On the way to the audition, I turn to Ryan and whisper, “Are you ready to rock?” He gives me a nervous smile at my joke—we aren’t a rock band—but he doesn’t say anything. I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans. Apparently neither of us is ready to rock.
We’re on the bus headed downtown to audition for our favorite TV show: The Right Note. It’s a music competition, where musicians from all over the country sing and dance their way to the top. Each season has a different theme, and this time around the theme is “teamwork.” For this season, only music duos are allowed to audition. Eight duos from all over the country will compete over the course of a month for an awesome grand prize: a record deal with Wild Hill Studio, the company that created the show. Only one person can win, but they can choose their duo partner or another competitor to join the record deal. If either Ryan or I win the competition, the two of us will get to record an album.
When the announcement came out that The Right Note would be holding auditions in our hometown, Ryan convinced me to sign up with him, claiming it would be the perfect opportunity for us.
It’s true that being on the show would be huge for me and Ryan. We’ve been a music duo ever since we were in the same after-school guitar class as kids. Even though we’re both talented, it’s hard to get noticed. All of our performances have been at my mom’s café, with audiences of maybe a dozen people.
Until now, that is. Millions of people watch The Right Note each season. The winner of the first season, Cassandra Holmes, sold half a million albums in a week. The thought of performing on reality TV terrifies me, but I want to share our music with the world, and winning will give us the opportunity to do just that.
We aren’t the only ones thinking about the prize and success. On the bus with us is a pair of girls our age covered in glitter. Behind them, a guy with a leather jacket and a violin sits next to his guitarist partner.
I’m wearing my lucky sweatshirt. Ryan, however, has decided to dye his hair blue for the occasion. How we should look was one of the things we argued about during our practices. Ryan wanted us to stand out and be colorful. I wanted us to impress the judges with our sound, not our looks. In the end, we decided to each dress how we wanted—which is good because I’d look bad with blue hair.
As the bus comes to a stop, I pick up my guitar case and tug on Ryan’s sleeve. He follows me off the bus to the football stadium. The auditions are inside one of the event rooms here. The stadium has never seemed so big before.
I grin to hide my nervousness. “Let’s knock their socks off.”
***
The stadium is packed full of musicians and their families and friends. Some of them are tuning their instruments, while others are practicing singing or talking in groups. All the noise blends into one harsh note. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryan turn on his sampler and record it for a few seconds.
The sampler is like a computer and a piano keyboard put together. During our practices, Ryan records different sounds and then twists a bunch of knobs on the sampler to transform the sounds into music. I don’t know how he does it, but after his tinkering, it always sounds really cool.
My music is a bit more traditional. I play the guitar and sing almost all the vocals for our songs. My voice is very soft, and I like to contrast it with harsh guitar riffs inspired by rock and roll and heavy metal. When Ryan and I perform together and combine our different types of music, we sound like no one else. We aren’t rock or electronica or pop but instead a combination of the three. That’s why we’re going to win The Right Note: we’re totally unique.
Ryan and I settle down in the stadium seats near a pair of rowdy singers who are practicing their a cappella song. Both of them harmonize in a different key. It sounds horrible. They seem to think so, too, because one of them starts shouting at the other, and then the other shouts back. Ryan laughs to himself.
The a cappella duo finally pulls out a harmonica to get them in the same key. It still isn’t very good, but at least they aren’t arguing anymore. I spend the waiting period tuning and testing out my guitar, and Ryan messes around with the sample he took of the stadium.
After about half the stadium has been cleared out, Ryan and I get called into the audition room. There are four judges sitting at a table with a video camera planted in front of them. These aren’t the famous judges who will appear on the show but instead local music lovers in charge of deciding who’s good enough to go to the California studio. One of them, a grumpy-looking old man with a mustache, says, “Eve Hardt and Ryan Okri. Welcome to the auditions for The Right Note. What will you be doing for us today?”
I pluck my guitar out of its case as Ryan sets up the stand for the sampler. “We’re going to perform a song we wrote,” Ryan says. “It’s called ‘The Quiet Night.’ ”
This song is one of my favorites of ours. It’s unlike all our others because we play it slightly differently every time. I always start with the same chords and sing the same lyrics, but then it’s up to Ryan what to do with the sample. I play the guitar based on what the sample sounds like. We go back and forth, responding to each other with our music.
“Great. Ready when you are,” says one of the judges.
“Good luck,” adds another.
I meet Ryan’s eyes. We nod at each other.
I start the song by strumming a sequence of chords on my guitar, which Ryan records into the sampler. He plays it back and then twists a couple of knobs to warp the sound. It turns into something eerie, like an alien’s version of guitar. Meanwhile, I keep strumming those same chords. Then I pause, and Ryan turns the recording into a swirl of notes. When he stops playing the recording and silence falls over the room, I start singing.
After Ryan adds more layers of sound, he lets the volume drop, and this time he sings. He hits the notes along with the sampler, so his voice sounds digitized. I come in on the last word, and we sing the chorus together.
Ryan and I go all out, dancing to the electronic beat that fills the room. I let out a riff on the guitar. One of the judge’s eyebrows shoot up, and the one on the other end of the table breaks out into a grin. Even the grumpy guy taps his foot under the table.
I finish off the song with its final verse. Our instruments sync together. After I sing the final word, I let out three loud chords from my guitar and the song ends.
Then the judges applaud.
“Not a very quiet night after all,” the grumpy judge says. The others laugh. “What a great performance. You two have such wonderful energy.”
“Thank you,” Ryan and I say together, breathless.
“We’ll be in touch about the results of the auditions in the next week. Expect a letter in the mail. Take care.” The judge winks. “Next!”