Ready, Set...

After sending in my application to audition, I didn't hear anything from the TTC for three weeks, which gave me plenty of time to reconsider this rather impulsive, even crazy, idea.

To my surprise, most times when I turned my thoughts to the application, I didn't feel a queasiness in the pit of my stomach. Instead, I felt a brisk resolve, as if I'd decided to apply for a challenging corporate job or train for a 10K marathon (neither of which is likely to happen any time soon). Even so, I reminded myself, my unusual confidence could be simply a by-product of uncertainty: after all, I needed to be one of the first 175 applicants and my forms were sent in at the last minute. It was less nerve-wracking to think that if I didn't get in to audition this year, I could wait until next year.

But today my invitation to audition arrived in the mail. I'm to report to the Canadian National Exhibition grounds, behind the Food Building, a half-hour before 3:20 p.m. on Sunday, August 22nd.

My son Tucker, who is ten, picked up the letter. "Hey Mom, there’s something for you from the TTC."

"Oh," I said, trying to sound casual. "Just what I've been waiting for."

"What’s it about?"

"Um, well, I'm auditioning to become a subway musician."

His over-the-top enthusiasm surprised me.

"Really?!!," he enthused. "That's great Mom. You'll be perfect!"

I was genuinely flattered. I didn't realize he held such strong feelings for either my singing career or the TTC.

"You think so?"

"Yes, Mom. You'll be great. And it'll be fun to ride around in the cars all day."

He was slightly disappointed to learn that if I passed the audition, I'd be singing on a subway platform, not on the actual train. But he was delighted to learn that people would be throwing change--"maybe even toonies, Mom"--into my guitar case.

At that moment, I felt profoundly grateful that my children, at 7 and 10, are still young enough to be impressed that their mother might be a subway busker, and that they might see my trip to the subway each morning as a form of actually going to work. I realized that in a few years, none of this would seem cool in the least, which gave me yet another reason to seize the day.

I got to work, planning my audition. Turns out auditioning for the TTC is not an easy task: each musician must present a "medley" of at least three songs, in an audition that is 7 minutes or less. Performers are judged on "musical talent, entertainment value and stage presence". "Uniqueness" is also a plus.

Because most popular songs are at least 3 minutes long, you have to do at least some editing to get three of them in a set, and in order to present a seamless performance, it's best if you don't have to use a capo to change the tuning on your guitar. (A capo is a small metal clamp that affixes to the guitar's neck and has a tendency to unclamp and fall clattering to the floor whenever a nervous performer is under stress.)

I decided not to use a capo.

I thought it might increase the "entertainment value" (and possibly "uniqueness" as well) to play songs that actually referred to the TTC. So I'd start with "Complicated Things", which starts out (in the un-capoed key of C): "Sometimes I want to be a streetcar driver". Then I could finish with "When I Walk, I Run" ("When I walk, I see the steeple, hear the streetcars chime…") But then again, maybe they'd see my endorsement of walking as a put-down of public transit? Hmm…

I decided to introduce the song by saying that no ride on the subway is complete without a brisk walk to or from the station. Done.

Filling in the rest of the seven minutes, I added a part of "No Place To Go" (a high-energy country number), "Stage" (I introduced it by saying "There's no shortage of places to play in Toronto, from bars to cafes to street corners to…subway platforms!"), "Stroller Up the Hill" (with praise for parents taking small children on the subway) and "I Would Recognize You Anywhere (Introduction: "No matter how big the city gets, nobody's really a stranger.").

By playing a verse and chorus from each song, I could fit all of these into a 7-minute audition piece. Feeling confident and energized, I started to rehearse, stopwatch in hand.

Then suddenly the queasiness arrived, as I visualized the audition itself at the C.N.E. The audition materials mentioned that the auditions would be judged by a panel of "industry professionals". That got me worried. Who were these "professionals"? Did I know them? (Despite the hundreds of people who work in the Toronto music and media industry, I immediately thought of people I knew and disliked.)

What if they knew me and felt sorry for me, auditioning to be a busker? What if they thought this meant I was giving up on a "real" music career forever? What if--horror of horrors--they thought I wasn't actually good enough to play on a subway platform? What if they were those horrible judges on Canadian Idol?

By being a contestant and not a judge, was I confirming my worst fears about myself, that I wasn't a "music industry professional" and never would be? Would auditioning to be a subway musician be seen as an act of desperation?

And how would it be viewed by the audience? Presumably, there would be an audience and probably a sizeable one, since it was held outdoors at the CNE, just outside the ever-popular Food Building. On a Sunday afternoon at 3:20 p.m., there'd be lots of gaping onlookers for sure. I worried briefly that the anonymous crowd would contain somebody I knew: and then I realized how ridiculous that is. What am I doing, auditioning to play on the subway system, if I'm nervous about auditioning for crowds at the CNE? What's the difference between one indifferent crowd of onlookers and the next? I'm actually seeking out an opportunity to be ignored, judged and potentially ridiculed…every single day of the entire year!

I thought, again, about the potential of this experience: both the auditions and the actual busking. Both of them represented experiences I had, up to now, studiously avoided. I had long been afraid of looking "stupid" and "unprofessional"…I had avoided situations in which I might be looked down on…I preferred being invisible and unnoticed to being noticed and disagreed with.

By standing up with my guitar in a public place, I'd be visibly differentiating myself from the "professionals" on their way to work…and yet I'd be actually making more money each day than I would if I stayed home and talked about being "an independent artist".

As far as the audition went, I decided that the only way to succeed at it would be to simply be excellent: to be so good, nobody could possibly ignore me or turn me down. I realized I had to take myself seriously and present myself as a serious artist--a professional--in order to pass the test. By doing so, nobody would make fun of me, they'd just listen.