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Tag: Auditioning

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

TJ’s Value Numero Two: Product–to bring forward

So let’s get one thing clear.

You are not a bag of peanut butter pretzels, however delicious they may be.

But there are some things we can learn and apply from TJ’s value number two:

2. Product-driven. Our strategy emphasizes price, product, access, service, and experience. We want to excel at one, be very good at another, and meet customer expectations on the others.”

If you have been inside a Trader Joe’s store, you have had this thought:

“Well, well, well…I never knew how badly I needed an Everything but the Bagel Sesame Seasoning Blend. But now I do.”

That’s because Trader Joe’s has a way of presenting ideas that excite us and make us say,

“Thank you! What was I even doing pre-Cinnamon Bun Spread?!”

Product = Solution.

When we’re living true to our values, we present solutions to the table people for problems they didn’t even know they had.

There’s the practical solution: I can sing those notes, say those words, look pretty cute while doing so, and I’m kiiiindofa a joy to be with seven hours a day, six days a week…

Then there’s the shiny, irreplaceable realness of you that comes out when you’re focused on what you love to do and what you care most about. Again, back to your values.

If we’re auditioning for a show, the price for our services is usually in a predetermined range.

We are in charge of the product. The word comes from Latin, and it means to bring forward. I love that. It’s generous.

Then the other three aspects fall into line: access (to our heart and emotional life), service (to the story), and experience (one that is real, human, and leaves everyone better than before).

You’re Not Breathin’

My friend Kristin called me out for being a rabid T-ball dad one day at rehearsal.

My MO was to help the young actor essaying the role of Jerome in South Pacific to perform his part in the thrilling opener “Dites-moi.”

I held his 9-year-old shoulders in an encouraging manner and said, “Listen, you’re not breathing. You’ve got to breathe.”

Kristin spotted the parent-coach archetype in this scenario and reflected back my less-than-helpful instruction.

Listen to me, son. You’re not breathin’!”

(This would eventually lead us to craft alter-egos Dick and Francine, a small-town North Carolina power couple who run a studio cultivating triple threat talent. Dance Moms meets Duck Dynasty.)

There ends the story. Here begins the lesson. The first thing we stop doing when we’re in an adrenalized state is breathing.

Auditions, performances, tough conversations, a traffic stop. We stop breathing.

Maybe it’s because we go into grab-it/control-it mode. Our adrenaline and cortisol spike, our frontal lobe checks out, and our nervous system says, “get the hell out or kick something’s ass!”

Neither tactic will be helpful in the above scenarios, especially the traffic stop.

Here’s the good news. We can remember to breathe. And not just breathe, but to count and breathe.

Science has shown us that breathing in a regulated pattern brings the frontal lobe back on line and gives us the ability to think and see while the adrenaline is on full throttle.

In three, out three. In four, out six. In four, hold four, out four. All of them work as long as there is a consistent pattern.

It’s imposing order on autonomic chaos.

Anecdotal evidence: It worked well the other night when our three-month-old wouldn’t settle. He screams, I stop breathing.

But then I said to myself, “Self! You’re not breathin’!”

I tried three-in, three-out while performing the special baby bicep curl bounce that usually calms him. In a minute he chilled, and so did Daddy.

Be aware when tension or cortisol increases. Remind yourself to pick a pattern and breathe to it, and see how it works for you after a minute or two.

If you have eighteen minutes, here is a TED talk by Dr. Alan Watkins speaking about this same thing.