Associated Press Writer Solvej Schou has been singing since childhood and performs professionally.
Last summer, she auditioned in Pasadena, Calif., for this season's American Idol - not as a reporter but as an aspiring contestant along with 10,000 other first-rounders. Here's her report ...
I've been singing since I was 4 and performing in bands since 15. Nothing, however, could prepare me for auditioning for TV's hit competition American Idol.
It was a chilly morning in August.
I slept through my alarm, set to 3:30 a.m. A friend's call half an hour later woke me out of my nervous sleep. After quickly shimmying into a bright red vintage dress, I rushed over to the Rose Bowl stadium in Pasadena for the Los Angeles area audition (airing on FOX on Jan. 31 at 9 p.m.).
Bleary-eyed and shivering in the pre-dawn darkness, I took a place in line along with 10,000 other aspiring contestants - from teenagers to those like me in their late 20s.
People brought their mothers, fathers, best friends and aunts. One read "Idol" judge Simon Cowell's "I Don't Mean to Be Rude, But..." Some piled on makeup. Others rehearsed their songs - loudly or whispering. Most everyone yelped and screamed at the FOX cameras twirling past.
I came alone (it was too early for everyone I knew) and murmured lyrics under my breath. Friends called to keep me company. My feet started to hurt.
I'm a blues-singing garage rocker at heart, not someone prone to trying out for a commercial endeavor such as Idol. Yet prodding from friends and family prompted me to give it a chance. Even my bandmates said, "Hey, why not? Go for it."
The song I chose to audition, "Rock Steady" by Aretha Franklin, was a favorite â soulful, sassy. Not as ubiquitous as "Respect," but still bold. I felt committed. I had already been wearing my Idol audition wristband for two days.
Once inside the stadium, after hours of waiting for the gates to open and then that mad dash inside, I found my seat, surrounded by a mix of saucy trash-talkers and shy couples.
Mostly, the tension was palpable â somewhere between wide-eyed hope and crushing anonymity. But there was also something else in the air: a joyful love of music. It felt easy to get caught up in that rush, regardless of the odds.
Questions looped through the crowd.
"Are Simon Cowell, Randy Jackson and Paula Abdul here?"
"No they're not."
"I heard they are!"
It turns out they weren't â by a long shot.
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