nobody tell ya what to do, gotta be your judge and the jury too...

i didn't get far.

i was passing this velvet roped off situation on 18th street between 6th avenue and 7th avenue in some wide open space that's usually got some shin-dig going on. there were two or three people out there, waving me down like they were hitchhikers on some deserted stretch of highway. what fresh hell is this, i wondered. i yanked out my earphones and got an earful.

they were talking over each other, they were babbling and they were saying it in different ways, but they were basically saying the same thing: come inside and audition for this commercial! one of them looked like edith bunker, which made me smile faintly. and that probably made me look agreeable but nothing could have been further from the truth. the truth is, something in me recoiled instinctively at the very idea of auditioning for a commercial in the visual state that i was in. because getting cast in a commercial has everything to do with what you look like. in most cases, the prettier you are, the better - but you can get away with not being pretty if you're actually funny. and yeah, being funny is usually what gets me the gig. and it was the only thing that had me seriously thinking about going past those velvet ropes. i had to be funny because i had absolutely not one shred of makeup on my person. not even cover stick. i didn't have bags under my eyes. i had luggage. (who wears makeup to the gym? wait - don't answer that...)

on the other hand, i wasn't going to blow off any opportunity to get seen for anything. so with all that in mind, and all that other stuff flying through my head like rainbow-colored confetti, i went inside.

it was an auditon for a progressive commercial. they were looking for an assistant for flo. yeah, that's right. that's the dark-haired, wise-cracking, wide-eyed, wiggy looking white chick that's so excited to sell you car/home/pet insurance. everyone, and i mean everyone was dressed like flo, from the coat check girl to the magnetic name tag girl to the girl on headset who gave me a goody bag and a card with instructions on it, and answered all of my stupid questions. white button down short sleeved shirt, white oversized overalls, white sneakers. white, white, white. actually, the whole set was white, white, white - like i'd just stepped onto the set of the commercial itself. everything was roped off just so, so you'd move through the room like a hamster in a habitrail.

it was a space odyssey 2000 meets a boy and his dog. yeah, something like that. at this point, i didn't know if i was the boy or the dog. probably both.

as it turns out, they were holding auditions at hotspots all over the country. i had 30 seconds to tell them why i should be flo's assistant. i had to end with the phrase, "now that's progressive." hm. the more i thought about it, the more i didn't want to come off like my man friday to her robinson crusoe - or any number of variations therein. at this point in the habitrail, there was a perfect replica of the progressive commercial's set, with three white director's chairs all in a row - complete with a white director, who looked very el lay and the right kind of frumpy and bored and annoyed (can you frump in armani?), set in front of a long white table and then there were a small set of stairs that led to three white booths in a row with cameras and recording equipment that boomed your audition all over the room, so whenever anyone started, everyone stopped scurrying and kind of went on pause for a sec, to hear what you were throwing down. especially the other actors and stand up comedians and whatnots who were trailing in, trying hard to look like ordinary street people, smelling of desperation.

i took all of 17 seconds. i didn't plan what i said, i just blurted out whatever rose to the surface first. i do remember that i made the director laugh. and clap his hands. and when i left, i told that hipster looking black guy at the door what i said - an actor that i instantly recognized from way too many national commercials as "that hipster looking black guy," the one who wears those squared off black glasses and is ALWAYS the only black friend in a group of hipster white people and who always looks bored and kind of over it - and he laughed and gave me this massive high five. and then i strolled down the street like miss black america, laughing and waving at him. good times.

as it turns out, that impromptu audition was just the boost i needed to get through that meeting with discmakers. and that workout. and boxing conditioning class.

if you want to see and hear what i threw down, click here. and if you want to kill some time at your desk job, check out the other auditions. they're kind of a hoot.

Another day, another (commercial) audition - PSA

i went in for this spot later in the afternoon, which meant that i was rested, relaxed and already thinking about stuff like guitar practice and what i'd make for dinner. it was in midtown, so it was easy and quick to access. i breezed in right on time. no tension, no nervousness. no packed room, either. there was a monitor, a sign in sheet, a comfortable brightly lit couchy space and only a few of us there. i dressed casually (in a t-shirt and boyfriend jeans that i purchased for such auditions) in very little makeup and i wore a wig -- a natural wig no less -- because my hair was literally in knots and i didn't feel like wrestling it into submission. (yeah, blackgirls -- it was one of those days...)

the audition was quite simple, really: the government wants to let everyone know that there's an earned income tax rebate if you make a certain amount a year. this public service announcement is especially nifty because it's paying sag rates. so it's two black women chatting on a bus. they've known each other for a million years so it's very casual and spontaneous and open. i went in with this lovely woman whose name escapes me. we were both wearing the same color - baby blue - which cracked us up, for some reason. we were so chatty and friendly, we left the audition together and rode the train all the way up the west side, fully immersed in conversation. she was really sweet.

i guess it was like we kept the audition going. weird, right?

what's cooler than cool is that ever since that on camera acting class i took, the camera doesn't freak me out the way it used to. i can trust my inner life and my intent and let myself feel things, knowing that those feelings will magically resurface on my face. because of this, i have a whole new level of confidence that is stronger than any amount of swagger i've ever brought to a situation like this. so there's no need for nervousness. or fear. i go in, i do my thing, and i leave.

tra-la-la!

auditions and callbacks and go-sees, oh my!

sorry i haven't written anything in a minute. things have been a bit hectic, in a good way.

i got a call on friday for a commercial audition on saturday, and then i got a call on sunday that i got a callback for this morning. so it's been a weekend of blowing my hair out, basically. that's the good news: i didn't wear a wig. i was totally naturally all afroed out -- and i got a callback. still shaking my head and going wow over that one. maybe things are changing.

as far as i can tell -- and yes, of course there are exceptions to this all the way across the board, but this seems to be the invisible rule that gets reinforced with most casting choices -- the black women that get cast in commercials are usually natural, with unprocessed "ethnic" hair and a minimal amount of makeup -- whether they lean toward that neutered mammy stereotype or not. they represent the wife, the young mom, even grandma: women of color who populate your everyday world. the black woman that gets cast in movies are usually the fantasy, so they've got the perms, the weaves, the make-up, they're usually a size 4/6 and all that rot. i know that when my agent leaves me a message that says, they want everyday people, that means a minimal amount of makeup and no wig -- or if it is a wig, it should look as natural as possible.

unbelievable, how little acting ability has to do with getting considered for something like this. you could get the once over and get typed out just like that, on looks alone. or height. or whatever else someone is seeing that they don't like. i think that getting callbacks is terrific. it means that i'm close.

bizarrely enough, the commercial -- a christmas spot for wal-mart -- shoots all day tomorrow. can you say fast turnaround?

in the meantime, i got called in to audition for another commercial tomorrow morning -- for applebees. thank God i'm losing weight -- can get back into my audition clothes. for this, i'm probably going to buy a bright red baby t on the way home, so i can look like i'm wide awake when i'm on camera tomorrow.

let the games begin.

keep it gully

a film audition today. a commercial audition tomorrow. an on-camera acting class tonight. i'm running lines like crazy all the time. for thursday, i'm learning a monologue and two scenes.

we're starting to do scenes and monologues on camera -- and boy do i look weird. but hey, at least i'm losing weight...

a post script

okay, i have to say this.

i write about the auditions i do because i do a zillion of them and blogging still seems like a great way to document the process. what this blog should be is a hot shot of reality for anyone who doesn't know what it's like to do this acting thing, for real. more often than not, i've learned the hard way that most people have this really convoluted idea of what being an actor is. you say you're an actor and they think of some movie star or some tv personality or some stooge on some sit-com, and and they think about how these bozos are all over the place all the time and why aren't i famous or on tv or in some tyler perry movie or something.

i remember when i moved to new york city and all these people i knew down south assumed that of course i'd be doing showtime at the apollo, so i could be on tv and wave at my momma. and whenever i'd talk to them, they'd ask me when i was going to be on the show and why hadn't i done it yet. that's what they knew. that's all they saw for me. that was their vision of what i should be doing in new york city. i had other ideas -- because like every actor, i've got my own goals and desires for my career and my life-- just like any other career anywhere else. every actor is different. and everybody doesn't want what i want.

that's why some people are perfectly happy whiling away their entire lives in the chorus of a broadway show. that's all they want.

the bottom line is that although there are a million and one variables that stand in the way of you and whatever you're auditioning for -- like, hello! there are absolutely NO black people in the cast of this show! -- get this, loud and clear: it doesn't matter if you have talent, or if you do a great audition, or if you're a massive star with the kind of charisma that can pull anyone's attention. it just doesn't matter. if it did -- if they gave the role to the person with the most talent and charisma, irregardless of race or body type -- there would hardly be any white people on broadway, at all.

there. i said it.

clearly, i didn't go to the spiderman audition so they could cast me as peter parker's girlfriend. but if they were to cast me in the show, what role would i get? think about it. they take ALL of their casting cues from the movie. aside from macy gray's 10 second cameo, did you see any black women with lines in spiderman the movie? were you hard-pressed to find any black people who were background talent? and this movie franchise is set in new york city -- arguably the world's biggest melting pot. so where were we? and if this is the case, then why would you expect them to put me in it? because miracles happen everyday?

i've got a lot of ideas that i'm growing, because i'm not very good at waiting for the phone to ring. while i'm growing things, i audition because auditioning is a skill that you have to hone constantly if you want to be good at it. and you have to be good at it and stay good at it, if you eventually want to get cast in anything. and that's only the tip of the iceberg. you have to be in a constant state of readiness -- vocally ready, and with all sorts of material prepared (if you can sing); physically together and ready for action (because what your body looks like matters); monologues all set to go for shakespeare and beyond. the more you can do, the more likely you'll work. and all of this requires coaching and lessons and workshops and workout sessions and study and so on. and all of that requires money.

don't worry. if anything happens, you'll hear it here first. but i'm not holding my breath. i'm actually hard at work.

another day, another audition: spiderman, the musical

everybody knows that they're making popular movies into broadway musicals these days. when the star-studded movie version of the musical chicago happened, everyone in hollywood saw gold in them thar hills and opened divisions in movie studios to develop projects. the disneyfication of times square began some time ago, but this latest streak of blatant commercialism would definitely seal the coffin lid shut on all things creative and new and original on broadway. it's not that such productions would never see the light of day or the great white way. but when it takes 7 to 9 years on the average to write and develop a musical, when it costs just as much to produce a musical off or on broadway, and when film actors and hip-hop impresarios and pop tarts are starring in broadway shows to guarantee a profit, and revivals abound, it makes it seem as though the original stuff fell through the cracks, somehow. i know that they're not going to put me in brigadoon. or the sound of music. or the music man. or any of these other lily-white revivals. so that's that.

sometime ago, someone told me that they were going to make a musical out of the movie spiderman, with julie taymor directing and bono writing all the music. it sounded like something that someone who sits at a desk all day would make up. and then i read it in a trade magazine and i thought, uh-oh. and then i read all about the (wide) open (cattle) call they had at the knitting factory some time ago and i thought, ew. and then i read about an audition they had at equity earlier this year and i thought, whoa. it's getting closer. i read about the spiderman: the musical audition in backstage and i thought, okay, i'm going in. when i read the notice out loud to my friend (who also happens to be a massive comic book geek), he couldn't stop laughing. he thinks it's going to be a massive flop.

that didn't stop me from throwing on a wrap dress under my snow pants and throwing my pumps in my purse and going in, somewhere in mid-afternoon or thereabouts, straight to telsey in midtown. i would have been there sooner, but i had to wash my hair -- and every sister that's natural that reads this knows that a big afro may look cute, but it ain't nothing but some hard work. i'm determined to grow it out and so far, it's working. yay, me. but i digress.

when i got there, i was the only negress as far as the eye could see. when i got situated, i saw another negro -- and yes, we totally knew each other. as a matter of fact, chris lives two blocks away from me. as luck would have it, he went in right before i did. the words all ethnicities are encouraged to audition jumped out at me from the notice. so where were we?

everything was fairly straightforward. they wanted something like 32 bars of a rock song -- no show tunes. that was just enough to let them hear whether you could sing or not, so they could separate the wheat from the chaff. i was going to sing that del shannon song runaway -- way slower and darker than anything they were expecting. i was number 70-something on the alternative list, but i knew that i'd get in because they were seeing people until 6:30pm. the monitor was straight out of central casting: really peppy, really jaded, really chubby, really cute, kind of midwestern looking and well, really gay. (...not that there's anything wrong with that...)

as i looked around the room, all i could think was, who are these children? every one of them looked like they belonged on a playground, somewhere. it's kind of like being in college and looking at high schoolers and balking at how everyone is so wet behind the ears, but they think they're so grown and all this stuff. i don't know if it was their clothes. their hair. the way they sat in clumps and couldn't stop giggling and sifting nervously through their sheet music. i don't know. i thought they looked like a bunch of puppies.

i wish i could have given them some advice. something like, stop sweating -- it's not that deep. or how about, your clothes are way too tight. stop letting pop stars/video vixens dress you. or maybe even, go home. whatever. the bottom line is that all too often, talent doesn't matter as much as it should in these instances. a great audition won't necessarily get you the job, for a myriad of reasons. it shouldn't work that way, but it does.

i wish someone had explained that to me when i was a puppy.

yes, another voiceover audition -- "pulp friction"

whether i'm singing or just talking, i've been twisting my voice around to make it sound like whatever i want it to be ever since i can remember. if singing is this close to the bone, can voiceover work really be that far off the mark? isn't it all some form of vocalizing? both have their own skill set but either way, i'm acting my way through it. and now that my commercial demo is up and at 'em online, there are a lot more voiceover opportunities coming at me all the time. weird, the way doors that i've walked past for years can suddenly spring open out of nowhere. i always thought, i have a nice voice, i should do voiceovers -- but i didn't have a clue as to where to begin and once i got ahold of that clue, i didn't know how to put it all together. but i'm past all that now. thank God.

i can't remember the last time i did an audition on a sun-drenched saturday afternoon that would normally find me running a 10 minute mile but i suppose there's a next time for everything. this one was for the pilot of an animated series called pulp friction that's similar to what you might find on adult swim. i knew that they wanted a monologue but i just didn't have one in me. after writing 3 one person shows, improvising whatever i need in the moment when i have to yammer on cue for 2 minutes has never been an problem. they warned that that they were videotaping, so i threw on a little makeup and, preoccupied with what i looked like, i zipped out of my place without a headshot/resume. super-smart, right? right.

i didn't even realize that i didn't have what i needed until i was in the elevator on my way up to ripley-greer studios. by the time i signed in with the audition monitor, i felt like a complete idiot. but that "i'm a complete idiot" feeling wasn't enough to make me not go through with the audition. i figured, whatever. the bottom line is, i'm here and how i feel about whatever ball i've dropped is irrelevant. feelings fake me out all the time. it's not that they aren't valid or real. it' s just that when the stuff hits the proverbial fan, they aren't the main thing i should be paying attention to. and too often in the past, that's the way the ball bounced. the smoke clears and phrases like, "i felt that this was..." or "i had a feeling about how we would..." feelings, whoa, whoa, whoa feelings. whoa. let's think this through: i'm not afraid to look stupid, probably because i know that i'm smart.

so i get in the room. it's a guy behind a camera and in front of him are three guys sitting at a long table. they are upbeat, genuinely interested, affable and friendly. how ideal is that? i told them that i forgot my headshot but that i'd email it right away. no problem. then i told them i had no monologue. that wasn't a problem, either. the guy all the way to the left gave me a copy of the onion and told me to read anytihng on the front page. just make it funny, he added good-naturedly, and as he did, they all nodded. funny, huh i mumbled as my eyes scanned the page. my gazed crash-landed on an article out of the ATL. i considered that to be a sign from God and began to read it in my best texarkana accent that i could muster. as i did, a strange thing happened: i killed. after a minute or so, they gave me a few pages of script and asked me to review 2 characters: clayton, the alcoholic easter bunny and craig, the reindeer that's also a thug-wannabe. both guys. when i began to ask questions, they showed me artist's renderings. i really loved the bunny. he was way too pink and cheery looking and fuzzy, and he clutched a bottle of hard liquor in one hand, and he looked really really fried.

i sat outside, a little dazed that i'd gotten that far and made some mental notes with script choices. when i went back into the room, i asked them if they knew who foster brooks was. i thought it would be interesting to play the bunny that way. all i got was blank faces all around, except for the camera guy, who remarked that when he was reading it that's who he was thinking of.

immediately, i thought of ozzy ozbourne who remarked that he'd never take up with a younger woman because they'd have nothing to talk about. sometimes when i get to talking about whatever i'm thinking of and i start bouncing stuff around to illustrate what i mean, i get blank looks like this. ew.

and yes, my friend knows who foster brooks is. thank God. but i digress.

i made it through that instant callback with flying colors and skipped off to the gym on 125 -- so happy, i ran a mile in 10 minutes. we'll see if i got the gig or not. the good news is, i didn't leave. i drove it home with one headlight.

all in a day's work

housework (that daily constant), a commercial audition (in chelsea), two voiceover auditions (from home), a full workout that includes a boxing conditioning class (in soho), a piano lesson uptown (and yes, piano practice for at least an hour) and round 2 of the jazzmobile jazz vocal competition this evening at the alhambra ballroom (in harlem), with all the getting ready prepwork that goes with any gig.

still don't think i do anything all day?