Pablo was exponentially more nervous about the callbacks than he had been about the auditions that morning. Now it was about much more than an exercise in going with his gut or trying out just for the experience of trying out. Now it really mattered.
Five singers had made it. Waiting his turn on the patio, Pablo staked his claim to a corner, quietly rehearsing his selection. He tried to relax, mentally and physically alike. He breathed deeply, opening his lungs and diaphragm. He loosened the muscles in his mouth. He continued drinking water.
It wasn’t until the fourth time around that his name was called, his heart skipping a beat.
After a long walk down the empty corridor, it skipped another. Seeing the band members. Being in the room again. His impending performance. All of it rendered him acutely aware he was about to live a pivotal moment of truth.
The room had changed since earlier in the day. The folding tables were still there, but they’d been moved to make space for some instruments: keyboard, guitar, bass, drums. A rudimentary setup lacking the electronics, amps, and other accessories required for a gig, it was nonetheless more than enough to make some music.
“Welcome back,” the woman said with a smile. “Before we get started, we should introduce ourselves. My name is Lorena and, as you probably already know, I’m the keyboardist. This is Jesús, our guitarist,” she said, motioning to the guy with the goatee. “And this is Leo, our percussionist,” she added, referring to the guy with glasses, who had momentarily removed them to clean a lens. “Last but not least, that’s Ramón, our bassist.”
“¿Qué tal?” said Pablo, nodding to each member as they were introduced.
“Now that you know who we are, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”
“OK,” Pablo found himself saying. He had been preparing himself mentally and emotionally to sing. He hadn’t expected the impromptu question-and-answer session.
“I’m not really sure what to tell you . . . My name is Pablo. And I’m from a village near Vélez, where my family has a market.”
“How long have you been singing?” Lorena asked. “And what about music? Who do you like—who would you say your influences are?”
“I’ve always sung,” Pablo responded matter-of-factly, relieved to be given a more directed question. “My father sang, and I just sort of learned by listening to him I guess.”
Pablo went on to mention some of the classic Flamenco musicians to whom his father had introduced him, as well as several contemporary artists, flamenco, rock, and pop alike, who were favorites.
More questions followed, about music, his other interests and, in fact, a remarkably random list of things. With each that did, Pablo was surprised to discover another waiting after it.
“We’d like to do something a little different from this morning,” Lorena began, once the Q&A session came to its natural end. “We loved both pieces you did. Really. You have a great voice, and you nailed both ballads. But this time around we’d like to hear something more up-tempo, just to get a sense of your versatility—and, of course, because that’s what most of our stuff is. So, we thought we’d kill two birds with one stone and have you do one of our songs—whichever one you want—while we accompanied you. And don’t worry—we know you didn’t expect to do this, so don’t feel like it’s got to be perfect. We just want to get a sense for how well we might work together.”
If that morning the floor had fallen out from under him, Pablo now felt as though he were falling into the deep, dark abyss beneath it.
One of their songs? He didn’t know any of their music. Not a single note. He felt like a cat who’d survived the first audition by giving up its eighth life, only to discover they now wanted his ninth as well. He didn’t know what to do.
His face, which had been so flush with excitement, became the palest of whites, drained of its blood from one moment to the next. He wanted to turn and run. He had wasted their time and his. He was an impostor, and he felt like a fool. He never should have auditioned for a group he knew nothing about.
“Pablo,” Lorena asked, “are you OK?”
His mind racing, he tried to come up with a way out, any way to save face. Seeing no other option, what he faced instead was the truth.
“This is really embarrassing,” he confessed.
“Embarrassing?” asked Lorena.
“I don’t know any of your songs. I’m really sorry. I hadn’t even heard of you guys until a few days ago. My friends told me I should audition after they heard me sing karaoke.”
The truth was out. He should go.
“Oh!” Lorena replied, it suddenly all making sense. “I guess . . . I guess we just assumed that everyone trying out was a fan. But . . . well, maybe that was a little presumptuous! It’s cool—don’t worry about it. I’m sorry to put you on the spot. Let’s do this. Go ahead and give us something up-tempo—any rock or pop song you’re comfortable with. After that we’ll just have an informal jam session.”
Pablo was almost more surprised by Lorena’s response than he had been by her request. Apparently he had another life to spare after all. Still, he couldn’t help but feel she was just being nice, that in reality he’d blown it.
“La Mano de Picasso?” Jesús suggested.
“You do know La Mano de Picasso, right?” Lorena asked, afraid of making another erroneous assumption.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Pablo was quick to respond. Just because he’d never heard of an up-and-coming band in Granada didn’t mean he’d be unfamiliar with one that had attained nationwide notoriety.
Pablo chose one of their recent hits, grateful for the chance to interpret a song that required much less of him emotionally and technically than what he’d planned to sing. He had fun with it. He ventured outside the composition’s safe and simple boundaries and made his own mark, his cords relaxed and responsive, his earlier troubles long forgotten.
The jam session went just as well. Lorena liked pop. Jesús had a fervent love of flamenco. Ramón’s favorite genre was rock. Leo, much like Pablo, had eclectic tastes that included all of the above as well as world music, hip-hop, and soul—among others. All the same, finding songs on which everyone could agree proved easy. Not only that, but playing together was a lot of fun. So much so that Pablo nearly forgot he was at an audition, the session providing an opportunity for everyone to relax, share some laughs, and throw themselves into some spirited collaboration.
“What next?” asked Lorena, taking a drink from her water bottle.
“Maybe the next auditioner?” Leo reminded her.
“¡Ostras! That’s right—there’s another one!”
“If he’s still waiting,” Ramón commented with a smirk.
“Oh god! Yeah, we went a little longer than expected! You’re right, we should wrap this up,” she said, turning to Pablo. “So, what’s your availability like?”
“My availability?” He didn’t follow.
“If you were chosen, could you start rehearsing right away?”
“And is there anything that would stop you from traveling this spring?” added Leo.
“Oh. Well, ah,” Pablo stuttered, taken aback by the conversation’s unexpected turn. “The only thing is that my village is pretty far—like I said, I don’t live in Granada, so I’d have to figure out how to get back and forth. But I did just quit my job, so traveling shouldn’t be a problem. At least I don’t think it would be.”
“Great,” said Lorena, satisfied with where Pablo’s rambling response had eventually ended up. “Sounds like, if we were to choose you, the logistics wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Going back and forth to a village in Málaga would never work,” Jesús interjected. “We have a lot of rehearsing to do in a very short amount of time.”
“Definitely. He’d have to move here right away,” agreed Leo.
“Good point,” Lorena concurred, turning back to Pablo. “Still, as long as you’re free and can get here, I’m sure we could find somebody to put you up.”
“Yeah, OK,” said Pablo, excited by the mere mention of a move to Granada.
“Any questions?” she asked.
From Pablo's perspective, she had overlooked the most important question of all.
“When are you going to make your decision?” he wondered.
“Oh yeah—I almost forgot! We’re not sure. First we have to see the final auditioner. Then we’ll talk and see whether there’s someone we all agree on, or we’re going to need more time to hash it out. So don’t go anywhere. We’ll let everyone know in a bit.”