But Jesus, if the Red Hot Chili Peppers heard the way the guitarist messed up that easy progression, they’d probably throw tomatoes and eggs at the stage. After about ten seconds, the lights on one side of the stage go out. I can’t tell which judge did it, but I don’t blame them. Five seconds later, the lights on the other side shut off, leaving a strip of light down the center. Three seconds after that, the stage goes dark. Number One’s dreams of stardom are over. Just like that. He mopes off the stage. It must suck to come all this way and get no feedback as to why the judges turned off the lights.
The guy to my left whispers, “They’re harsh. I won’t even make it past the first round.”
“Don’t give up yet,” I tell him.
The stagehand calls for number two.
A girl dressed in a plaid skirt and French braids saunters onto the stage and announces she’s singing “Don’t Speak” by No Doubt. Her performance is not bad, but I’m not getting any soul out of her. Men in the audience, however, stand up and cheer for her. Or for her outfit. I don’t know which. Only one light goes out.
“Not bad,” Dave Matthews says into his mike. “I’d like to see what else you’ve got.”
“You have talent,” Annie Lennox adds.
“I like your vibe,” Joel Madden comments.
Jesse sips his coffee before speaking into the microphone. “I turned out the lights. I was bored.”
The crowd gasps.
Ten singers later, it becomes apparent that Jesse is the “harsh” judge.
Jesse tells a rocker girl that “if you don’t loosen up, your body’s gonna freeze. Do some yoga or something.”
I almost burst out laughing when he tells one guy that his voice reminds him of Sebastian from The Little Mermaid. “You’re singing out of your nose, not your stomach.”
He tells a boy who looks younger than I am, “Go out and live a little, ’cause there’s no emotion in your voice.”
I peer at the producers, and they’re engrossed and nodding at each other. They love Jesse’s drama.
Liam the jazz pianist plays next, and he is awesome. He has this strange Irish rocker, jazzy vibe. No lights turn off during his rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight.”
I cheer as Jesse gives his first positive critique of the day: “Big-time.”
During the break, I go to the bathroom. Two girls are bawling because they had their lights turned off. I give them tissues and tell them how much I liked their duet. They thank me as they wipe their noses. What will they do after this when they go home? Practice more? Go solo? Find a third member? Whatever they do, I hope they don’t lose hope after this one audition.
The most amazing singer so far is a girl—she can’t be older than eight or nine—who performs a slow version of “Since You’ve Been Gone.” Everyone hollers and whoops for her, including the judges.
Jesse tells her, “If you made an album today, I’d buy it,” and the girl starts crying right there on the stage. I’m happy for the little girl, and for Jesse, because I can tell how much he loved making her life change.
The stagehands are ushering contestants on and off the stage like it’s a science, so by the lunch break, we’re already up to number 148. All but thirty-two singers get cut! What is that? One in five odds?
I’m up after lunch.
Lunch?
“Oh my God.” I scan the spread they’ve laid out for us in the Rainbow Room. The restaurant is at the very top of the building and has gorgeous views of the Empire State Building and Central Park. I wish Mom and Sam could see this, but lunch is contestants only. I take pictures of the city below until the buffet lines die down.
I grab a plate and head for the pasta station. Jesse’s face appears over my shoulder. “That’s too heavy. You shouldn’t eat that before your performance.”
“Well, what do you suggest? A Tofurky?”
Jesse starts laughing and leads me to a table covered in sushi, which is something I’ve never had before.
“What’s in it?” I ask, as Jesse drops a sushi roll onto my plate.
“Raw eel.”
“Ugh!” I wrinkle my nose. “I like you, Jess, but not enough to eat that.”
“Oooh, try the calamari.” Jesse scoops a little fried thing onto my plate. “It’s squid.”
“Ugh!”
Singers who haven’t auditioned yet give me and Jesse dirty looks, but I don’t care. After we’ve loaded up our plates, we sit at a table overlooking Central Park, and I tell him about the road trip as we dig into lunch. As much as Jesse loves sushi, apparently that love does not extend to chopsticks. He eats it with his fingers. The other judges didn’t choose to eat with the contestants, so it’s pretty cool that Jesse’s here, and he doesn’t get weird when other people stop by our table to chat. He and that cool Irish singer Liam even seem to hit it off.