I really wanted to be an
American Idol. I even auditioned twice. The first time, I showed off my R&B stylings; the second time, I went full-on drama-club-kid and belted out a Broadway ballad. I didn't make it past the first round either time. But the odds are slim and the stakes are high. During any given season, as many as 100,000 hopefuls audition, of whom only 36 make it to the official start of the
competition. Last year's finale drew 30 million viewers, and past winners, such as Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood, have gone on to sell platinum albums and win Grammy awards.
Sure, I was temporarily crushed to not have joined their ranks. But I've put my quest to good use: I've done a deep analysis of the contestants, and their effects on the audience that votes them to the top. I'm not just an entertainer, you see. I am a psychologist who studies creativity and talent. Talent has everything to do with who wins Idol; brilliance is hard to ignore. But my close look at the show's last eight seasons has led me to conclude that Idol can help academics and fans alike reconceptualize "talent" in the context of show biz. It's not just singing ability. It's a startlingly unique combination of many different traits, and a couple of things that lie outside the contestants' control.
I didn't get to be an Idol, but I think I've finally cracked its code.
DIVAS AND DILETTANTES
Waiting in line with my father for an audition ticket back in 2005, I never felt more ordinary. I had thought my Afro and stylish corduroy jacket would make me stand out, but I spotted at least three others with the same look. Certainly, my background seemed unique: I was a voice major at Carnegie Mellon University. The first time I auditioned for Idol, I had hopes that the show could advance my musical theater career. Unfortunately, my rendition of All My Life by K-Ci & JoJo didn't get me past the first hurdle. Now, in line for my second audition, in 2007, I decided to stay true to myself and sing an upbeat, inspiring musical theater song—"This is the Moment" from Jekyll & Hyde.
Melodic sounds and flamboyant fashions were all around me. Two girls in particular were gaining a lot of attention: One had a heavenly voice and was surrounded by an enraptured crowd as she practiced. The other was dressed up like an angel and was getting escorted about with a
team of cameras all around her to capture her lame vocals. To the surprise of everyone auditioning, Dressed-Like-An-Angel got through to the next round, while Sang-Like-An-Angel was immediately dismissed. What was going on?
On the televised show, auditions start with the celebrity judges—Simon Cowell, Randy Jackson, Paula Abdul (who has been replaced in Season 9 by Ellen DeGeneres), and Kara DioGuardi—screening an array of colorful contestants. But in reality, Idol hopefuls must first sing in front of professional talent scouts. Only a couple hundred in each city get through this stage. Those who continue undergo interviews and sing again for the executive producers.
When it was my turn to sing, I started in a lower range than I intended, perhaps even lower than humans are capable of hearing. I went from Scott Barry to Barry White. I decided to make the best of the situation. Singing as melodramatically as I could (which, in the context of musical theater would be considered quite normal), I clasped my heart, swayed from side to side, and professed: "This is the moment! Damn all the odds! This day, or never, I'll sit forever with the gods!" After my 10 seconds of song, the surrounding crowd broke into applause. But after a few seconds of deliberation, the scouts turned to my small group and told us rather robotically that we weren't what they were looking for.
Maybe I should have come with a gimmick. At these early stages, the producers are looking for two types of people: those who show potential to compete and those who will be good for a laugh. People in the second category might just be trying for their 15 minutes of fame, but some of them actually believe they are the best "undiscovered talent" in America. Such self-distortion seems to be quite common among young adults. Researchers James C. Kaufman and Michelle Evans looked at college-age students' perceptions of their own creativity in math, science, writing, and art and found very little agreement between self-ratings and expert ratings of their output. Self-delusion cuts across all boundaries—age, sex, ethnicity, and education.
The researchers labeled their results "The American Idol Effect." They might have been referring to someone like Fookling Benita Lee. She bypassed high school, learned three instruments, and was attending graduate school at Harvard University when she auditioned for the celebrity judges. Such precocity didn't help her with her "bloody awful" (in the words of Simon) performance of "I Can't Stand the Rain." Paula astutely observed: "You obviously heard in your own head something different than we heard." Perhaps by skipping high school, she missed out on some crucial feedback.
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