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Tag: auditions

This Still Stumps Me — Introducing my New York Diner Menu Strategy

I have a New York Diner menu strategy.

Before I enter the establishment, I hold a brief meeting with myself. 

I say (in a voice not unlike Ted Lasso), “Self, you’re about to look at a whole mess of choices in this laminated culinary novella.

“There’ll be cherry blintzes, Denver omelets, a chef’s salad, and all kinds of things to sling between your choice of toast.

“Now, before you succumb to a decision stupor, I want you to focus. Focus on that one thing that you’re going to want to chew for the next brief chapter of your life, and with laser precision, you’re gonna communicate that choice to the kind human charged with conveying the gastronomic goods to your gullet. 

“You won’t even need to look at the menu. It’s a New York Diner! They’ve got everything stuffed into that Mary Poppins bag of a kitchen.

“Now go!”

And before I walk into the diner, the decision’s clear:

Some kind of cheeseburger, fries, and a fizzy water.

Speaking of daunting choices, one of the most paralyzing sentences a singing actor can hear is, “Just sing something that shows us who you are.”

It ranks up there with, “Ok, now be funny.”

Um, so you want me to select a song from the standard musical theatre canon that displays the depth and breadth of my multifaceted humanity?

No prob. Here’s that timeless chestnut from Guys and Dolls, “Take Back Your Mink.”

Auditioning is full of opportunities for second guessing, self doubt, and what I call the brain beehive.

They’re casting Carousel, but I’m kinda right for Beautiful, too. And there’s that track in The Prom, but what if I target Godspell? I know. I’ll sing “I Feel the Earth Move” as Carrie Pipperidge in the style of “Magic to Do.” It’ll make all the sense in the world! ?

Telling someone to sing something that shows who they are is like telling a freelancer to “charge their value.”

You can’t charge your value. You’re invaluable.

And when it comes to showing table people who you are, Walt Whitman already said it: “You contain multitudes.”

So, what do you do?

Here’s a list of questions you can ask yourself to make song selection straightforward. (Also works for monologues, one-person shows, and purchases at Target.)

1. Do you love the song? 

Even if you’re a little tired of it, do you have an enduring appreciation and commitment to this tune?

Do you love the text, the story, the melody, the orchestration, its structure, and what you know about its history? This has to be a hell yes before you proceed.

2. Do you love how you sing the song?

Does the song fit you? Are you confident you can sing it with skill and warmth on any reasonably healthy day? Does it highlight the sparkly special features of your voice? Yes? Keep going.

3. Is the song a good choice for the thing your auditioning for? 

If you’re going in for a general meeting, the first two questions will go a long way in helping you choose material that’ll lead to a satisfying experience for everybody in the room.

If you’re going in for a specific show or role, ask yourself —

Is this in the same stylistic world as the show?

Does this solve a specific casting problem? (i.e. I’m singing “The Man That Got Away” with Sally Bowles in mind.)

Is this song familiar enough? You want the table people to pay attention to you singing the song, not the song itself. 

4. If you’re asked to sing a cut, and you’re almost always asked to sing a cut, keep these things in mind:

Structure your cut with a logical beginning, middle, and end.

Craft your beginning so that it establishes you in the world of the song (short intro or starting pitch).

No matter your character’s arc in the cut, remember it’s a loving act to share this story.

Make sure the ending is satisfying and clear.

If you choose material you love, that you sing well, and you’re solving a casting problem, you’re on your way.

If you fill your singing with specificity and open your heart, the only thing that can happen is that you share the fullness of who you are. It feels a lot like nothing, so that’s why it’s so tricky.

If you’ve answered the above questions well, your song choice itself isn’t going to make or break an audition. If you realize a tune doesn’t work the way you predicted, there are thousands more songs. You can make a new choice. 

If it’s you showing up in the song, if you’ve done your work, and you open the door of your heart, the depth and breadth of you will glimmer like the multifaceted jewel you are. 

Because it’s objectively and scientifically true:

There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS Speaking of audition help, you’re not going to find a more clarifying, actionable, empowering, and useful resource than Audition Psych 101. Led by seasoned actor, author, and one-time world’s worst auditoner Michael Kostroff, there’s now an online course version of it. Also a book.

I took his workshop in LA probably 15 years ago when it was Micheal with a stack of index cards in a little theater in Hollywood. I carry so many things I learned from that workshop with me and share them with students now. 

Get in his universe and turn auditioning into an exciting and joyful experience. It’s completely possible.

PPS You need help with anything? How about how to pick a song? 🙂 …

…or solving that breathing thing or that vibrato thing or that belting thing or that fatigue thing or that what the hell am I even doing with my artistic life thing? I’m here for you. Book a free session with me. Yep. Free. For a lil while, anyway. Summer’s here and I want to help you out. 

Just go to my public calendar and sign up for a time. Whether you’ve worked with me before or not, take advantage of this. I’ll help you out. 

Seriously, a free half hour where you can tell me your singing troubles, I’ll give you some things to do and probably mention your pharynx, and you’ll have tools, and that thing will get better. Do it! It’s a no brainer. 

Sign up here, or bookmark my calendar URL: https://fons.app/@dancallawaystudio/book

And look! the NY Diner Menu explained:

Standing Out and Other Mistakes — How college musical theatre parties and Ford Broncos teach you about life navigation

By the time I got to college, many folks had told me how gregarious, extraverted, outgoing, and, ahem, charismatic, I was. 

I mean, I had provided my Anglo Saxon pentecostal meets Topol impression lens to the role of Tevye in Mt. Airy High School’s production of Fiddler on the Roof, and there were those speech/essay contest blue ribbons I kept pulling down.

The magnetism evidence piled up everywhere.

When I rolled into Elon College’s musical theater program in 1996, I figured I’d keep winning the charisma wars like I had in Surry County. 

However, my Dale Carnegie assessment score plummeted at my first musical theatre party.

Who were these people with their signed Playbills, multiple pictures with Bernadette Peters, and cast album CD collections?

And how were they so… so resonant? How could they talk over ALL the other people? And how were they making EVERYONE laugh?

(And why was there smoking? There was so much smoking.)

I didn’t even enter the party attention arena. 

In this character shoe cage match, I was a back-row ensemble member still faking time steps. A BYO-Jane Austen novel attendee pretending to enjoy my tepid can of Icehouse in the corner.

Standing out in this environment meant you had to be louder, faster, funnier, and I was outa my league from the get.

We actors get the message early on: You have to stand out!

So, like any logical human, we set out to compete like we’re at a gathering where it’s normal to shout, “a 5-6-7-8” and three quarters of the room bursts into the opening sequence of A Chorus Line.

Once you start to compete, though, that’s the moment you get lost.

And I mean this in two ways.

ONE. You get lost in a crowd.

In college, after I learned what a jazz shoe was, I started to pick up a thing or two about dancing.

One thing I never really conquered, though, was trusting myself to pick up choreography. 

I always watched the better dancers to double check that I had it right.

And that put me a half-count behind.

It also meant that my attention was on the dancer I’d decided was better than me and not on my own work.

If you’re busy looking around you to compare and follow, there’s no way you can get down into your own work and find out what your own point of view is.

Don’t get me wrong. Look around. Notice who you admire. Take in their influence.

But your work is about sharing what rings authentically in you, not scanning outside trying to crack a code.

TWO. You lose your actual way.

If you always look around, assess what you think everybody is doing and how you can do that better, there’s no room for you to check in with you.

You could spend several years trying to fill-in-the-blank better than someone only to find when you check in with you, your heart was longing to go a different direction.

It’s like you’re driving to New York City. You see a cool new sky blue Ford Bronco in front of you, and you’re all like, that’s a lot cooler than this serviceable Accord with more than 200K miles on it. 

Before you know it, you just decide to follow that Bronco. Then, three hours later, you’re like, “How did I end up in Allentown, PA?” 

Just because you’re on the same highway as someone else doesn’t mean you have the same destination. 

When you navigate based on what everyone else is doing, you’re going to end up at some unintended Wawas. (Though that is a good opportunity to pick up a sammie and some Tastykakes.)

Bottom Line: standing out (big air quotes there) is an exercise in futility. 

Here’s what do do instead:

??‍♀️ Build your skill every day (this is confidence and competence.)

? Check your heart. How can you walk through the world as open and loving as possible today? 

?? Then, put your body in the place and do the thing.

After a while, your people at the party will recognize you, ask if you want some of the good stuff they hid in the back of the fridge, and you’ll talk about Stephen Sondheim.

That’s it: Build your skill. Hug and shine your heart. And put your body in the place and do the thing. 

Because you know what I’m gonna say. There’s only one you. Folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

How Sand Toys and Donald Duck Pillows Will Set You Free

and the thing that got me drug searched in Arkansas

I log significant playground hours these days.

And the pandemic has got me all social anxiety like–ack! there are humans at this slide and swing structure! Retreat!

We’ll go find an open field with sticks and dirt somewhere.

One thing the playground teaches you is that yes, your instincts speak the truth–some humans are ass clowns. 

There’s one shaded park we frequent that sports a quality sandbox and an assortment of donated/discarded play kitchens, water tables, and plastic tractors in need of wheel repair. 

Some days I’m on top of the dad game, and I remember the buckets and shovels.

One such day, the boys took a sandbox intermission to climb the wrong way up the twisty slide and left said toys unattended.

ps they didn’t have playgrounds like this when you were a kid, right? I used to DREAM about the metal death jungle gym at the Kernersville Hardee’s–seriously, lie in bed at night fantasizing about that whirley slide injury trap.

Anyway, once the boys, blessed with fancier playground options than I was back in 1918, vacated the vicinity of their sand buckets, a gaggle of stranger-danger children descended upon the dollar store toy trove.

Time elapsed. By the time Jude returned to find his blue plastic bucket, a lil 6-year-old sister friend was using it. Cool–Callaways love to….SHAAAARE! We always say.

But when lil one-year-old Judelet reached his hand out in an interrogative gesture toward the sand receptacle, this newly arrived towhead decided this dollar store acquisition was hers. 

Jerking the bucket to her chest and twisting her torso away from my kid, she emphatically belted, “Mine!”

Daddy defender rose up in me, and before I could rush in to make the situation needlessly dramatic, Jude said, “Okeeey,” and bolted toward the parking lot.

He’s always sprinting toward paved spaces where automobiles may zoom. So I reprioritized.

This whole sand bucket incident got me thinking about you.

How many times have we seen that plastic pail lying there on the ground, and our eyes got all big and shiny like Gollum with the ONE RING? 

I’ve done it. For us singery actory folk, it often comes in the form of a role. 

We get that audition, and pretty soon, we’re planning the witty opening night cards we’ll design with that joke everyone will think is hilarious. Just me? Embarrassing. 

Reminds me of my first day in kindergarten. No one filled me in on how the nap-time cubby system worked.

So when I saw that Donald Duck pillow, I pulled it right out, hugged it to my chest, and announced to my classmates in my best soprano twang, “I got Donald Duck!”

When Mrs. Muncus brought a sobbing Lisa Dalton over to my nap mat, my face flushed, and I realized my kindergarten faux pas.

That wasn’t my Donald Duck pillow at all. You could have gone easier on the shame face, Mrs. Muncus. Honest mistake.

And props to my Mama who bought a pattern and sewed a Donald Duck pillow for me after the incident. Thanks Mama.

The point? That’s not your sand bucket, and that’s not your Donald Duck pillow. You know how I know? It belongs to someone else.

And please take a moment to remember when you did get the role. What was that experience like? 

For me, it wasn’t one of possession but one of temporary collaboration. I got the chance to stand inside that story and that music for that moment of time. 

It’s on my resume, but now I’m listening to the birds sing outside my window rather than the orchestra swelling “Think of meeeee” as the opera box hydraulically slides me on stage. That was cool.

And guess what-y??–that wasn’t my role either. I was the understudy.

The UN-derstudeeeeh? I think that was a line in the first scene of Phantom. See? Can’t even remember. 

Same with anything I would have called a possession in my timeline–my orange fisherman hat I wore everywhere in my early twenties comes to mind.  

I’m convinced it got me pulled over and searched for drugs in Arkansas en route to Nashville one time.

Also earned me a new moniker in Portland OR when a bright-eyed, possibly homeless street sage looked at me outside Powell’s Books and shouted “Hey, Australia!”

Where is that hat? No clue. I loved it. It wasn’t as cool as I thought it was. And my friend Tregoney Shepherd still calls me Australia.

Wait, look! I found one piece of photographic evidence–Multnomah Falls, OR, I believe. And I’m pretty sure that’s my Lost Colony shirt. 

Anything we have the opportunity to stand beside, be near, use–we may have a piece of paper that says we’re the owner, but that merely means that we are responsible for it. 

So when the thing doesn’t come your way that you’re convinced should have come your way, can I give you a lil reframe on that? 

Maybe you’ve been spared that responsibility.

And maybe that’s an opportunity to say “thank you” instead of “eff you” to the people who didn’t open that door.

It takes time.

You have to move through your feels when Lisa Dalton IDs you as the pillow thief with Mrs. Muncus standing by as kindergarten DA.

But look, here I am! I made it. 

Yep, that sand bucket prolly belongs to another kid.

And if you get to use it for a while, I hope you pack that puppy full of playground dirt and make the best castle tower base anyone’s ever seen.

Let’s walk through life appreciating the things we get to stand near, sometimes use, and make nice for the next person.

And most importantly, let’s possess love, compassion, tenderness, and honesty with the one sphere we’ve all been given the responsibility for–ourselves.

I sound like a dad–

You take care of yourself!

Signing off and singing this to you–??remember! There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story that only you can sing. 

ps I wanna know your sand bucket story. I have many–a Les Mis national tour (thrice), two Broadway shows where I screwed myself in callbacks, and an exciting academic job opportunity that got canceled because of the pandemic. First 3 that come to mind.

What’s been a sand bucket you realized belonged to another kid? Did you find something else open up as a result, or are you still like, um that’s my damn dirt dumper give it back?

I mean–go for it, see what happens. It’s hard in these recreational equipment streets.

pps The new Pink documentary on Amazon is an unvarnished look into the grindy badassery of Pink, and a very interesting view into the RESPONSIBILITIES she carries with her brand and career. Check it out if you wanna see her family realness on the road and watch her fly like sequined Wonder Woman through Wembley Stadium while belting “So What.” Dang, Pink. Dang. 

In Celebration of the Imminent Opening of the Greensboro Trader Joe’s: Integrity

First of all…Greensboro is finally getting a Trader Joe’s.

So, we may be a tad excited about this event. It’s like Santa Claus is real, and he’s bringing seasonally appropriate Joe Joe’s cookies for everybody.

I may have listened to the “Inside Trader Joe’s” podcast on my way to school yesterday to re-myelinate those Fearless Flyer neurons.

I am excited!

What I LEARNED by listening to the podcast was that TJ’s has seven core values.

And I thought to myself, “Self, what if an artist were to apply these seven values to his or her life and career?”

So let’s talk about that.

Trader Joe’s version of Drumstick roll, please……()

INTEGRITY: In the way we operate stores and the way we deal with people. Act as if the customer was looking over your shoulder all the time.

You know how your mama told you, “Character is who you are when nobody is looking”?

Whoops, right?

Well, TJ asks their team to pretend that someone is indeed looking.

What if we approached our art and life in the same way?

Even now as I type, I’m looking a lot more professional and focused pretending you’re sitting here scrutinizing my every key stroke.

Cirrus-ly, though.

Integrity speaks of integration. That means what I say, what I believe, and what I value cohere with what I do.

That’s where the somebody’s waaaatchin’ mee-eeeee principle comes in.

We all spot these areas of dis-integration if we’re paying any kind of attention to our behavior–our actions don’t exhibit what we say we want or believe.

Sometimes that means that we actually need to track it back and examine what our values truly are.

We often live on auto-pilot, animated by background software programmed by influencers with whom we never resonated.

That’s why the intonation is off. We’re not in tune.

So if you’re standing in an audition room, and you think your priority is working in the theatre or getting a job, but your real core value is integrity or respect, you won’t be connected to what naturally keeps your fire going.

The real question should be, “How can I integrate my truest values into what I’m doing here today? Into this song, this poem, this dance, this sink full of dishes?”

Let’s take integrity and respect and put them into an audition.

You can enter the room having done the work, learned the sides, made authentic choices rooted in your point of view and your understanding of the author’s intentions.

From there, you can collaborate and offer your heart energetically and generously for the solution to the role you’re playing in that moment.

When you leave the room, you’ve come through for yourself. The outcome is (and has always been) out of your hands.

You feel satisfied that you’ve done excellent work that’s authentic to you and integral to your values. You’ve respected yourself and the table people.

Back to TJ: If you are thinking of how you can best serve your customers in everything you do, how would that change your art? If you think about who it is for, how will that inform what you do?

It’s already highlighting some areas I want to change.

Happy integration, you all! Stay tuned for tomorrow’s value: Product-driven.

***A career coach led me to a great resource that helped me clarify my values. It’s a forced choice matrix that helps things become very clear. Here you go:

http://www.value-test.com/

And FYI here are my top ten:

1. Faith(17 votes)
2. Peace(16 votes)
3. Gratitude(16 votes)
4. Kindness(15 votes)
5. Significance(13 votes)
6. Trust(13 votes)
7. Wisdom(13 votes)
8. Joy(10 votes)
9. Respect(10 votes)
10. Growth(8 votes)