By the time I was ten, a bunch of my relatives were trying to convince my dad that I should go to Hollywood and take my singing to the next level. Fortunately, he was a bit more realistic and assured our well-intentioned relatives that when the time was right, we would think about doing something and that there was still plenty of time and no hurry. How many ten-year-olds have had music careers? OK, maybe Michael Jackson and Billy Gilman or maybe even Donny Osmond, but I didn’t really know anything other than that I loved to sing and was passionate about it. My dad knew a little bit about how things work in the music business, and he didn’t want to overreact or jump the gun. But more than that, I think both my parents just wanted me to have a healthy and normal childhood. My dad always used to say there’s a difference between being “good for Utah” and being “good overall.” Things will happen when they are supposed to and he didn’t want us to get ahead of ourselves.
He wasn’t wrong to be this cautious, because the truth is that in those days, even though I loved singing and was starting to do so more regularly, I was still pretty uncomfortable with the sound of my own voice. When I sang, it was usually in the playroom with the door closed. My dad would hear me singing full out, and because I was too busy belting it out, I usually didn’t hear him approach. But he’d tap on the door and say encouraging words such as “David, will you open the door for a minute? I just want to tell you you’re doing a great job! Your vibrato is sounding awesome!” or “Your intonation sounds great!” or “You are using dynamics really well, do you know what that means?” or “The way you are singing is very impressive for being so young!” He said I wasn’t just singing the song but that I was also instinctively conveying emotional ideas. I had a sense that I knew what he was talking about but that didn’t change the fact that I still hated the way I sounded.
So I’d stop singing. Of course.
I guess I was okay singing with the relatives and even for the occasional show with my parents; but mostly, I still didn’t understand how people other than my family could want to hear me sing. I’d be pretty nervous; I didn’t think I was good at all and I’d anticipate for someone to tell me to stop singing or boo me off the stage. But nobody ever did.
Though our dad was always there to help me with my music, I was also very close to my mom and her side of the family, especially because we grew up in Florida and were with our cousins and relatives from her side almost constantly. Also, because we moved around quite a bit, there were periods of time when our mom felt that it was best for us to be home schooled, which she did on and off for four or five years. She spent hours at the library and online to find creative ways of teaching us math and spelling and always encouraged us to read a lot. She was already teaching us before we got to kindergarten and chose to continue with home school between schools and when we were moving around figuring out what we were going to do as a family. She felt that we were just fine at the age we were at doing both public school and home school and felt strongly that it would give us the rare chance to spend as much time with one another as possible, which I think was more of a benefit than the actual learning.
Spending all that time with my mom meant also learning through her musical talents. I’d always try to mimic her. Whenever I heard her do a certain song, it would become my personal goal to figure out how to do it myself. Even though I didn’t like the way I sounded, it never stopped me from trying to get it right. As I saw it then, each song was an opportunity to get better and better, no matter who was listening.
My mom, Claudia, and I having a laugh
I remember at one point, she was really into Christina Aguilera’s song “Contigo en la Distancia,” which has all kinds of complicated runs and licks, the kind of song that’s usually sung by mature female R & B singers (or Christina Aguilera). My parents would encourage my attempts to nail the song, and amused by my ambitiousness, they were curious to see how far I’d be able to take it. I took this reaction as a challenge, as it just made me want to learn and perfect the song even more. My dad noticed that it seemed like it was easier for me to listen and mimic the phrasings that Christina Aguilera was doing than it was for my mom, and he kept telling me I was sounding better and better. Maybe it was that natural sense you have as a kid: that you had the energy and determination to want to prevail against the odds. I told myself that I would learn that song, which was the start of my understanding that I could actually control the sound of my voice.
About that same time, my parents felt that it might be the appropriate time to start looking for opportunities and explore what was out there for a kid like me. As it turned out, my mom happened to come across a flyer for the 2001 Utah talent competition. Intrigued at the idea, she signed me up for the junior division—without asking me first. Of course, when I found out about the upcoming show, I was really upset and resented the fact that she had done this without my consent. I was barely able to sing for the few folks at the restaurant without my cheeks turning beet red, so I couldn’t imagine the possibility of singing for a huge crowd of people who were actually expecting to see real talent. This wasn’t just a performance, it was a “talent competition,” which scared me to death. I didn’t feel that I had it in me to compete.
At first I didn’t say anything out of respect for my mom, and because I didn’t want to be a downer. But I felt a huge conflict. Of course, there was no question that I loved to sing, but you know how your own voice sounds strange when you hear a recording of it? Well, mine was like that, but exponentially more extreme. I just couldn’t stand to hear my voice and it honestly really bothered me. So the thought of singing in a talent competition would be a whole new dimension for me, and weeks before the show was even slated to take place, I already felt that I was way out of my league.
My parents, who I believe saw the local talent show as a great opportunity for me to grow personally, sat me down and gave me an honest, motivating speech that I still hold close today. It was one of those talks that I remember vividly, the kind that shape you as a kid, and in my case, as a singer. They were by no means trying to push or pressure me into doing anything that I didn’t want to, and instead were trying to help me see that just maybe I would share some joy with others through this opportunity if I would be willing to share my talent with them. They gently told me that this show would be a perfect chance for me to make other people feel good, which, as they explained, is what talent is meant for. They reminded me that my gift was not something to keep to myself, and that in fact, “even the Bible teaches us that we are not supposed to hide our light under a bushel; that we are instead supposed to let our light shine bright.” They tried to help me realize that when I sang, it made people feel something special, and that the simple act of singing allowed me to contribute something positive to the world. They basically stripped it down for me by telling me that I was blessed with a gift from God and that it could be a really nice thing to share this gift with the world. Although now I appreciate everything they told me, at the time, I didn’t see it that way. I remember thinking that my parents just wanted to show me off, and my mom felt terrible for signing me up in the first place.
The day of the show, I was a total wreck. I was not excited about having to do this and was feeling more and more resentment that my mom had done this crazy thing of signing me up and that my dad was going along with her. By this point, my mom felt entirely responsible for the emotional state I was in and didn’t want to push me to do the show and was so upset about it that she decided to not even go to the show. My dad, on the other hand, patiently tried to get me to understand that he believed it could be really good for me not just as a singer but for my own personal development as a person. Looking back now, I don’t think he was wrong. He sat me down and after trying to persuade me unsuccessfully, very calmly said, “David, do you realize that your name is already in the program? Everybody is counting on you. What’s going to happen when they call your name and you don’t show up? You know what I think, son? I think the show just won�
��t be the same without you.” Well, I guess that did it. In that moment, I understood that I had an obligation to be there and surely I didn’t want to be known for letting a bunch of people down. So I went. I was scheduled to be the second child performer, and by the time the show got under way, I was such a nervous, slobbering mess that I could barely get a sentence out. I simply couldn’t handle the emotional state of affairs, so it was just my dad and me backstage with the show’s coordinators, who by now were also concerned about me.
Granted, I was only ten, but I was having a bona fide panic attack. I felt like my throat was closing up and I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sing even one note. My poor dad had no idea what to do. He told me that the choice to go on or not was totally mine, and at this point he really didn’t want to see me suffer for another second. He tried to comfort me by saying, “You don’t have to do this. But if you want to give it one last shot, I’ll be right here to support you. In fact, I have an idea: Why don’t we go say a prayer? I bet that will help us through this.” For some reason, that idea calmed me down, and together we went around the corner to an empty hallway, where we together said a prayer. My breathing started to go back to normal, and breath by breath, my attitude slowly started to change. My nose was still stuffy, my eyes were a sad shade of pink, and there were only three minutes left before my name was called. I could feel my heart rate start to go back to normal, and I don’t know what happened, but something inside clicked, and I built up the nerve to get myself out there. I guess something deep inside told me I had to come through—not for my parents, but instead for myself—and maybe even for God, who was responsible for this so-called gift to begin with.
There were about thirty participants total, and ten of them were kids like me. The performances included songs, dances, instruments, comedy acts and everything in between. It was a beautiful, first-class affair, which to me, being just a boy, came across as elegant, stylish and totally professional. I remember there was even an emcee in a black tuxedo, and the stage was dressed with perfect lighting and a gorgeous backdrop for a set. There was a live band to accompany some of the singers, a complete panel of local celebrity judges, and several hundred people all dressed up in the audience.
My plan was to sing “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston, which begins kind of quietly, a cappella, without any music. I remember noticing that there was a woman singing the same song in the adult division, and I thought, This is so embarrassing. She sounds so much better than I will. Should I sing another song? But despite my second thoughts about the song choice, I nervously came up to the microphone and simply started to sing.
From the moment I began, the audience went completely quiet, and before I knew it, I was in a zone of total peace. I couldn’t see any one person out there, just this huge sea of smiles and wide eyes all gazing in my direction. The music finally came in and by then the audience started to respond. They stood up, clapping and cheering, probably shocked at such a big song coming from such a little guy. When I saw the audience’s reaction, I felt like I had grown six inches. It was such a surprise to look out at all the people there, all of them wild with applause and whistles. After I finished, the emcee called me to come back onstage. He asked me to sing the highest note of the song again and hold it, and even though I was a little confused, I belted the note out once again and just held it until he lowered his hand and put his arm around me and showed me so much support that all my initial fear and concerns disappeared immediately. Maybe I could enjoy performing after all, and maybe it would take this small lesson in bravery for me to understand this basic fact about myself.
As the whole show was about to wrap up, the judges at the table sat huddling and whispering to one another. They were quiet and serious and everyone—contestants and audience members alike—was on edge with curiosity about the results. I was just happy it was all over, and felt a new sense of satisfaction and confidence in myself for having the courage to step up, but I was not really there to compete, and never in a million years did I expect to win.
So you can imagine how I felt when I heard my name called as the winner of the children’s division. I had never won anything before in my life, and after the mini-crisis backstage just moments before, winning just didn’t seem like an option. I was given a trophy and also a cash prize of three hundred dollars, but most important, I went home with the feeling of confidence, knowing that it wasn’t so bad after all singing in front of people. As we were finishing up with the event people, my dad jokingly asked me if I was still mad at my mom for signing me up. I was still coming down from the thrills of the competition, but gave him a look like I wouldn’t go that far, but let myself accept that fact that maybe I wasn’t so upset anymore. Not only was I not mad at anyone, but I was also now filled with a sense of joy that would always come when I sang from my heart. I knew that I was able to look my fear straight in the eye and, with a bit of faith and courage, could find a way to overcome. I felt happy, accomplished and completely excited about what might come next.
CHAPTER 3
SCHOOL OF AMERICAN IDOL
“The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings.”
—RALPH BLUM
After the Utah Talent Competition, my parents thought that it might be good for me to have some more opportunities to get over my fear of singing in public. They checked around and found out about a few children’s performing groups, which is a big thing here in Utah, as there is a great appreciation for the arts, especially singing, musicianship and dancing. My sister and I enrolled in one of these groups called OnStage, which allowed us to perform with other kids that actually seemed to enjoy performing.
We were split into age groups and taught to perform medleys of songs for local audiences. They also had told us how they traveled to other states and countries and one year said they had even gone to Japan! It all sounded like a lot of fun. We were required to wear all kinds of different costumes and showed up at several public events, including the Fourth of July and Twenty-Fourth of July parades and fireworks. I guess I had some fun learning the songs and steps, but I also had the nagging feeling that I didn’t want to just sing part of a song, which is what happened when there were twelve to twenty other kids involved; instead, what I was really after was the chance to sing the whole song by myself so I could really put all the passion I was feeling into it. With a group of other kids, it just wasn’t the same. I felt frustrated musically so after a few months of that I felt it was time to prepare for something else.
So after finally deciding that I enjoyed singing and having had a positive experience at the Utah Talent Competition, all my relatives were again saying that I should go to Hollywood to try to take my singing to the next level. My dad still had his reservations. He truly believed I was talented, but he wasn’t sure just HOW talented I was. Was I just talented for Utah, or was I talented compared to other kids across the country and how could we really know? We had no idea that things would soon be set in motion that would allow us to have the opportunities to find out the answer to that question once and for all.
A year or so after the Utah Talent Competition, my parents and we kids went out shopping for a new car. We visited several of the local dealerships to test drive the models they were considering, and we were all amazed to see that one of the cars had a built-in backseat multimedia system and that it was picking up the local TV channels as well. How cool was that? But even more exciting to me than the idea of a TV in a car was what was on the TV. As we cruised around the Sandy, Utah streets that evening, while my parents focused on things like engines and safety features, my dad put on this channel which had a brand-new show none of us had ever seen before but we had heard about and were excited to see.
We had seen the commercials and we were curious as to what it would all be about, so we started to watch it while we were driving around. They were showing the first round of singing auditions for the very first season of the show that was to become the bigge
st show ever, of course, American Idol. And from that moment on, it’s pretty safe to say that I would never be the same.
There were singers in a competition, like Star Search, but this new show was JUST singers, not four different categories. And, it seemed like they weren’t just a few ordinary singers; it was as if all of these amazing, talented people had suddenly burst out of the woodwork to fulfill their lifelong desire to sing from the soul—like the show was a massive trigger for millions of people all over the country to step forward with their talents and dreams. Though the singers were clearly way more advanced than I was, I could somehow relate to them. I felt that the program was talking (or singing) directly to me.
He truly believed I was talented
From the beginning of Idol, our family became obsessed with the show. We’d sit and watch it together every time it was on, excitedly following the progress of each participant, eagerly watching every twist and turn. We loved the energy of the show, Ryan Seacrest and Dunkleman with their sarcasm and upbeat charisma, and the judges, too, each with their own personality and style. But more than that, we loved seeing these “regular unknowns” show up and belt out songs like true professionals. It was such a diverse showcase of musical possibilities. We had seen a few other shows like Star Search, Making the Band and had even heard of the UK show Pop Idol, but there was something captivating about this show and with us being raised on singing and music, here was a show that totally glorified and celebrated both. And it wasn’t simply a singing competition, but you were able to get to know each contestant and you could feel like you really knew them and wanted to encourage them to do well. Each performance was an exercise in interpretation, which called on different aspects of a singer’s creativity. The show made the point that it’s not enough to have a good voice—you actually have to know what to do with it. And so many of the singers I was hearing on American Idol seemed to know exactly what they were doing. I was totally hooked. Certain singers’ performances came across to me as an act of pure heart-to-heart communication, a moment defined by this universal force of human feeling—a force that on occasion would hit me directly in the soul and make me feel something so special that I couldn’t even put into words.
Chords of Strength Page 4