My wife and I love American Idol. It really is the only thing we watch on television. Few people realize just how talented even the worst of the contestants really are. I know I used to think that anybody with a pretty good voice could make it. That is, until my wife and I held home tryouts!
One night we decided that we’d each take turns standing up in our living room with the other on the couch and give our best American Idol tryout. We would be our own judges! Jen went first and I’ve gotta say that she impressed me. I’ve always believed that she is the best singer I know. Even before we were married or really even knew each other I’d heard her sing and was mesmerized by her voice. She stood in front of me there in our living room and gave a better than Bonnie Raitt (or anyone else) performance of “I Can’t Make You Love Me” complete with stage presence, personality, and perfect pitch. When she was done I burst into a clapping attack and told her how great it was. I raved and went on and on with complete honesty about how intoxicating her voice was as it seemingly wrapped and weaved itself around and throughout my senses.
I talked about how along with her incredible talent I thought she had a certain “likeability” that few others possess. Then, in typical “Idol” form told her that she looked great, sounded great, and for sure would be going on to Hollywood. I was next. Now this took a lot out of me. You have to understand, I DON’T SING without a guitar!!! I felt completely naked and vulnerable standing there in front of her. But, I was committed to this thing so I closed my eyes and gave my best rendition of one of my favorite Keith Urban songs.
I felt like I was “on” with my performance. Even as I was singing I felt a certain “coolness” about my voice and presence. Kinda like whoever was listening was just blessed to be in the room at such an epic moment. You know, like lightning was striking twice in the same spot somewhere and she was just fortunate to have been around for the fireworks. I finished my performance, opened my eyes, and waited for Jen’s response.
She looked up, shrugged her shoulders and uttered. . . . . . . . .”a little pitchy”.
-Hunter