On Saturday I waited in line with hundreds of other hopefuls to be part of NBC’s America’s Got Talent. Oddly enough, the Boston Globe caught this photo right as Chel Pixie and I were signing in. For the second time.

You see, this was all part of the Magic of Television™. A lot of my fans (you folks) are producers yourselves, making albums and podcasts and videos. As someone who is fascinated by how this stuff works, I’ll walk you through the assembly of a major-league TV show.

When I say we stood in line, I mean it. My room mate, Ronin, and I got there at 7:30am, about 90 minutes before I usually get out of bed on weekdays, and I didn’t audition for another 8 hours. That’s right, EIGHT. HOURS. Fortunately, it wasn’t all standing in line. Sort of like the way the Inquisition wasn’t all burning and screaming.

The Magic of Television™

For the first few hours we sat in a giant holding pen with all the people you see in that photo. The lead producer, a really charismatic guy, kept us hostage for a while to film some of the standard AGT Moments™- the lot of us shouting “America’s Got Talent! WOOOOO!” or “Boston’s Got Talent! WOOOOO!” and such. Because the crowd was, apparently, deficient in other parts of the country, they also had us do the same thing for Seattle and Houston. I’m assuming, at the suggestion of my other room mate, that they’re probably just using our audio to make the crowd in Seattle sound bigger. I don’t care, it was fun. If they use our video for Seattle, though, watch for a ton of Red Sox hats in Mariners country.

The crowd was diverse, to say the least. I beatboxed with rappers freestyling in a group, talked with a 12-year-old singer (OMG adorable) as she waited in line for some lunch, stared at an Elvis or two… I met a really nice lady named Judy who’d toured all over as an independent musician. She was not only experienced in all this music stuff, her daughter was learning the business in college and was part of the management team for one of Ronin’s favorite bands. Amazing the people you meet in line sometimes.

I mentioned that Chel and I were signing in for the second time. More Magic of Television™ at work. I got signed in at 7:30, there was no line. That doesn’t make for good television, though, so after registration had closed they had us all line up and pretend we were registering. The document I’m signing in the photo? All I did was write “OMG, AGT RAWKS” at the bottom of one of my release form pages. Wonder what the judges will think when they get to that part…

So eventually, hours after we got our number, they moved us group by group to the Holding Pen. This mystical “next level” was… a smaller waiting room where we sat for another hour. Seriously. I probably peed four times while waiting to move on. Ronin and Chel, most likely, were ready to kill me for suckering them into this ordeal. Fortunately, they brought toys to play with.

Then his Number Came Up

When at last my time came, they separated a dozen of us from the herd and forced the support team to stay behind. This was it, right? Sort of. They walked us outside the Holding Pen to a bench on the other side of the wall. We sat there for about 45 minutes or more. At this point I met a crew of about 10 Berklee students auditioning as a band. They were a riot, a great crew of guys that may have the potential to go all the way if only they can stay focused. Only two of them looked “dressed for the part”, but I’m not the judge. Hopefully their live show was enough to impress the powers that be.

Finally they took the lot of us to the audition room. Wait, scratch that, they took us to some chairs directly outside the audition room. Fast forward another hour and we’re still sitting there. Hunger has driven me to a full-blown migraine alert so I’ve actually gone off to grab a hot dog and some fries. I have enough time to eat and drink a full meal while waiting. When at last they call my name, the butterflies begin. I walk into a conference room…

…there’s no piano.

Apparently there’s only one audition room with a keyboard and they didn’t sit me down in front of the right room. I’m whisked away to another room, this one WITH a keyboard and shoved up to the front of the line. Well, not really. I find myself standing around for another 45 minutes or more, talking to a magician’s assistant named Stephanie who aspires someday to be a wombat biologist. No, I am not making that up, that’s the kind of shit that sticks in my memory. The girl wants to play with wombats, leave her alone.

As we hit the 8-hour mark, they finally call my name. Again. Seems I’m doing everything twice today. In any case, I psych myself up, walk into The Room and the door closes behind me.

The Audition

On my left was a long table with a camera, sound board, two people manning the equipment, and a single judge. I believe he was a British gentleman in his fifties, though my mind wasn’t focusing on his accent so much as his power over my career at that moment. On my right was a small square of dance floor in front of a big “America’s Got Talent” backdrop, well-lit and warm. A little beyond that sat a bench, a mic, and a Roland Fantom X8 keyboard. Not bad.

I introduce myself and ask if they’ll let me work the keys a little bit to get a feel for the action. Fortunately they’re not in that much of a hurry, so I have a chance to tickle the ivories (okay, plastics) and prep my fingers. When I’m done they ask me what I’m playing.

“Walking in Memphis by Marc Cohn.”

The judge asks me if I think Marc Cohn represents my style and I think I tried to explain how I admire his ability to dance the fine line between country, Americana, pop, and…

“Did you watch last season, Matthew?”

Oh crap. I had two choices- lie, or admit that I’m not a die-hard fan of the show. I told them the truth- that I watched a lot of American Idol, but I didn’t catch last season of AGT. Why would they ask me that?

“Did you know Marc Cohn had a cameo appearance on the show last season?”

My heart nearly stopped. I love this guy, his music’s amazing, and I missed him? At least it seemed the judge’s question was more about that than about finding out how much I follow the show. Hopefully it was to see whether I was really into Marc Cohn’s music or just trying to suck up to the producers. Definitely the former.

The paperwork said I’d have 90 seconds so I told the judge I would start with the second verse and just play till he told me to shut up. I started the song and, to be honest, my nerves wanted to take over. My voice sounded good, my fingers hit all the notes, but my mind was sitting on the lid to Pandora’s box just to keep the thing closed. Ronin and Chel tell me I sounded good through the door, but it’s hard not to sound good through a plank of lumber.

The judge let me play through the whole song.

And like that… it was over. I thanked the judge, asked if they needed anything else or if I was free to leave. They told me the tapes would be sent to L.A. for analysis and the producers would let me know in a few weeks if I made it to the next level.

All that time spent, waiting for a 2-minute audition.

8 and a Half Hours Later

The only way I can summarize the experience is like this: Imagine waiting 8 hours for a bus that was only going to take you 2 blocks, but the bus moves at 180 MPH. I won’t lie to you and say the experience was “fun”. The last two minutes was fun and exciting, but overall it was like waiting for a bad comedian to get to a punchline that you kind of saw coming a mile away.

And on that note, there were plenty of bad comedians there too.

As for my punchline, I’ll let you know in a few weeks what will become of me. You’ll definitely see me in crowd shots on NBC this summer, but will you hear my voice? Only NBC knows.