A lot of talented people have taken the first packaged steps to stardom on shows like the FOX hit American Idol and NBC's The Voice. Clay Aiken, Kelly Clarkson, and Katherine McPhee, who will star in the upcoming NBC show Smash, spring to mind. Perhaps The Voice's season one winner Javier Colon will follow in their footsteps.
While I'm not an avid viewer of these shows, I've been thinking about what they tell us about the path to fame, about talent and how it's judged, and what we like in our performers.
The Ted Mack Amateur Hour was still on when I was a kid. Looking now at the performances, I was struck by how, well, amateur, the performers were: ventriloquist acts, a woman playing the xylophone, spoon players, plate spinners, and the requisite number of singers. Viewers were encouraged to call in or drop a line to indicate which performers they liked. OK, that hasn't changed, except we now vote online. And thanks to America's Got Talent, we still see tumblers and folks who create intricate silhouettes do their thing.
But today's shows are far more urgent, their judges far more judgmental than in the days of Ted Mack, or Star Search for that matter. And the performers are all so good - already. Amateurism was celebrated on the Amateur Hour. Not so today; it's comedy fodder for their early rounds of Idol. And not only do you have to be already accomplished, you have to gush incessantly about your passion for performing and dress the part. You have to "want it."
Which brings us, finally, to James Taylor. Taylor is quite famous - and quite successful. He's sold millions of records, CDs, and downloads, and is recognized - justly, I think - as one of our most accomplished songwriters. And the narrative of his journey to fame has all the Behind the Music elements we require: long nights plying his trade at the Troubadour in LA, well chronicled struggles with drugs and mental illness, a failed marriage to another famous person, getting clean, and a successful second act.
Yet I can't help but wonder what a James Taylor audition for Idol or The Voice or You Really Think You Can Sing Better Than Me would look like. He'd follow a string of ultra-talented, ultra-passionate people, singers whose intensity is matched only by the number of notes they journey to before landing on the right one. He'd walk sheepishly to center stage, sit down on a plain stool, drop his guitar strap over his shoulder, and adjust his capo.
And then he'd start singing Fire and Rain or its 2012 equivalent. The moment would recall Linus demonstrating for Charlie Brown what Christmas is all about (Black Friday shopping - everyone knows that).
Would he win? What would Randy, J-Lo, and Steven Tyler, a Taylor contemporary, say? I'd like to think he'd fare well, move on to next week, and that they'd be kind. I'd like to think Adam Levine or Christina Aguilera would pick him for their Voice teams. But I'm not so sure. "That was so...elegant," J-Lo would say, reaching for a new level of damning with faint praise. "Where's the anger? Where's the passion?" Tyler would shout, the clicking of his jewelry driving the sound person up the wall. "I didn't feel it, dog" Randy would chime in.
Is this the only way we're supposed to experience performance - full on, full throttle, overly passionate, completely packaged, already outstanding? Not a very democratic way to sustain the fame narrative. Doesn't leave a lot of room for the quiet and quirky among us.
Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to practice snatching quarters off my arm.
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