From the Top - Chapter 30

I was one of the last contestants to make it to the theater, even though I was on the same lot the sound stage it was set up in was on. I’d been up late the night before making final adjustments, late to the rehearsal which had then run long as we tried to get everything ironed out.

Thankfully, I wasn’t so late as to get myself disqualified, and to give my two session musicians time to get here and start preparing. No one had gone on yet, but I knew I was in for it when one of the producers tracked me down almost as soon as I was in the door, looking frazzled.

“Charlie! There you are. We’ve got a bit of a situation,” she said breathlessly.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” I said.

“What? Oh, no. You’re fine. We’re just checking the last of the backing musicians, and only two have checked in so far. We have you down for seven originally, and they’re telling me we don’t need half the equipment we were going to set up for you. If this is wrong, we’re going to need to get this sorted out now. Your group is up first, and I’m not sure we’re going to have time to fix this.”

“No, that’s right. We changed it at practice today.”

“You’re sure? You only need the drummer and bass player?”

I nodded. “I’m positive. We’ve decided to take the song in a different direction.”

She looked back at the stage, then down at her clipboard, then back to me. I could see the battle inside her. This was a person who really liked their organization and wanted it to run exactly as they planned and really didn’t want to have anything change on them. I sympathized, but since I was the one with my future on the line, we’d just have to live with that.

“Okay. Well, if you’re sure,” she said, scribbling a note on her clipboard. “Get whatever you need ready. You’re on last in your group. We’ll have your musicians ready and get them set up during the switch over after Dillon plays.”

She was gone before I could respond.

A few minutes later, I was on the sideline watching; the lights went down, and a video montage with bits of the original score from the romance movie Cole was given was up on the screen. As it went off, the lights started coming back up as Cole started playing. He’d done a decent job translating the eighties pop ballad into a modern country sound, but it still felt stilted and over-produced. Worse, he was nervous, and you could hear it in his voice. He didn’t sound bad, exactly, but the song was weak.

I could see it on his face when he finished. He knew he hadn’t done what he needed to do.

Marissa was up next, and her song was a lot smoother than Cole’s, with a bluesy twang that suited her strong voice. But she’d stuck too close to the original arrangement and genre. They’d wanted to hear something of the artist in the song, and I didn’t really get that from her. Still, she sang with confidence and passion, which went a long way.

Finally, it was Dillon’s turn. Out of our group, he’d taken the biggest risk by radically changing the style and mood of the song. His haunting minor key arrangement overlaid with ethereal synths had potential, but the vocals really lacked all heart. It was fine, but that was it—enough to keep him in the competition, but he was never going to win like that.

Finally, it was my turn. The lights went down, and the video transitioned into scenes of Shattered Dreams, with parts of the original in place. While it was playing, we were in the dark, moving into place. I could barely see what was happening, I guess to keep it from ruining the mood of the crowd, but it did give me a new respect for the stagehands, which meant a lot more than my just walking onto stage with my guitar, and they made it look easy.

In my ear, I heard them start to count me down to the end of the montage. I listened for the beeping cue as the screen changed to the beginning of the scene where Trey Mitchell’s character was kneeling over his wife’s lifeless body, agony etched on his face.

I hit the first note, a mournful chord that I held, letting it ring out for a moment all on its own. As Mitchell’s character begged his wife to wake up, I started in on the opening melody, slow and melancholy compared to the upbeat original; the stage lights came up just enough to illuminate me and the two musicians flanking me.

The bassist came in, his lower register adding depth, starting with just matching the melody. Then the drums—soft, muffled hits on the snare drum.

As we built up to the first verse, I started singing, pitching my voice low in my range. I held back slightly, not letting everything go yet. This was about conveying raw grief, and I needed to let it build, not come out at once.

“We had it all planned out in our minds...” I sang, looking out into the pitch-black audience, washed out by the lights on us.

I made it through the stripped-down first verse and chorus without embellishment, letting the mournful chord changes and stark drums speak for themselves. As we approached the bridge, though, it was time to up the intensity.

As I hit “The broken glass...” I took my vocals up, putting more into it, my voice going gravelly in that register. The bridge ended abruptly, leaving just me and my guitar again, as we started building toward the finale, where we’d cranked up the intensity again as the video behind me showed the happy couple at their wedding, kissing at the altar, blissfully unaware of the tragedy to come.

As the video ended on Mitchell’s face, the bass and drums fell out, and I played the last few notes on my own, letting the final note quaver, then fade out, leaving just the sound of my guitar strings vibrating.

A moment of silence hung in the air.

Then thunderous applause exploded through the theater. I was breathing a little hard, trying to get my breath back after that last chorus, which I’d pushed incredibly hard. The judges were on their feet as the lights started to come up.

“Charlie, that was a remarkable interpretation of the song,” Hal said as the applause died down. “But I’m curious, why such a drastic change from the original? It’s almost unrecognizable.”

“Well, when I first got the song assignment, I tried to put my own spin on it while keeping to the original style, but the more we worked on it, the more it became obvious it wasn’t working. After another frustrating practice session, I realized that trying to remix the song into something unrecognizable wasn’t working. So I went back and really listened to the lyrics, trying to get a handle on what the song was, at its core. The thing that got me was how well-written the song was, and how much the music was drowning that out. At its heart, it’s such a sad song, but everyone thinks it’s upbeat because of the music.”

I paused, trying to gather my thoughts.

“Once I tapped into that sadness, I knew I had to let the music match. I kept only the main guitar melody and some of the chord changes but slowed everything down into a minor key. That was too far back, so I brought in the bass line to pick up some of what the other instrumentation had been doing, but just hints of it. I think it all came from what Trey said when we talked about it, how it was such a powerful and sad scene, which is what made it his favorite scene in the movie. I tried to make sure it was still the same song, just amplified in a different direction.”

“And it was,” Dexter said. “And your voice! I got goosebumps!”

“I think you took an enormous risk reworking an iconic song so extremely,” Lexi said. “But it paid off. That was perhaps your best vocal performance yet, just stellar!”

“Good job, all around,” Hal said, cueing me they were done with their comments.

The lights dimmed again as we made our way off stage. It was weird, going so early, because I had all this adrenaline going, yet we still had at least another hour of music before we found out who won.

Backstage, I found Cole sitting on a folding chair, looking despondent. I sat down next to him.

“Hey man, you did good out there,” I said, even though we both knew it wasn’t entirely true.

He gave me a weak smile. “Nah, I screwed it up. Couldn’t get the nerves under control. You though ... you killed it. Blew us all away.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I felt good about my performance, but I didn’t want to make Cole feel any worse. I think he was pretty sure he was going home today, and honestly, I couldn’t disagree with him. But I also did not know how to comfort someone who just blew their big shot at making it.

After a few minutes, I gave up trying to cheer him up. Sometimes a guy just wanted to wallow, and I got that. I was also too keyed up still to be all that helpful. The rest of the performances passed in a blur, and before I knew it, the lights were coming back up for the final judging.

They had us all against the back of the stage and worked in reverse order, which meant we were judged last. Finally, it was our turn and they pulled the four of us forward to learn our fate.

Hal spoke first. “Tonight’s performances really showed us the range of talent we have here. Some of you took big risks that paid off incredibly well. Others played it safer. As we head into the finals, I want to caution those of you who plan to keep in the middle, avoiding risks to keep from going home. When we go into the lives, you will only have two chances to show you deserve the title of Stage Champion, and you can’t win from the middle of the pack.”

“Unfortunately, we do have to make a decision and send one of you home tonight,” Lexi said.

I snuck a sideways glance at Cole. The poor guy looked like he was facing a firing squad.

“Our decision was unanimous. The contestant leaving us tonight is...” Dexter said, letting the pause hang dramatically. “Cole.”

Cole’s shoulders slumped, but he kept it together, nodding to himself.

“I’m sorry, my boy. It was a solid effort, and you’ve got a healthy dose of talent, but it wasn’t quite up to snuff for this level of competition,” Hal said.

Cole nodded, clearly trying to keep his composure. “I understand. Thank you all for the opportunity.”

Cole gave everyone a weak smile, then disappeared off stage.

“As for the rest of you,” Hal said. “I think it’s no surprise that the win for your group goes to Charlie for that remarkable performance.”

Marissa gave me a smile and said, “Well deserved.”

“Thanks,” I said back.

We left the stage, and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I’d made it through the prelims and would be coming back for the live finals.

An hour later, back at the house, people had started to party. For once, it made sense. Everyone was done with the contest, and it would be a month before the finals, and they had something worth partying over, instead of just because there was an open bar.

I still didn’t join in the drinking, but this time I hung out and socialized with everyone, even the contestants who’d lost that night. It was so late when the competition ended there was no way for anyone who didn’t live in LA to get home, so they stayed at the house one more night before we all left in the morning.

Admittedly, for them, the drinking was more about numbing the pain of the loss more than it was celebration, but once things kicked off, they started having fun. We all knew the risks, and while everyone thought they’d be the one to make it, this was just part of it. The people who’d gone through tonight would at least be on TV for three or four weeks, depending on if their auditions made it onto the audition show the first week.

Even not getting the contract at the end, this was major exposure that could help get them stage time. The one person I didn’t see partying was Cole, who disappeared almost as soon as we got back.

I found him out on the patio. He glanced up as I slid the door open, some of the music and raucous laughter spilling out with me. He gave me a sad smile but then just went back to drinking his beer and looking at the ground.

“Hey, man,” I said, dropping into a chair next to him. “You doing alright?”

Cole gave a half-hearted shrug but said nothing. I kind of nodded slowly in return, picking at a loose thread on the chair, letting the awkward silence hang between us, punctuated only by the muted thump of bass from inside.

Finally, Cole heaved a sigh, tossing the now empty bottle into the big trash can a few feet away, and said, “I’m not all right. This was my chance, and I let myself down, you know? Like maybe if I’d done something different, gone a different way, I’d still be in it.”

“You didn’t throw it away. Did you get to the end and get the contract? No, but thousands, literally thousands, of people auditioned for this, and all but thirty didn’t get to the house. And ten of those went home before you. You are going to be on TV for three or four weeks, in front of millions of viewers, including people who own bars, clubs, and venues. You might not walk out of here with a contract, but you’re walking away with the kind of visibility anyone out there would kill for. I guarantee you, if you hit the ground running, you’re going to start getting lots of invites to play. And not just at open mics or coffee houses. Call up some of the mid-sized venues in your area, tell them who you are, and that you’re on ‘The Stage’ during the first four weeks of it airing, I’m telling you, you’ll get slots. Hell, you do that right when you get back, trying to set something up for the weeks these episodes air, you could get even bigger stages.”

“You think?”

“I do. I’ve played enough gigs to know. These guys don’t care about how good or bad you are. I mean, they care if they have good music, but that’s not what’s really important to them. They care about getting people in the seats, and the easiest way is someone with name recognition. Cole Lawson might have had trouble getting a spot, but Stage Contestant and Fan Favorite Cole Lawson ... not so much.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“It took me a long time to get it through my head, but getting told ‘no’ has nothing to do with your ability, and everything to do with catching that lucky break that will give you enough name recognition. So no, you haven’t failed at all. Just being here has upped your profile, and it’s going to help you. Staying on for three episodes gives it a better chance that someone says ‘hey, I remember that guy’ and comes to see you. And if you can get a half-decent turnout, they’ll rebook you.”

“Remember me for losing, maybe,” he said, starting to backslide a little. “I’m not sure how good that is.”

“You came out strong in the duet and weren’t anywhere near the bottom. There will be people who heard that, heard you playing your kind of music, and they’ll come to see you. Trust me, man. Just being here was a huge win.”

“I never considered any of that. I was just so focused on ... do you really think I can use this to start booking gigs?”

“Hell yes, I do. And I mean it about hitting up venues right away. Don’t let the momentum die. Start making calls before the episodes air. Pitch it as, ‘I’ll be on the show next week,’ although who knows if that will work. But really hit it once your episodes are out.”

He was quiet for a few minutes, and I could really see the gears turning. I just waited patiently while he worked it out. The last few months had taught me a lot about patience, about keeping focused and moving forward, always trying to have a plan, instead of wallowing. It was hard to do, but I think I could see Cole getting there.

“Thanks, Charlie,” he said sincerely after a minute. “I needed to hear that. Could we ... I don’t know, stay in touch after all this? You’ve done so much already and you have a manager and everything, I could really use your help from time to time, if that’s okay.”

“Are you asking me for my number?” I said, with a smirk.

“Shut up,” he said, laughing.

“I’m just kidding. Yeah, for sure. Let’s stay in touch.”

We pulled out our phones and exchanged numbers. I know he felt like I was doing him a favor, but I’d come to realize how rare good, genuine people in this business are, and how important it was to build relationships with the ones you found. My friendship with Linda proved that.

“I’m really glad we met, man,” Cole said as we stood up. “And that we got to be friends. I know we were competing, but ... I don’t know. You’re good people.”

“You too,” I said honestly. “Let’s definitely keep in touch. Maybe we can meet up sometime if I’m ever out in Oklahoma.”

We clasped hands, then pulled each other into a quick one-armed hug.

“Well,” I said, “I should go start packing. My flight’s kind of early. See you around, man.”

“You got it,” he said.

I think he was heading back to the party as I made my way upstairs. All in all, this had been an amazingly successful experience, and not just because of how I did in the performance.