‘Good, good,
good.
That’s what we want. Bunny-boilers.’
‘As long as it isn’t your bunny she boils.’
‘Emma, I’ve told you. I have a very, very firm rule, and that is not to be scared of contestants. Ever. That way leads to madness. My job is to pursue the passion in people. To massage their dreams and expose their needs. If I allow myself to be intimidated by those passions or needs then I’ll no longer be able to pursue them. Shaiana does not scare me.’
The Cute Kid
For the first three days of the following week the judges repeated the process that they had gone through in Birmingham in London, Manchester and Glasgow. All in all, they sat in ‘judgement’ to a greater or lesser degree on around three hundred people, an exhausting series of In and Outs punctuated by specials and of course the designated finalists.
There was the by now obligatory amusing four-year-old who was allowed to ‘audition’ despite the minimum legal age for entry being sixteen. At the story meeting it had been planned that this year Calvin would at first refuse to see the lad on the grounds that it was pointless but under heavy mumsy pressure from Beryl he would reluctantly agree.
‘And rock ’n’ roll supermum Beryl is not going to let young Lance have his heart broken by big bad Calvin,’ Keely would say.
And so, even though he was ineligible for consideration the cute little poppet in an England shirt and with an adorable Scouse accent ended up filling nearly three minutes of screen time in the final edit.
‘Lance, you’re so scrummy I want to eat you,’ Beryl said in her gooiest manner.
‘You may want to eat him but we can’t put him through,’ Calvin gently reminded her in his firm but amused voice.
‘Why? He’s so-o-o cute. I’m a mum and I love him, all mums will love him. Why not give him a chance?’
‘Because it’s illegal, Beryl.’
‘I don’t play by the rules, I’m a rock chick from way back, don’t forget. Don’t talk to me about rules. I’m a mum and mums have to break rules just to get through. I’ve had it hard, these have not been easy years, I know all about breakin’ rules.’
‘Beryl, he can’t enter the competition.’
And so the comical banter went on until the last treacly drop had been milked from the original concept and the boy finally went on his way.
Afterwards, when the ‘eavesdropping’ moment had been shot . . .
‘I can’t
believe
you wanted to put that kid through, Beryl.’
‘But he was so
cute.’
Rodney experienced a rare moment of doubt.
‘Do you truly believe that people won’t realize we set that up?’
‘Obviously, Rodney, or I wouldn’t have shot it,’ Calvin replied tartly.
‘But we’ve spent over fifteen minutes on him! On our
one day
in Manchester. Surely somebody’s going to do the maths!’
‘Nobody ever does the maths, Rodney.’
Pop School
Eventually the series of regional heats came to a close and it was time for the
Chart Throb
team to sift and edit all the material that they had collected and prepare for Pop School.
Pop School was the part of the process where those selected at the initial auditions attended an intensive residential training course where they were supposedly given lessons in the art of being a pop star by the three highly experienced judges. It was at this point that the judges were supposed to assume a more supportive and educative role in the development of the fledgling talents that they had chosen. The idea was that, having unearthed the raw material, they would now use their enormous music industry expertise to mould pop stars from it.
A number of factors stood in the way of their achieving this or, indeed, of Pop School being in any sense an educational process. The first factor among these was that, with the possible exception of Calvin, none of the judges was remotely qualified to train anyone in any aspect of the performing arts except, by example, that of naked self-advertisement.
Another factor which would have prevented the judges from developing and moulding any talent even if they had had the skills to do so was that they were not actually there during the developing and moulding (such as it was). Although the Pop School process lasted three days, the judges attended only the last of these, the one on which the ‘judging’ took place.
Shaiana, like all the other contestants, had gone home after her first audition, having been told to prepare a new song to present at Pop School. She was informed that she would then be given some training and advice on how to sing her chosen song before being required to deliver it in a ‘live concert’ setting, meaning that she would be singing on an actual stage instead of in a hotel conference room. The stage in question was meant to represent a tough club and therefore provide the contestants with an introduction to the hard but essential business of ‘paying your dues’, ‘working the clubs’, ‘getting your act together and taking it out on the road’.
‘This,’ as Keely would announce breathlessly at the beginning of the Pop School edition of the show, ‘is where it gets real.
This
is where the going gets tough and the tough had better get going because today our gang of wannabe stars will get their first taste of the “road”, as Calvin, Beryl and Rodney put them through their paces to see if they can handle the rough, tough side of rock ’n’ roll that every star must learn to conquer on their way to the top.’
The rough, tough ‘club’ in question was the spanking new, pale pine, two-hundred-seat auditorium of a large private school that had been rented for the purpose. Originally the
Chart Throb
art department had hoped to dress the stage and front stalls in a club-like manner. They had brought large quantities of black paint, some threadbare glittery drapes, various old rock posters and great crates of empty bottles pinched from a recycling bin. They also hoped to remove the front three rows of seats since brand new, luxuriously padded seats with comfy armrests did not look very rock ’n’ roll. Sadly for the art department, however, the school administrator had firmly ruled out any adornment to the stage or auditorium since term was about to begin again and the Lower School were to start rehearsal for their production of
Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
and they could not countenance any disruption.
On hearing this, Calvin had thrown a hissy fit and announced that he would simply buy the fucking school but he was informed that it was not for sale.
Shaiana arrived on the morning of the first day with a song in her heart and ‘loose dance clothes’ in her overnight bag, ready to give her all to the Pop School process. There were about seventy other contestants involved and they had all been billeted in a nearby Travelodge. Shaiana was to share a room with a pretty, delicate-looking girl called Cindy, who, like Shaiana, wanted it so much.
Having checked into their accommodation, the crowd of hopefuls were all bussed up to the school and assembled in the gym for their ‘training’ to begin. This process was in many ways very similar to their initial selection day in Birmingham, in that it consisted of a great deal of hanging around punctuated by a series of heavily staged ‘spontaneous moments’.
Shaiana and Cindy sat cross-legged on the floor in their tracky pants and tops while at the piano the middle-aged man who looked like the Prince of Wales was filmed being ‘schooled’ in the vocal arts. This consisted of a deliberately eccentric-looking fellow in plus fours and with long dyed hair running through a piano scale which the Prince then attempted to sing.
‘That was rubbish,’ shouted the long-haired man.
‘I know, I
know
,’ the Prince lamented. ‘I’m making an absolute
pig’s ear
of it, aren’t I?’
‘Do it again!’ the eccentric pop coach shouted.
‘Righty-ho.’
The Prince was about to do it again when Chelsie intervened to explain that this would not be necessary as they already had their shot.
His Royal Highness sat down and busied himself with some state papers. The camera angle was changed and Chelsie instructed the girl with the blind lad to lead him towards the piano. After they had arrived at the piano, Chelsie called cut.
‘Thank you, Millicent. Thank you, Graham. That’s all we need for now.’
‘Don’t you want us to sing?’ Millicent enquired.
‘Plenty of time for that, darling,’ Chelsie replied. ‘Just wanted a walking shot for now.’
Shaiana herself was then summoned to the piano and His Royal Highness was asked to take her place in the group of bodies who were populating the back of the shot. ‘And can you all please
try
and look interested,’ Chelsie shouted. ‘Haven’t you seen the show? This is intensive training, you’re all being put through your paces, those of you sitting about must focus on whoever it is that we are filming. Pretend you’re in
Fame
or
A Chorus Line
, for God’s sake. Right now you look like you’re in
The Night of the Living Dead
.’
Shaiana was placed in a position near the piano and asked to sing something.
‘Sing what?’ she asked.
‘Doesn’t matter, love,’ Chelsie snapped. ‘It’s a mute shot, we’ll be dropping it in in slow motion when you tell Keely how hard you’ve worked.’
‘But what about the pianist, surely he needs to be playing the same song?’
‘I’ve just
told
you, darling, it’s a mute shot. Besides which he’s in deep soft focus. As long as his fucking arms are moving we’re happy. Now sing!’
Shaiana began to sing as the cameras prowled about her.
‘Look more soulful, Shaiana,’ Chelsie called out. ‘Clench your fists, look like you’re in pain . . . Good. Got that. Cut.’
Next The Four-Z were filmed privately rehearsing and then allowing themselves a mutually supportive group hug.
‘Can you do some high fives with each other?’ Chelsie called out from behind the camera. ‘That’s a black thing, isn’t it?’
The Four-Z agreed that it was indeed a black thing and hugged and high-fived as hard as they could.
‘Now how about a prayer?’ called Chelsie. ‘Could you stand in a circle and bow your heads in silent prayer for me?’
Again The Four-Z obliged.
‘Finally turn to the camera and tell us that it’s hard work but you’re working hard and learning and growing and that you want to make the judges proud.’
Michael, the leader of The Four-Z, stepped forward.
‘This is hard work but we are working hard and we know that we will learn and grow and hopefully make the judges proud.’
And so the long day wore on.
Groups of contestants were brought forward and taught a rudimentary dance step, not so that they could learn it but so that they could be filmed learning it.
‘Where does it go from here?’ one of the girls enquired after mastering the three steps and a clap that they had been taught.
‘It doesn’t,’ the choreographer explained. ‘That’s all we need.’
During the ‘dance class’ Shaiana noticed that one by one contestants were being taken off to be filmed sitting in the stairwell. First the blokes from Bloke, then a middle-aged man who had introduced himself as Stanley and then a middle-aged blonde woman with enormous false tits.
‘What’s going on in the stairwell?’ Shaiana asked one of the blokes from Bloke during a short coffee break.
‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘We just had to sit there and look tense and thoughtful.’
‘Tense and thoughtful?’
‘That’s what they said.’
The Quasar was standing nearby and joined the conversation.
‘I reckon you is well in, geeza,’ he said. ‘You is goin’ all the
way
, man.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Ain’t you seen the show?’ the Quasar asked, sounding most surprised. ‘They was filming your
moment of doubt
, guy! Like when you has crept away from the madness and is wondering if you is
ever
gonna be a star. They always has shots like that but I don’t fink I ever saw no moment of doubt for anyone who wasn’t in the final.’
‘You really think so?’ the bloke from Bloke enquired hopefully.
‘That’s for sure, geeza. I’m tellin’ you that if they was to shoot me looking all moody and sad in the stairwell I would be
well
chuffed, cos it means that they is going to feature you.’
‘But they didn’t shoot you like that.’
‘No, man, but I ain’t worried because they knows that the Quasar does not
do
self-doubt.’
Sure enough, straight after the coffee break the Quasar was called forward for his own personal ‘moment’. This consisted of his breakdancing in front of a group of other contestants who were all required to clap and look delighted to be a part of things.
For two days the contestants were marshalled between dance moments and piano moments. Occasionally some vague effort was made to suggest a genuine interest in their work but mainly it was to gather more shots of the process.