Excerpt from my book - Ground to a Halt.

The following is an excerpt from my book. Enjoy.

...

The Audition - First Round.

The Audition takes place in early 2018. I’ll be 30 years old in a couple of months and this is the 7th and most likely last time I will audition for this musical. I’ve reached the finals one time before this and every other time I got as far as a couple of callbacks in. But with each new opportunity to audition came with it a freshness, a revival, a new hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be the time - the time I finally get cast in a West End show.

It’s 11o’clock on a Tuesday morning and I’m at work in a little corner coffee shop in Marble Arch, London. I’m knee deep in coffee orders with a line going out the door and every type of customer imaginable is standing in this line. Bankers, tourists, parents, kids, students, friends, strangers, homeless people... my boss. All of them wanting their next fix of the best coffee in town and at this point in time, in this part of London, our coffee shop is where they will get it.

At 11:45am, I have an audition at the other end of Oxford Street at a place called The Umbrella Rooms. It’s for a musical. A big musical. A popular musical called Wicked. I love this show and would love even more to be in it. I’ve already auditioned five times previously and each time is the same thing. I get a few callbacks in or maybe even get to the finals and then, the job goes to someone else. To say I’m a little bit tired of it all is an understatement, but still, I press on. To give you an idea of my casting for the show, I would suit the role of Fiyero. If you haven’t see it and/or don’t know what I’m talking about, look it up. You’ll thank me later. But, for the sake of time, I’m assuming you already know this show. Not to mention the fact it’s possibly one of the most successful commercial shows in modern musical theatre history. It’s surely the most successful for Stephen Schwartz.

If I’m entirely honest, The Umbrella Rooms is not my favourite venue to audition in. Up until this point, I’ve never had a good audition there and each time I go in, I feel like I’m already fighting a losing battle. Rooms with no atmosphere that no matter how hard you push your voice everything that comes out of mouth disappears into thin air faster that you can say acoustics. I’ve auditioned for all the big shows there before,Wicked, Les Miserables... you name it. And of all those auditions and more, I’ve never been cast. I got close a couple of times, but I think even if I DID get one of those jobs, it wouldn’t erase the years and rejection... all of them in those few studio rooms across the 3 floors of that building.

To top it off, the last time I was there, they were ahead of schedule and if it wasn’t for the fact I remembered the code to the Pret toilets across the road, I would have wet myself. Quick tip: Go to the toilet in Pret across the road. For some reason the downstairs studios don’t have access to a toilet, so once you’re in, you better pray you don’t need to go.

But anyways, I know all it takes is a slight change in mentality, but at this point in my life, I don’t have the knowledge, skill or willpower to beat this. Still, I can’t exactly say “sorry guys, I won’t be accepting auditions anymore if they’re being held at this venue.” If only actors like me could make those kinds of demands. Given the tough luck I’ve had in the years since I moved to London and the amount of rejection I’ve already had, not to mention the ever increasing debt that I’ve become swamped with, I want this audition and I need this job. If I don’t get this job then, I don’t know how long I can continue dragging myself through this. It’s hard. It’s tough. It’s a struggle that continues to plunge me into a deep and dark depression and at the same time, I’m not getting any younger. But anyways, where was I?

Oh yes.

I figured that if I leave at 11:20am at the very latest, I can run down into Marble Arch tube, get off at Tottenham Court Road, run to The Umbrella Rooms and if all goes well, have a few minutes spare before I’m called in.It’s almost 11:20am. The line is still out the door. I quickly make one more coffee order - flat white with one sugar (ugh, sugar - gross) and then taking off my apron, I call out, “Sorry guys, I gotta go now!”

I grab my bag from under the counter, rush downstairs and change into a nice shirt (£10 black, long sleeve shirt - thank you H&M) and spray copious amounts of deodorant on. That’ll shield the panel from the smell of sweat, coffee and milk. Hopefully.

This shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve done this so many times before. Audition after audition. Rejection after rejection. As soon as I’m dressed (and sufficiently over-sprayed with Rexona Sport), I run upstairs and out of the coffee shop. A left hand turn out of the coffee shop and I’m running up the Street. I take the first right at the hairdressers and then run up the road to the lights. A quick left at the lights where Pret is and just next to the money exchange I run down the escalator at Marble Arch tube station. I take the Central Line to Tottenham Court Road and run up the escalators. Tapping my card at the barriers, I exit and then reaching the top of the steps onto Oxford Street, take 5 seconds to breath... and then I run again.

Past the construction sites and a Seven Eleven, looking through the window of the Starbucks on the opposite side of the road; is it too late to get a bottle of water? Yes. Keep running. A few more buildings and some traffic lights - another Pret - and I’m there. The entrance is at the back of the building in a little triangle section with trees that I can only imagine will one day house a bird just waiting to shit on me as I'm walking in. Not today, thankfully. Even if it IS good luck. I don’t need luck right now. I need a job!

I ring the bell.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m here for the Wicked auditions.”

With a loud buzz, the door unlocks. It’s a heavy door, but with an equally heavy push, I enter and head up the stairs to the waiting area with 2 minutes to spare. The girl on the desk signs me in.

“Simon? Take a seat. They’ll call you when they’re ready.”

“Thanks very much.”

I pause, take a deep breath and sit down just as...

The usher enters.

“Simon?” I’m back up again.

“Yep that’s me.”

“You’re in next.”

“No worries.”

Let’s do this.

The usher and I walk up the 3 flights of creaky stairs to the top studio. I’ve got my Spotlight CV printed out, my sheet music in my folder, a couple of spare head shots just in case and the sudden urge to go to the toilet. The guy who sang before me walks out of the studio.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, you too.”

The usher takes a quick look into the room. “I’ll just see if they’re ready. How do you say your last name? Lawton?”

“L-OU-ghton. As in ‘Loud.’”

“Thanks.”

I force a nervous smile and watch him walk into the room as I’m left alone outside dealing with my over caffeinated nervous shakes. Just breathe Simon. Count down from ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. O...

“They’re ready for you.”

He escorts me in.

“This is Simon Lawton.”

Under my breath - “L-OU-ghton, dumb-arse. Hi everyone!”

A few faint hellos from the panel, some smiles and perhaps some looks of judgement.

I head over to the pianist and give him my sheet music.

He takes a quick scan of my song and with a smug look down his nose, “Oh, not in the original key I see."

(Go fuck yourself - I wish I could say that out loud). “Yeah, I prefer A flat. Easier to sing.”

Be charming Simon. You can be charming. Don’t be a dick. My action is ‘to charm’. My objective... get the job!

I walk over into the centre of the room. There’s a small x on the floor and I stand right on top of it. We’re just Simon Cowell and a few cameras shy of a talent show. Should I go on Xfactor? Britain’s Got Talent? Hmmm... Focus Simon!

“And what are you going to sing for us?” J, casting director. He’s seen me a few times before. Nice guy. Never hired me.

“Santa Fe, from Newsies... In A flat.” I give the pianist a cheeky smile.

He smiles back. Oh thank God!

They all make notes. “Great. Whenever you’re ready Simon.”

I nod to the pianist.

The music starts.