But it was not just my parents who were encouraging me to audition. Friends and other relatives, too, started to put the bug in my ear, and even though I tried to ignore them all, I have to admit that the question of whether to go or not started to nag at me a bit. I really tried to push the whole thing out of my mind, but for some reason, I just couldn’t. When someone would ask me if I was planning to go, I’d instantly say no; but as each day passed that “no” would gradually start to blur a bit, confusing me about what the answer should really be. I’m not entirely sure why, but some part of me started to think about the possibility of giving it a go. Maybe it was my instinct or some inner voice, I don’t know—but there just wasn’t any getting away from the feeling that these auditions were somehow calling my name.
My father offered to help me research song options and prepare the arrangements as he always had in the past. But I was still in denial about the whole thing and would dodge these conversations or find some other way to blow it all off. I just couldn’t get past the fact that so much time had passed since my days on Jenny Jones and Star Search. Wasn’t I just a washed-up kid singer with a vocal problem?
My dad felt it might be good to make a few calls to some of the contacts we had made in Hollywood during the Star Search experience to help us get some perspective. What did they think would be best, should I maybe just try it on my own, or would it make sense to try Idol as a vehicle to get some exposure perhaps? Just as I expected, they pretty much discouraged us, saying that it was VERY hard these days to get a deal and that it required an established fan base to get a label to look at you unless you were already on a TV show or were in a movie. They said that Star Search was old news; that our winning moments happened years ago when I was a lot younger and that people would respond differently to me now that I was a totally different person. They didn’t believe that I was relevant anymore, and neither did I. I even thought that maybe I’d only won in the past because I was a kid.
my intention to give it my all was the one variable that I could control
And that wasn’t my only problem: That summer I had taken my first job. I was hired as a sound tech at the Murray Park Amphitheater—a responsibility that I didn’t take for granted and actually considered to be pretty important. To even think about going on the audition, I had to approach my bosses and see how they’d feel about me taking some time off. Needless to say, they were not into it at all and basically told me that if I left it would be pretty certain that I would be out of a job. They were nice, but they were also honest. I get the fact that people are expendable; so I felt that I should hold on to what I had and not get too caught up in an illusion. As I weighed the pros and cons, it just didn’t seem rational to leave my job for something that probably wouldn’t work out anyway. If I left my job to go try out and didn’t get in, it would be a waste of time, plus I would have to find another job. I liked that job; it was a lot of fun, and I worked with all my friends. I’d worked hard to get it. Was it really worth the risk?
Having a job meant having purpose, which was something that I took seriously and was proud to finally be able to do. I was learning a lot, earning a bit of money on my own, and feeling like I was slowly but surely finally starting to grow up. How could I just pick up and go to San Diego and abandon my new responsibility? I wasn’t a little child anymore and I was actually accountable for something. That felt good; it felt empowering. Going to the auditions would mean not only losing my job but spending money on flights and hotels. It seemed like a high price to pay (morally and financially) at a time when I no longer even thought of myself as a “real” singer. I didn’t believe that I would get very far, nor did I have dreams of one day being a pop star. I just didn’t see the point of trying out.
But every day that passed was another day closer to the auditions, and I still couldn’t seem to shake that nagging feeling. Something deep inside was trying to make a point, and after many days and nights of battling the question of whether I should go or not, I chose to do the only thing that I knew would help me decide: I prayed. It was clear that I wasn’t going to be able to come to the decision on my own, so I surrendered to the uncertainty and humbly asked for help. Even though I was literally asking God if I should try out for American Idol, I think what I was really asking is if He still believed in me. I needed to have that moment with God to look inward and honestly confront my deepest motivations, my dreams and my purpose as a person. I felt that I needed some kind of validation, besides the urging of all the people around me, that this was the right thing to do. I had to look deep, I had to ask the basic questions and I had to turn to God for help. And that night I was happy and grateful to discover that He was definitely listening.
I knelt by my bed, closed my eyes and talked to him the only way I knew how: calmly, simply and honestly. I didn’t make a big fuss, and I didn’t get all dramatic about it. I just laid out my questions as openly as I possibly could. At first I felt a bit silly to be praying about something as unimportant as a TV show, because I didn’t want to bother him with something that seemed rather trivial compared to all the other problems in the world. It’s not like I expected a giant hand to come down from the sky and spell out a “yes” or “no” in big blazing letters. But still, slowly but surely, I felt uncertainty about my question starting to come into focus. I don’t know how else to describe it, but I felt an overwhelming sense that I did have to go to the audition in San Diego. It wasn’t something that I could even describe in words—it was more like an overpowering feeling, the kind you can’t really argue with. I didn’t understand in any intellectual or rational way why I needed to do it, but I just deeply felt that I should.
I realized through this comforting and pure feeling that God does care about me, and that by giving me an answer, He was acknowledging my potential. Despite the odds, I felt strongly that I had to go. Even if I failed, I thought to myself that maybe there is something that I need to learn from going. I guess I just have to have faith right now and go with this feeling. I decided that it would have to become my mission to accept all of the opportunities that He laid before me as little blessings, each one a stone for my path. I would accept them with appreciation and give back by trying my best every single time. I realized that just because I’m unsure doesn’t mean that God is as well. With that, I put all of my faith in him and completely changed my attitude about the audition. I made up my mind not to care so much about the destination, and simply enjoy the journey.
Once I made the decision there was a lot of work to do. It was time to come up with the best songs to sing, and to also start thinking about what parts of the song I wanted to highlight. I needed something that I genuinely enjoyed singing but that would also show my vocal range. If I was going to do this, I was determined to do it right, and after years of practicing so many songs, I knew it would be a critical selection. I even started to have fun going through all of the music that I’d accumulated over the years, to finally have a reason to choose the ones that made me the happiest. My dad asked me to make a list of the songs that I thought I would like to sing and then helped me narrow it down to the three or four that seemed to have the best potential for me to connect with. I was torn between “Joyful Joyful” and “I’ll Be,” two songs I knew well and really loved to sing.
It was also time to start thinking about who to tell and what to say about this whole Idol experiment. I’ve never been one to get too riled up over things, and I wanted to keep cool and not make a big deal about it. I decided not to tell any of my friends because I honestly thought that I would be back in Utah right away, and I didn’t want to suffer the humiliation of letting people down. I wanted to stay as realistic as possible, and I didn’t want to turn a potentially disappointing scenario into a shameful return home. It was enough that I had built up the courage to go; but to keep myself sane about it, I felt I really had to keep a low profile.
In fact, right before the auditions in San Diego, I was attending a youth conference with people
from my church, which was kind of like a retreat for kids my age where we rode horses and played games—you know, all the typical camping-type stuff. To make my flight for California on time, I would have to leave the youth conference early. And I felt really bad, because the venue of the conference was out in the middle of nowhere at a ranch in the mountains, about two hours away from the airport.
I didn’t tell anyone at the retreat what my plans were, but we had to make arrangements with the conference leaders for me to get driven to the airport at a certain time. The leaders, of course, wanted to know why, considering that the drive to the airport would be such a trek. The worst part about it was that I didn’t even want to leave the conference; it was such a good time, all my friends were there, and it wasn’t the kind of thing that happened every weekend. It was actually a rare treat and I was having a blast. For a minute there, I was really torn about leaving, thinking about what a colossal waste of time the drive to the airport would actually be. I probably wouldn’t pass the audition and I would have left the conference for no reason.
We ended up telling one of my leaders why I had to leave early. I thought it’d be okay for one person there to know what I was up to; what I didn’t know was how much she liked to talk. I remember seeing her on the phone with my dad, hang up, and then walk over to where the rest of the leaders were sitting. And I could literally read her lips—A-M-E-R-I-C-A-N I-D-O-L—as she told her colleagues about my plan. To make a long story short, word spread quickly, and by the end of the trip, everyone knew. I didn’t make a big deal about it, but inside I was pretty upset with this woman, because the one thing that I really wanted to avoid was a whole bunch of commotion over something that I didn’t think was going to pan out anyway.
My dad and I flew to San Diego together, and just being on the airplane, I could already feel the adrenaline pumping through me. The anticipation was starting, and I started to wonder what it would be like to actually experience the process in person. I remember looking out the window of the plane and just being proud of myself for having the courage to take this risk, but also super-nervous about how it would all play out. Either way, it was going to be some kind of adventure, and from the get-go, I told myself to relax into it and try to enjoy the process, whatever it would be. I didn’t have any expectations about winning and I was well aware of the fact that I would be among thousands of people who were all probably as excited and nervous as I was—and probably a lot more talented, too.
If I thought I had gone to the “School of American Idol” back in season one as a fan, coming back now as a competitor felt like the “University of American Idol.” And this time, I wasn’t just an innocent little boy singing in a lobby with nothing to lose. This time I was part of the game.
Once we got to San Diego, we rented a car and sped over to the general area of the auditions. We were happy to find out that we didn’t really have to stay there in line all night and the next day and that we were able to just drive up and get a wristband without much of a problem. We were told they weren’t even going to allow anyone to stand in line until the morning of the auditions, which was a bit of a relief. I remember when the second season auditions were going on when I was down there for Star Search; we drove over to the Rose Bowl and saw thousands of people with tents, sleeping bags, and fold-up chairs all just waiting until the next day’s auditions. I’m glad they made it a bit easier this year. So after a few hours of rest that night, my dad dropped me off at about two a.m. so I could get what I hoped would be a good spot in line. Oh boy, I thought. This is going to be nuts. There were already if not thousands at least hundreds of people lined up; everyone geared up with snacks and blankets, many of them asleep in lawn chairs, some of them singing or humming, some of them chatting the night away. Most people were just sitting around and waiting. I made friends with some of the people who were near me, and I think some of them felt badly for me because I was just this kid sitting there quietly. I would try to practice a bit to myself, and they would try to reassure me. “We heard you singing. You’ll be okay. Don’t worry,” they said. Even though it was an audition for a competition, there was a warm sense of camaraderie in the air, which was probably just the collective energy of everyone’s excitement to be there.
This time I was part of the game.
I was sitting near a group of people who seemed to be part of a gospel choir, which, of course, made me feel like a fish out of water. All of these big, powerful voices—and little me just sitting there wondering how the heck I was going to deliver. They would not stop singing, which at first was really cool, but after a few hours, I think everyone around them (myself included) just wanted to get some rest. At four a.m. they were still going at it, which I guess shows how determined and pumped they were for what lay ahead. I managed to sneak in an hour or so of sleep, leaning up against the wall of the stadium.
The next morning, we all had to wait in a whole other line, which is when we would get the chance to sing. Having been surrounded by gospel singers with powerful voices, I felt that maybe I should sing something in that genre to show I wasn’t just a pop singer. I wanted to come across as having a soulful voice, too. I thought “Joyful, Joyful” might be a good choice, and that it could show the judges that I had some soulfulness even for a kid from Utah.
After five hours, I finally got a bit closer to the front of the line and we then found out that before we all went in, we were going to have to pose for a bunch of crowd photos. They took what seemed like forever to do the group photos of us for some reason, and I just remember feeling so tired after a night of barely any sleep. I recall wishing that I could be sitting down or even lying on a bed sleeping, and I really was worried about being able to stay awake. The whole thing was totally exhausting—and back then, I didn’t realize that it was only the beginning. Thank goodness, I didn’t. Otherwise I don’t know if I would have been able to brace myself for everything else that was going to happen. The process felt tedious and never ending in every possible way that you could imagine, but it was also kind of cool to see so many other talented singers really going for it. It reminded me of why I was here in the first place and of how excited I used to get when the show first came on. I tried to hold on to that feeling.
The whole operation was super-professional. The producers really ran a tight ship. We were constantly reminded to be on our best behavior, and they were clear about the fact that they wouldn’t tolerate any messing around. I’m not sure exactly what that meant but it made me even more nervous. As the stadium filled with over ten thousand people, we could look down on the field and see a bunch of little tents set up with two to four people sitting at each table, and we saw they were going to have some more group photos and have us sing the theme song for our year before actually starting the auditions. Finally, they started filing off the first section and lined the people up in long lines, four across. I was probably three or four sections in so we figured we had a couple of hours so I just relaxed and watched a bit. My dad was the one trying to figure out exactly what was going on and figured the best thing was to just have me warm up a little bit but not too much. I would just pace myself and get warm and focus on feeling calm. As we waited, we kept looking for people to go to the right and up the steps with their golden ticket. The rejected people who were told they didn’t make it walked out to the left. After what seemed like hundreds of people going to the left, we finally saw someone running up the right side with a golden piece of paper in their hands. Then it was another long wait until we saw another one. I guess this was going to be a very difficult process and I was even more nervous now thinking that there was no way I was going to make it through here in San Diego.
It soon became our section’s turn and we filed off in long lines waiting and waiting. At least I was awake now, right? They set us up in four lines, one of us from each would become a group, and in turn we would then approach the audition tables. The lady I was next to also happened to be from Utah, which was nice to see. She had long blo
nd hair and looked really stylish, and she had a cool voice, too. She helped me relax a bit. I guess a little familiarity can go a long way when you’re nervous. I was the third person to sing in my group, and by the time I got to the very front of the line my exhaustion was replaced entirely with anxiety. The guy who went before me sang the Luther Vandross version of “Superstar,” which totally blew my mind. He sounded so good and I thought, Wow, that guy can be in the Top 24—easily. And just as I had that thought, I heard the judges reject him, which also blew my mind, because I really thought he had what they were looking for. I realized then that this was going to be a lot less predictable than I could have imagined, and there was no telling who the judges were going to favor and who they were going to send home on the spot. I thought, I’m toast. There’s almost no point in trying.
And even though I had sung on national television many times by then, now I was totally petrified. I went up and managed to get out about ten seconds of “Joyful Joyful” before the judges abruptly stopped me. Dang, I thought. They hated it. I really thought that was it for me, and that I was about to be sent home. “David, why don’t you sing something a little more youthful, something a little more . . . you?” they half asked, half instructed. I was totally unsure what they meant, since I’d kind of lost touch with my true identity as a singer over the years. I didn’t even know what was “me” anymore as far as singing went. I only knew that I still loved to do it.
Luckily I had my plan B song, “I’ll Be,” which I had thought about singing before I saw the swarm of gospel singers. There’s a lot to “I’ll Be,” and for some reason, I’ve always really felt comfortable singing it. I didn’t even get to the chorus. I sang thirty seconds and that was that. I thought I’d ruined my chance, because I wasn’t even able to get to the good part of the song. Anyway, I felt that “Joyful, Joyful” was really going to be the song that would let me shine, so after they shut that one down, I thought, Game over. I figured they hated my first song choice, which maybe also tainted the way they would assess me. They thanked me, asked for my name and told the next person in my group to sing. As far as I was concerned, I was done. I was actually relieved that it was over. I felt I had done my bit by showing up and following through, and now I just wanted to sneak out the back door and pretend that none of it had ever happened. I kind of felt like “There, I did it. Everyone happy?”