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Category: Audition Advice (Page 2 of 6)

Why Crappy People Work — How to Make Your Musical Theatre Auditions and Creative Life Successful

I’m going to tell you the reasons folks you think are demonstrably average seem to work all the time.

And I’m also going to tell you how this information will make your auditions and overall creative expression more successful.

One time I was doing a show, and one of the leads was offensively average. Company members noticed. Crew noticed. I definitely noticed.

Management were delighted with them.

To seal the deal, this artist spoke matter of factly about their inherent belonging in the principal player echelons. (I think this was more of an anxiety thing than arrogance to be fair.)

I was an ensemble member, and (funny enough after just criticizing what this person said out loud), I thought I should be playing a principal role, too.

I worked with an acting coach at the time who saw the show, and I’ll never forget what she said:

“They stood for their work.”

What do you mean? They stood for their work?

It meant this:

They weren’t asking for anybody’s permission; they owned their performance, and there wasn’t any whiff of a question in the air whether or not they should be wearing those costumes and singing those songs.

Dammit.

This lights up a major lie that performers tell themselves. Wreaks havoc in general life, too: The Just World Belief.

Good things mean good outcomes. Bad = bad. And the world should be fair.

Extensive studies on both combat veterans and abuse survivors show that holding to this belief increases and prolongs PTSD symptoms.

Now please think about one actor acquaintance who carries this just world belief into every audition room.

Every table of deciders now holds the weight of universal justice in their hands, and with every heartbreaking opportunity, more evidence piles up with how unfair the world is.

The truth is — auditioning is not (and can’t) be a meritocracy. It’s decided by humans, and we are notoriously fickle. And it’s not a fair process.

I remember not booking a tour of Les Miserables and crying on my therapist’s couch because it was a dream of mine,

so I was sad.

But there was also a part of me that believed it should be my turn, and I deserved to get picked.

My advice — question this belief.

And notice the things in your life that work out well, when the odds skew ever in your favor.

We get so focused on how life has slighted us, we forget to notice that we can see, hear, walk, and have food to eat.

Dang, I still remember the time a cop just let me go in North Hollywood for talking on my Blackberry without a hands free contraption. She even said, “I don’t know why I’m doing this. These phones make me so mad.”

The next reason for all this audition mayhem is a very human thing that no one’s ever going to change — Middle School.

I’ll explain.

You’ve written a play, and you need folks. Who do you think of first? Your friends, people you KNOW.

If you have to look outside your familiar circle for roles or production support, what do you do? You ask your friends if they know somebody.

What are you looking for?

Someone who’s competent, kind, detail oriented and lives for stage management.

Can you imagine if you were interviewing a company manager, and the candidate said:

?? Can you give me a chance to solve your problem? I mean, I don’t know how I’ll solve it, but just pick me?

or

? Problem? I don’t see a problem here. And I’m amazing, so yeah, here I am. (Sits back and puts shod feet on desk.)

OR

? Hey there. I get it — I see your problem. I’ve solved a lot of these before, and here’s how I can help you solve yours.

Who are you gonna sling a contract at that second and pray they’re available?

Yet actors often bring in versions 1 and 2 into rooms and then get frustrated that their results are crap.

It’s human to want people to pick you for stuff. We want to be chosen. It’s a natural and good desire. When my wife puts her hand on my back and says, “I love you,” I mean, that’s the stuff.

But if we’re talking about getting picked for shows, you need do 1 of 2 things:

Create positive emotional associations to yourself,

OR

pick yourself.

Then create positive emotional associations to yourself. Because no matter how much you pick yourself, if you’re an asshole, no one will want to be in the trenches with you.

If this feels middle school, it’s because it is — because guess what middle schools are full of? People, just younger with under-developed prefrontal cortices.

This bears out in many rehearsal halls, too.

So what can you DO about this? How can you make your auditions and creative life more successful?

First, we are going to define a successful audition:

A successful audition means you prepare well, share the work with artistry, skill, and an open heart, and accomplish the goal you set for yourself in that meeting. It’s a clear preview of how you’d solve a casting problem, and it’s also a glimpse into the straightforward joy it will be to work with you.

That’s it. There’s no outcome component. You’re not going to get the job. Most of the jobs, we don’t get, so dispose of the lie that you have any direct control whatsoever over manipulating a casting decider into picking you.

For more on this, and to really set yourself free, read Audition Psych 101 by Michael Kostroff.

So, to have this successful audition, do this:

Number one, the folks you’re pissed about? Stop paying attention to them. They have nothing to do with you except what you can learn from them.

Number 2, this one’s real simple, but people discount it because it’s not shiny enough.

PREPARE THE SHIT OUT OF IT — and I mean prepare the shit out of it. This means that although you are holding your papers, you’re off book. You have your pitches, rhythms and lyrics in your body because you’ve taken the time to do it.

You understand this person you’re being on a cellular, empathetic, and experiential level.

Confidence only comes from competence, and that comes from your current skill level plus PREP.

And put yourself in the table people’s shoes — how do you feel when the person comes in PREPPED and READY? Exactly — good.

And go ahead and let this boost your ego. If you know you work harder than other folks, let that fuel you. Know that it will pay off because it has to in some way.

The same way that you don’t look for completely fair and equal measures based on your input and output, you can also know that there’s still cause-and-effect in the world.

If you put in the work, if you give away incredible work in the audition room, you’re going to get results. It can only have a compound interest.

If you go in and share fantastic skill with someone who makes casting decisions, and that particular project isn’t a fit for you, you’ve built up artistic goodwill with that decider. It’s just human that they’ll want to pay you back for your investment with them with more opportunities for future projects.

Ego is like butter, salt, heat, and sugar — a little conscious and measured addition in your recipe goes a long way.

Number 2A is also important, and that’s this: Be good.

Have a sober and humble estimation of your skills.

Video yourself. Get a good ears on your voice. Get a wise, incisive and kind acting coach on your storytelling.

What are your blind spots? What are your blocks?

Get in there and work on them and become the electric malleable and expressive performer that you yourself can trust to tell a story with honesty and power. If you know, you can do that, imagine the difference that will make when you walk into a room to share your solution to a casting problem.

And Number 3 —

Have something rich and meaningful going on in your life besides this audition.

Your performing career needs to thrive inside a rich and meaningful life. What do you have going on that gives life to you in life to those around you?

Sit down and write down what’s truly most important to you. Who are your people? Who do you love and who loves you?

And this is dramatic, but effective, and let’s face it, we’re dramatic. When you’re on your deathbed, is this audition or this show opportunity going to be the thing you’re thinking about?

If you’re at an appointment and you know that you have a writers’ meeting later that day on the project that you’ve put together or you’re going to meet up with that friend you haven’t seen in a long time, it’ll set you free to put things in context, and you won’t put value on things that you don’t need to put value on.

What is valuable is your preparation and showing up with excellence so that you prove to yourself that you’re a skilled and generous performer, who has a rich depth of artistry to bring to the table.

So, back to those folks booking all those jobs who clearly don’t deserve it and fill you with indignation. Here are some possibilities to weigh:

Maybe they’re better than you think they are. And maybe just because you understand what a good performance entails doesn’t mean that you’re delivering that yourself. I remember when I realized the gap between my intellectual understanding of the thing and my actual physical execution of that same thing. Ouch. And thank God.

Notice what’s in their energy. It might just be bravado, but there’s something in their energy that communicates “I don’t need this.” They’re not thirsty for connection at the party.

And remember, you don’t know their life. You’re judging a performance aesthetic and skill set, and you’re attaching meaning to their character. Stop doing that. Number one, it’s not your business, and number two, it’s a waste of your time while you could be working a messa di voce exercise to get your head and chest voice making terrific friends.

Comes back to work my acting coach Elizabeth said that time.

You’ve got to stand for yourself, and I’m convinced that having the skill, competence, and preparation underneath you is what will give you a substantial foundation that you can plant your feet on. Do that over and over, and great results will show up in your audition in creative life.

So get in there and do the work. There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story on the you can sing. Now go sing.

Who Told You to Emote? Stop It. Nobody wants to see it, and it’s exhausting.

Did you ever have the acting teacher who kept poking until you cried?

Somewhere at the Bogfart’s School of Acting Teacher Witchcraft and Gizzardry, there’s a class:

“How to Make Your Pupils Weep So You Can Validate Your Ego and Tell Yourself You Facilitated a Breakthrough.”

Listed as FORCEDSOB 2937-AB in the catalog.

There’s a lie behind this manipulative pursuit, and that porky is this:

If you really feel it, the audience will, too/love you/think you’re great, and you’ll be a real actor.

I mean, maybe.

But storytelling via pretending to be someone else has more nuance than that.

And please review your own history as an audience member. Survey the times you witnessed an actor really feeling things. What was that like for you?

The most generous thought I may have in such a situation is to say, “Wow, they’re really feeling things.”

Yeah, nobody cares.

On the flip of this, have you ever performed a thing of any kind, felt a little struggle bus about it, experienced frustration, and got mad that things didn’t go according to your plan — only to hear feedback later that what you did really moved them?

That’s happened to me several times, and the fact that my own experience of the event was such a poor barometer really frustrated me.

I was frustrated because my MO was jacked; I was trying to engineer maximum audience adoration rather than do satisfying work and tell an honest, excellent story.

And people can smell that shipoopie.

If you’re singing “Still Hurting” from The Last Five Years, and you’re all “Better act brokenhearted now,” you’re about to be a caricature of Sadness from Inside Out, only not endearing.

And here’s a big reason for that.

Emotion is a result of a whole cascade of thoughts, hormonal interactions, and decisions. It’s not the present tense EVENT.

When you focus on portraying a feeling, you’re way behind the actual narrative.

It’s the same as singers being told to “get it forward.” Resonance, like emotions is a result, and if you try to make it the target, you’re a nanosecond behind what’s really happening. I’ll have to write about that.

This is what I mean.

I’m writing this to you. It’s 5:57am, and I’m in the FLOW.

I hear, “DADDDDYYYY! I NEEEEED YOOOOOUUUU!” above me where the boys’ bedroom is, Jude’s daily rooster call.

I feel

  • jarred from my focused state.
  • sweet in my heart because he’s cute as all get out.
  • annoyed that I have to stop work because every morning I think I can complete something before they wake up, and every morning I’m wrong.

I walk upstairs to their bedroom and feel

  • Grateful for their sweet selves.
  • Deeply entertained by whatever Jude’s hide-under-the-covers surprise morning greeting will be. (Today it was his signature ba-da-bing ba-da-boom. It’s hilarious.)
  • anxious that I won’t be able to get my checks checked on my checklist this morning.
  • guilty that I care so much about my checklist.
  • anxious again that I’m not investing enough quality time with them and forebodingly sad imagining the day when they’re older and won’t be so eager to play knights with plastic swords with Daddy.

And that’s just the top layer.

This is why when Melissa asks me, “What are you thinking about?” I’m like, you mean now or 3 seconds ago?

The point is — I don’t even KNOW what feelings are going to pulse through me. I do things. I have thoughts about them. I tell stories to myself about what’s happening, and boom, emotions.

If I train myself to open my heart and do this while being watched by a room full of folks, somehow that becomes an artful and healing thing. How terrific.

But if I’m like, “Okay, time to act nurturing and agitated at once,” I’m already outside myself trying to shellack an emotional quality on my body, and there’s no way I can be inside the story or behind my own eyeballs.

So remember — emotions will always come. That’s what they do.

Just get clear on who’s who and what’s what. Play pretend, have fun, and be surprised by what happens.

It works, I promise. No demonstrative crying required.

Don’t Ignore It — How Your Gut Brain Can Teach You How to Sing Almost Anything

When Noah was 1, we took a trip to see his Uncle Rob in Albany.

Here’s little collage from that trip.

We were playing on the living room floor one day, and we opened the front door for some sunshine. I noticed the glass storm door wasn’t fastened all the way, and a gentle gut impulse said, “might be a good idea to close that.

My brain countered, “I’m sure it’s fine. Besides, that would require you lift your ENTIRE person off of this soft carpet.”

Two minutes later, Noah decided to get some vitamin D near the door and leaned against the glass. Poor bug didn’t expect the door to MOVE, and before I could catch him, he was nose-down on the front step.

I felt terrible for not acting on that simple prompt just to click the door latch.

I can’t tell you how many times my guts have sent up a warning flare that I ignored. And every time, I could track back to the moment when the gentle nudge bubbled up followed by the immediate rationalization not to act on it.

Scientists have been learning all kinds of mind-blowing things about our gut-brain, the enteric nervous system.

And you’ve got your own list of gut-negation palm-to-forehead moments. While you don’t have to understand all the science, you and I both know all kinds of information comes from the most surprising corners of our bodies.

This is terrific news for theatre singers.

Here’s why.

When you know your gut has truth to tell, you can turn up your receiver volume when you craft a song.

You understand that your body can teach you to make any sound.

And it’s silly easy. Here’s how you do it.

Take a phrase from your song. Let’s use “My Funny Valentine” by Rodgers and Hart.

We’ll use the lyric, “Yet, you’re my favorite work of art.”

Step 1: Just say the lyric.

Like you’re a robot. Let the meaning and the image occur to you.

I saw a marble statue and remembered my voice teacher Cathy sang this at a wedding many years ago.

And then I remembered a joke that says, “How many cabaret singers does it take to sing ‘My Funny Valentine’? Apparently, all of them.” 

See? all kinds of stuff can generate from one phrase. “Oh the tricks your mind can play.”

Step 2: Say it again.

“Yet, you’re my favorite work of art.” And let more images come. Open your heart to your personal connection to the images.

Now I think about the times I look over at Melissa in the kitchen when we’re in the trenches, and she just looks beautiful. It’s usually when she declares she’s in the depths of frumptastic, but there’ll be a smile line on her face or a little sarcastic aside she’ll say, and I’m grateful we get to share our life.

On another day, something else might come up. Biscuits. Or the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Notice these images may or may not be logically related to the lyric.

Step 3: Notice where your body lights up when you say the lyric and see the things.

You’ll feel emotional energy well up somewhere. It’s often subtle, so tune in. Dial your attention to where your body experiences “you’re my favorite work of art.”

Right now, I’m cozy in my solar plexus, and my throat gets an excited twinge.

Step 4: Now just witness that place with the energy, and sing the phrase while you look at it.

You’ll get key information about your personal relationship to the lyric, and you’ll notice how your body has a clear opinion on how to sound that phrase.

Your head brain will be a little frustrated, too, because the knowledge lives deeper down, and it can’t put it in a spreadsheet.

As you do this work, the phrases become part of you, so when you sing them, they’re arising from images emanating from your own psyche.

And here’s the secret sauce to this whole thing.

You have to open yourself to all the crazy dream-scapey things your subconscious mind tosses up. Just like in life.

You may say, “Yet, you’re my favorite work of art,” and you remember your dad telling you to stop using the front counter railings at the Mt. Airy Burger King as parallel bars when you were in 3rd grade. Brains are like that.

Sometimes you feel blindsided, and you can handle it. You’re a courageous storyteller, and you chose to stand on stages and tell the truth.

And guess what — when you open yourself up to that kind of input rather than trying to traffic-direct every image you meticulously crafted in your homework, you let yourself be a human.

Your brain recognizes that you’re humaning, and you can relax and let the story flow the way it wants to that time. It’ll be different the next.

And who knows — maybe you’ll clear up your gut-brain highway so much, you’ll readily respond when your wise body tells you to close the storm door all the way.

But your consciousness well is going to offer up buckets overflowing with images singular to you, because after all — there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,
Dan

The Liberating Truth that Will Change Your Musical Theatre Auditions for Good

The Actual Way to Audition for Musicals and Stand Out from the Confusion Crowd

I had a shoot-myself-in-the-character-shoe habit back in my busy audition days.

I hid.

I mean, I was physically there. In the room. But I was playing a high-level game of hide and seek.

Only the table people didn’t know.

They thought I was coming in to share my ideas and preparation for a role. Silly.

Nope. Not my purpose.

I wanted to show a teeny facet of my skill set that I felt comfortable about. And then I wanted some wise person shuffling resumes to notice the ember of performance genius smoldering inside me just waiting them to get the bellows and provide the oxygen.

Like Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy, they’d say, “You know, you’re really terrific. The world needs what you have. We’re going to give you a lead role in our show because you’re so good. And when we do that, you’ll finally know that you’re a real boy.”

It never happened that way.

I mean, auditions led to roles, and I worked, but I lost count of the times my soul played possum in the audition room.

I obscured my energy. I didn’t share a clear point of view. I didn’t know what my point of view was.

Performers have this problem. Often, what draws us to the stage is people clapping for us. This was a big magnet for me.

We get the back pats, and so we set out to get more of them.

I did this in life too, always assessing what was going to garner approval from the big people around me. I wanted connection and support, so I paid attention to what got me that.

So, in the audition room in front of a table full of folks you probably don’t know and who aren’t there to develop a deep friendship, the cues for how to get the ‘at-a-boys are limited.

But I still looked.

I mean, I was still trying to figure out how to order in a NY Diner without losing my mind. Making integrated choices about a character’s psychological world was going to be a few years off.

But the problem was that I believed one central falsehood:

It was about me.

I mean, yes, my self-person was the one coming in the room singing the songs, but that’s not what the casting folk were concerned with.

They wanted to know if the B-flat on “Maria” was going wrong because I was sick or because my technique fell apart under pressure.

But it wasn’t about my eternal soul.

It was a simple question: Can this guy do the things we need in this show, and does he seem like a reasonable human to work with? Add to that all the other sausage making that goes into getting a show on a stage, and you see real quick that you’re the last thing they’re thinking about.

It’s liberating info.

And once I had a chance to see a few casting processes from behind the table, it became clear how fleeting an actor’s time in a room is.

Again, this was liberating.

Trying to guess what someone wants is a road to crazy town. In the audition room and in your relationships.

I mean, if you know your friend loves Magnolia Cupcakes, and it’s their birthday, you know what to do.

But trying to crack the code so you can win the approval prize is never a great setup. It tells the one you’re trying to please, “You’re above me, and you control my wellbeing.”

Nobody wants to be in charge of that.

The other thing this does? It makes what you’re offering cloudy. Instead of a clear proposal, you’re wasting time with the equivalent of, “It doesn’t matter to me. What do you wanna do?”

Instead you can take the risk to say, “Let’s go for Thai.”

They maybe looking for Ethiopian that day, but at least you made a bid. And who knows? Maybe they hadn’t considered how delicious a Panang curry might taste.

And think about what your brain does when someone says, “Oh, I’m fine with whatever.”

You’re immediately annoyed at the cognitive load you have to take on.

So, when you go into an audition, answer a question. Have an opinion. And prepare the hell out of demonstrating how you’d solve the problem.

Michael Kostroff says, “Always take care of them. Never ask them to take care of you.”

That sums it up.

Make your offer clear. If you’re confused, they will be, too, and as a smart marketing person said a long time ago (and like it or not, if you’re auditioning, you’re marketing) “a confused mind always says no.”

The Truth About Your Authentic Sound

We mean well, but voice teachers are often sending students off on a quixotic quest to find “their authentic voice.”

Theater singers of all kinds have spent a lot of time on this search for what their “sound” is.

When you’re a theater singer, your job is to embody multiple different ego identities. You don’t want to be a singular brand because that limits the myriad expressions you’re capable of.

Biologically, empirically, and scientifically, you already showed up on the planet with a singular voice that has never been and will never be repeated. Your particular combination of lungs, larynx, and vocal tract is your own.

This Used to Freak Me Out, and It’s Key to You Singing With Your Authentic Voice

Plane trips. They used to freak me out. 

It wasn’t the fear of flying.

The first time I was on a plane, it was summer before 6th grade, and our family flew to CALIFORNIA to visit my Aunt Susan and Uncle Dubby.

They had a pool and EVERYTHING. ?

When I saw the 30,000-foot view for the first time, I thought, “Wow, I’m teeny.”

For the next 25 years, plane trips would incite this minuscule anxiety. Suddenly, it was super sad that none of the folks driving their ant cars down below in New Jersey knew or cared who I was.

(I’m told this is a very specific trait of my personality type. If you know the Enneagram, I’m a deep Type 4, the Individualist. Picture me in a black turtleneck, a beret and mauve scarf smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and listening to Edith Piaf on a Gramophone, and you’re getting in the neighborhood.)

My anxiety about being unknown followed me everywhere: London Underground escalators, road trips past unknown cities, and crowed theaters.

In world religion class, I learned that most Eastern traditions didn’t even believe in a self! ?

Good thing the James Webb Telescope came along in my 40s; my lil ego might not have been able to take all that galactic incomprehensibility. 

It boiled down to this: I longed to be known, understood, and loved. 

It’s still a primary need.

Whenever Melissa and I get crossways and we’re not hearing each other, I often say “I just want you to UNDERSTAND me!”

This significance panic wouldn’t mellow until my late 30s. My conversion to coziness in my infinitesimal tininess came through a major life pulverization.

Getting spiritually and emotionally pummeled cracked a lot of barriers, and as Leonard Cohen sang, “That’s how the light gets in.”

I couldn’t let it in before that. I couldn’t receive love in everyday, ordinary ways. 

That’s one of the reasons the stage drew me like a moth to the spotlight; the force you feel from applause felt like the necessary amount to get the approval from the outside to the inside where I wanted it so badly.

The only thing about using applause as your love supply is that it metabolizes like cotton candy, and before you know it, you’re performing everywhere you go.

The life pulverization I’m talking about was a divorce, but it wasn’t the heartbreak and hurt I hollered through that created the love-greeting fissures.

It was the wince-filled survey of those I’d hurt during the years of the relationship. I’d said okay to being isolated, and I pushed away ride-or-dies who went on loving me while I was stuck.

The thing that cracked the barriers and let love in was two words: “I’m sorry.”

I said, “I’m sorry for how I hurt you.” I couldn’t pay it back. I couldn’t undo the damage.

And most of my people said, “I forgive you. I missed you, and l love you.”

I saw I was capable of damage and destruction. And I saw those who loved me were capable of showing me mercy.

This was the event that let the message in: “You are loved, and your teeny, significant diamond of a soul is here to love and be loved.”

Now planes are peachy. I look at the cloud tops and the towns below, and I think, “Wow this is so big, and we’re just a wee little tiny place in the back of a smallish galaxy that’s one of uncountable galaxies.” I’m astounded by brain-stopping awe and cradled in a belief that I’m individually seen, cared for, and loved.

If we as singing storytellers could absorb a piece of this — if we could stand on a stage trusting in our little part in the wondrous whole knowing we’re miraculously and mathematically unrepeatable — what kind of heart do you think we’d open to those listening?

This is the integration I want for every singer who shares a song.

You’ve heard me harp about the exhausting advice that says you have to stand out and all the ways we compete and try to do cooler tricks. 

What if you knew your stand-out was a given? What if you knew down deep in your knower that your inimitable soul is a captivating generator of storytelling healing, and all you have to do is your homework and then open the door to that?

THAT’S an authentic sound. And it’s transferrable to any style you sing and any character’s story you’re privileged to embody.

My hope for you — that you’ll let love in through all the ordinary and everyday channels it shows up through and that you’ll be able to open your heart and share it when you sing. 

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

Love MUCH,

Dan

PS I made you another playlist! Here’s Vibrato Summer Camp. A series of videos that walk you through all the ways vibrato can be delicious, frustrating, mystifying, and terrific, and will give you understanding so that you know how to troubleshoot your own vibrato issues when they arise. 

And if you haven’t already, please subscribe to the YouTube channel. Besides this email, I’m going to make YouTube the platform I focus on for sharing the good singing word.

But yeah! Subscribe! There’ll be good teachy stuff as well as some quality entertainment coming your way. Join me!  

Make Your Connection Through Musical Clues and Get Into Your Character’s Point of View

The musical language of a song has so much to tell us about what’s going on inside the character. It’s one of the richest places to look for clues about what’s happening in your internal weather.

When you’re aware of what the composer’s up to, just listening to the collaborating music does so much work for you.

After this layer of work, you’re more than ready so slip in behind the character’s point of view — to use the information you’ve gathered about their life and their circumstances and the musical language to then take a look from behind their eyeballs.

How to Craft Your Singular Connection to Your Material

After you’ve done your preliminary objective work about the material, you’re ready to see how the images in the narrative connect to you personally and on an authentic level.

In this video, I’ll walk you through a few phrases from Sunday in the Park with George to show you the first steps of crafting your own intimate imagery world, and to start to get the images of the song into your own heart so that when you sing it, it’s coming from inside your own experience.

There’s really nothing more captivating than a human sharing their heart in story and song, and I found this way of working to be very straightforward, satisfying, and useful.

It’s also one of the most direct ways to let your body teach your voice what to do moment to moment and style style.

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:

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