Chords of Strength

  Even with the nightly text message, you never knew exactly how each day would play out. You had to be ready for anything, and the one thing you knew for sure was that your life was completely dedicated to the show. It didn’t matter what the schedule was, you had to do whatever they said and be wherever they wanted you. There was not much wiggle room for anything, and because we were all committed, we just played along and did what we were told.

  A lot of the time while I was at “school,” my dad would start working on the arrangements; then we’d talk about them and figure out which song had the best potential. I’d learn them, and together we’d try to figure out how to make the performances interesting. The challenge each week was to find ways to build unique and special moments into each song. We would ask ourselves, “Are there any obvious places we can build in a special moment at a certain point in the song? Is there something that we should change?” We were always on the hunt for those moments. I knew that I needed to do something a little bit different to each song, even if that meant just holding a note out a tiny bit longer or changing the melody slightly. I remembered his insights from when I was younger, and knew that he was right now more than ever. I had to make the music somehow unique if I wanted to stand out. Even though I would always rehearse, my mission for each show was to sound spontaneous and in the moment. I was lucky to have my father by my side because our musical intuition is very similar, which I think made it easy to speak the same language when it came to working on the arrangements.

  Looking back, I think I felt the freest at the beginning of the competition because at that point even if people did have expectations of me, they couldn’t have been that high. Ironically, the moment the positive feedback started is when the fear of failure really set in, because I knew that people would always want me to do better than the last time. For Seventies Week on the second live show, I sang “Imagine,” and even though everyone loved it, I felt that I sort of set myself up for disaster. I didn’t even know what I had done to receive such a good response, so I didn’t think there was a way for me to be able to repeat it, never mind outdo it. Now everyone had this image of me that I would have to uphold. After “Imagine,” no one even remembered that I had sung “Shop Around” the first week, which was a fun, up-tempo song that is generally a crowd-pleaser. But each week was a completely unique experience, sixties, seventies, eighties, Beatles, whatever style or genre we were assigned, it was always a fun challenge to find a song from the list that I felt I could make my own. Some weeks were easier than others, but in the end, each one had some interesting lesson to impart.

  Still, though, there was always some kind of curveball. For example, two days after I sang my first rendition of “Imagine” during the second week, I felt like I was getting hit with another cold and my voice just quit working. I just couldn’t get anything out. It was really stressful, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to deliver without full use of my voice. I was pretty sure I was simply coming down with something, but to be safe I consulted Dr. Nassir, the same specialist who had given me the vocal paralysis diagnosis years back when I was on Star Search. He was happy to help like always, and he said he couldn’t believe that I was still able to sing. After scoping my throat again, he pulled up the pics of my cords from now and before when he originally scoped them. They looked totally different from each other, which was really scary. He explained that I still had a paralyzed vocal cord, but that my cords had found a way to work around the condition because by some miracle, they were vibrating despite what medically wasn’t supposed to be able to happen. Despite this physical abnormality, I was able to get the songs out. The one vocal cord, it seemed, had actually grown up over and around the weak one in order to adjust for the other one not working. So in the end, it really was just a winter cold or something this time; and I’m pretty sure lack of sleep didn’t help either. It was only the beginning and I was already feeling worn out. But I got through it by resting my voice whenever I wasn’t rehearsing and just had faith that whatever was meant to be would be.

  So that week was Eighties Week, and I decided to sing “Another Day in Paradise.” It wasn’t the strongest song for me, but I kind of felt I needed to play it a little safe with my voice feeling so weak. This was also an opportunity to play the piano, even though I didn’t have a lot of time to practice because I was originally going to sing “Every Breath You Take” and changed my mind at the last moment. I started to feel that the lyrics to “Every Breath” were a little too . . . um . . . stalkerish. My friends actually used to call it the stalker song, so I wanted to make sure that my song choices would reflect my character and values as genuinely as possible, and felt that “Another Day in Paradise” was more attuned to who I am. That song isn’t necessarily a “singer’s song” and is not really upbeat or happy, but it’s about real life and serious issues, such as poverty and the idea of not taking anyone for granted. Playing the piano was an opportunity to also show that I was a rounded performer, someone who could connect to every part of the song, not just hold a note or handle a long vibrato. It was so gratifying to be able to play the piano live in front of so many people after years of feeling like I wasn’t any good. I was starting to understand the piano as an extension of my performance, a tool that could help me relay the emotion of a song, and another incredible way for me to express myself musically. I was finally starting to feel more confident with myself as a musical person.

  But it certainly wasn’t easy. Every time I sang, I expected to get ripped apart by Simon. It became a running joke with some of my fellow contestants, who were all well aware of my self-image issues. But as I saw it, this self-doubt was a way of being honest with myself, of keeping myself in check. In fact, I didn’t see it as a bad thing. I was harder on myself than the judges ever were. I thought I’d be lucky if there was one person out there watching me on TV who might be affected in some tiny way by my singing. If I could accomplish only that, I’ve succeeded. But I didn’t think I was really what the judges were looking for. I thought they were looking for “real” singers. Actually, I thought they were looking for stars. And that wasn’t me.

  Playing piano has brought me to a whole new level of musicianship

  Anytime I got positive feedback from the judges I was surprised. I had a hard time understanding what they heard in me. I thought, Why are they so impressed? I didn’t get it. And instead of being happy when I did receive positive feedback, I would see it as some kind of burden: Now they have even more expectations of me, I would think, and next week they’re going to be disappointed if I don’t deliver. I’d get worried thinking that people would want whatever happened before to happen again and, honestly, a lot of the time I didn’t even know what had happened in the first place! I didn’t have a formula, and I didn’t have a plan I could duplicate each week. I’d just hope I had picked a good song that America and the judges would like, go up there, open my mouth and hope for the best.

  On certain occasions, it seemed that maybe the judges were actually feeling what I felt when I sang, and that maybe their positive reactions were a reflection of those emotions. I started to think about what it was that was giving me the courage to get up there each time, curious about how someone as naturally introverted as myself could make it through a grueling process such as this one. The answer that came to me was a lot simpler than I’d imagined: From the moment I’d start to sing (onstage or in a rehearsal), I would just allow myself to flow. I’d almost forget where I was. Whatever I was thinking about before would disappear and in its place would come only thoughts about the song. This let me pour my heart out into each song and connect to its feeling, whether I had gone through something like that or not. Thankfully, I’ve always been emotionally affected by music, and I think it’s what has always helped me tap into the feeling that would guide each song. The music itself would always lead the way for me, its power stamping out the fear and killing the doubt. The music was the thing that saved me each time. After a while it started to feel li
ke living in some sort of protected bubble. Everything was taken care of for us; we didn’t have to decide what to do each day, much less cook, clean or do laundry, so all we had to focus on was singing our best. We weren’t supposed to go out by ourselves because we needed security with us at all times. When we had to go somewhere, we would move in specially designated vans, and for the most part we traveled together everywhere we went. The other contestants were my family for half a year. We pretty much spent all of our time together, forever sitting in the same rooms together waiting for things to happen. The only people we could relate to were one another, and the only zone of comfort we knew was this new little world that we had created together.

  I spent all of my time between my hotel, the room where I studied and the studio. That’s it. I got so pale because I never saw sun. I started to forget what “normal life” felt like, and sometimes even got scared that I wouldn’t know how to readapt when it was time to go back. I became very close with my studio teacher because she was one of the only people (other than my fellow competitors and my dad) I saw regularly. She became an all-purpose friend and counselor—teaching, supporting and listening to me. She was totally objective and had no agenda other than my well-being. I made a concerted effort to stay off the Internet as much as possible, because the people from Idol recommended it, and I didn’t feel it was important to know what people were thinking about me. I knew how the show worked, and having been an eager fan of it myself, I knew the Web was teeming with chatter about this or that singer. I was afraid of what I would see. I honestly didn’t want to know what people thought of us. I knew that if I looked, I could easily run the risk of getting upset about it, which would only make me go backward emotionally. I had to stay focused on staying positive. I did that by staying close to God and to my beliefs. But trying to be a normal teenager definitely started to feel a bit surreal. The closer we got to the finals, the more text messages I started to receive from the most random people in the world. Messages from people who I had seen my whole life but who never even noticed that I existed before they saw me on TV. My phone was always flickering and ringing to the point that I just had to ignore it. I was overwhelmed with everything else going on; the last thing I could think of was how to explain my new reputation to friends (and strangers!) whom I hadn’t even told I would be here to begin with.

  I knew that all of the messages were coming from a good place and more than anything people just wanted to show love and support, but honestly, it was too much, and too fast for me to feel comfortable with it. The entire framework of my social life changed radically in a matter of weeks. That just felt weird. As we got further into it, the only people I could really relate to were the people in the competition, because they knew exactly what I was going through. We were all going through it together: the self-doubt, the self-image issues, and the fear of never really knowing if you’re good enough to keep going. For five months, these were the kinds of things that we woke up thinking about, and also the feelings that we’d inevitably go to bed thinking about. Once we made it to the Top 12, we moved out of the hotel and into an apartment. Our roommate for the first couple of weeks was Chikezie who was an all around great guy! My dad and I had to share a room at first, but after Chikezie was voted off in week 10, we each were able to have our own room, which was good for us both to have at least one spot where we could have some privacy.

  Getting into the Top 12 was a big milestone, and I began to feel the stress of the quickly progressing season. That week was the most difficult one of the whole season because of everything that had to happen: photo shoots, interviews, iTunes versions of our songs, arrangements that turned out different from we had expected, the Ford commercials, school, rehearsals. I felt like I was completely overwhelmed. Plus all of the other minor kids were now gone so it was just me in school, no one else to share that with. We had helped support one another for those first few weeks so it was difficult when I was the last one there.

  As a result of all the hectic events of that week, a new stage, me going last and having to remember to walk downstairs while I was singing, in a moment of panic, I completely forgot the words to “We Can Work It Out.” Nightmare City! But you know what? I totally surprised myself and didn’t get upset. Instead, I thought, Okay, David, what’s done is done. Maybe you can learn something from this. Sometimes a little bump like this makes you stronger. I was actually proud of myself for being able to take the criticism, including Simon calling it “a mess.” This was after the previous week when he’d said my performance was “a little boring.” Given how insecure I was, you might think this would have torn me apart. But I think because of my self-doubt, I was able to stay open to whatever the judges had to say. I never took their comments personally and always tried to look for the helpful lesson in their critique. Their criticism didn’t bother me at all. Instead, it motivated me to do better because it gave me a point of reference. I was thankful for the honesty of such an experienced group of people after so many years of hearing from friends and family that I “had talent.” I was hungry to hear the advice of someone who would be willing to go deeper with me; and the Idol judges always came through that way. I wasn’t there for pats on the back—I was there to evolve. It gave the whole experience professionalism and kept the standards of the music high.

  The Top 12!

  But I was living a funny little paradox: On the one hand, I was part of a serious competition, which we realistically know implies “winning” as an objective. But on the other hand, I also knew that my own motivation had absolutely nothing to do with winning. I was there because I felt deeply that I had been handed a blessing, and to ignore that blessing would be wrong. The longer I stayed in the competition, the stronger this feeling got, and I accepted the idea that I was actually supposed to be there. I kept telling myself, “If I am still here, there must be a good reason, even if it’s a reason that I can’t clearly understand.” But I constantly found myself trying to come to terms with the whole “pressure to win” versus enjoying the experience itself. Because for me, it was just that—an experience—a moment in my life that I’d always be able to look back on with pride, knowing that I gave it my all and worked as hard as I could.

  Each time I found myself second-guessing myself or questioning my singing, I would tell myself to work that much harder. It was on me to show the judges and fans just how much I love music, to show them how songs could be magical and reach out and make people feel certain sensations and inspirations. Every day I reminded myself that this was my goal, and at each moment of the contest, I would try to look for little ways to make myself stand out more and more. Not so that I could win—but so that I could fully express my passion for music. Around this time, we also participated in a charity event called Idol Gives Back, which was a whole other show on top of everything else that we were doing. Everything else that normally went on continued as usual, but we had this extra show to also think about, which was so much more work. It was for a good cause, so we were happy to do it, but it was an insane week. It included appearances by people like Gloria Estefan, Mariah Carey, Sarah Silverman, Reese Witherspoon, Annie Lennox, Alicia Keys, Celine Dion, Snoop Dogg, Bono, and Fergie, to name a few. So despite the extra workload, we were all pretty thrilled to be able to participate. But there were many other things about being there that were not so easy to handle. Here’s an incident that always comes to mind: On the results show of Top 7 week, we were split into two groups. In one group they put Syesha Mercado, Brooke White, and Kristy Lee Cook. The other group was Carly Smithson, David Cook, and Jason Castro. The producers decided it would be interesting to announce that I was safe and ask me which group I thought I belonged to. I have to admit, this didn’t sit well with me. I hated the idea of having to pick groups, so I protested by not going to either side; instead, I sat down right in the middle of the stage, which people may have thought was cute and all, but it was really just my way of doing what I thought was right. Everyone seemed to think it was funny,
but the honest truth is that I wasn’t about to try to make a choice between my fellow Idol family. Paula was even signaling with her hand for me to sit down, so I thought I did the right thing and felt weird that they would put me in that position.

  trying to be a normal teenager definitely started to feel a bit surreal.

  You’d think that by this point I would have become a lot more confident and carefree onstage, but truthfully, the closer we got to the end, the less sure of myself I felt. There was so much emotion surrounding these last few shows that between the crazy schedules and the levels of hysteria in the air, many times I didn’t know how I could possibly juggle it all.

  The whole fame thing was tricky, too. Remember, I was in a bubble for five months straight, pretty much living in the apartment and at the FOX studio, where my life was all about arranging, rehearsing, school and everything Idol. So you can imagine how weird it was to fly back home to Utah during Top 3 week, only to see that the entire city had come out to greet me like one gigantic family waiting for a long-lost son. I figured I had “fans,” since I kept getting voted through, but it seemed more theoretical than anything. Seeing the crowds in person, I was blown away. Words honestly can’t even begin to describe how grateful and flattered I felt at the citywide welcome that I received. There was a huge celebration and swarms of people, total strangers really, who’d made a special effort to show their support. I couldn’t believe how many people came out to see me, how much they appreciated what I was doing, and how happy they were for me. I could really see the pride in their eyes. I had left Utah as a scared kid with a bundle of nerves and no real sense of direction, and now here I was back home to what felt like total jubilation! I didn’t know how to wrap my head around it, let alone how to respond to the crowds. I tried to be sweet and positive and to always show my gratitude for everyone’s love and support. But because I’m a total introvert, it was a lot more challenging than people might think.