Host: Meg Bowles
[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift]
Meg: [00:00:13] From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Meg Bowles. And in this hour, we'll hear stories of imperfect auditions and musical successes, stage debuts and performances royally botched, and one rather distressing situation with a trumpet.
Laura Hitchcock told the story of that instrumental crisis at a Moth GrandSLAM we produced at the Bridge Theatre in London. Here's Laura, live at The Moth.
[cheers and applause]
Laura: [00:00:44] When I was eight years old, I decided that I wanted to learn to play the trumpet. I went to my first ever class with my new teacher, and I loved it instantly. And he said to me, “Look, if you really stick at this, then maybe one day your parents will buy you a trumpet of your very own. But until then, you can borrow mine. I've had this trumpet for 18 years, so I'm trusting you to look after it.” [audience laughter] When he said that to me, I just felt so important, because being trusted to do anything when you're eight years old just still feels like a really big deal.
I took it home, and I immediately started practicing. I sounded horrible, but I didn't care. Once I finished, I thought about what he said to me, and I got out one of those yellow polishing cloths, and I started buffing it really hard with all the strength that my twiggy little eight-year-old arms would allow. Once I'd finished, it looked amazing. I went to put it away only to realize that the position I'd been polishing it in had gotten the mouthpiece completely stuck in the instrument, and that's not meant to happen. [audience chuckles]
I panicked and I was desperate to be able to fix it by myself. I was pulling, but I just couldn't do it. So, I went to my parents and asked for their help, and they couldn't do it either. My mum panicked, because I told her all about how important this instrument was. She just looked at my dad and I, and she was like, “You two need to fix this, because Laura, you can't go into school tomorrow unless that trumpet looks the way that it should be.”
So, my dad and I got to work. We went into the garage and we were looking around for a tool that maybe we could use. And eventually, my dad says, “If we blow out this pipe here, then we could stick something in the other end and we could push the mouthpiece out from the inside.” That sounded like a really good idea. [audience laughter] So, we had a look around the garage and we eventually found this bamboo garden cane. It was about four feet tall and it was the perfect thickness. We put it in the end of the trumpet, and my dad's ready one side because he's got a hammer and he's going to tap on the end to knock it out. [audience laughter] I'm ready on the other side, because I'm listening for that like, pah, and I'm going to catch it when it comes out. [audience laughter]
So, he has the hammer and he taps, but nothing happens, the mouthpiece doesn't come out. And that's when we realize that we've got the four-foot-long garden cane stuck in the other end of the trumpet. [audience laughter] My mum comes in to see how we're doing, and we're just both stood there looking at this old trumpet. The mouthpiece is still stuck. The four-foot-long garden cane is stuck on the other end and the situation is looking worse, and she's just like, “I'm ringing my brother. Get in the car. Go, go, go.”
So, we get in the car. It's like 30 miles to my uncle's house, and we're driving fast down the motorway, because we've got this urgent patient in the backseat that urgently needs our help. [audience laughter] Because my family is like the living embodiment of a Mr. Bean sketch, none of us had thought to cut down the length of the cane. [audience laughter] So, we just had the back window open and the cane sticking out. [audience laughter]
We get to my uncle's house, and he's like this science enthusiast, and he immediately has a plan. And it's a plan that each of us has a role. So, my dad has the garden peas. He's given these two bags of frozen garden peas, and he's to hold them to the body of the trumpet really, really tightly. And my uncle, he has the oven mitts, and his job is to hold the front of the trumpet into an oven that we have preheated just for this. [audience laughter] And my job is I'm standing at the back, and I'm just hanging onto the cane. I don't think anyone needed me to be doing that, but I just like, I really wanted to be a part of it. [audience laughter]
I'm there and I'm waiting and I'm feeling sick, because I'm thinking I can never go to school again. I can maybe go to prison. [audience laughter] I mean, I've destroyed this property and it's looking really bad. I'm hanging onto this garden cane, and I'm looking at us and we look so ridiculous. And then, I didn't pay attention in science class, so I didn't understand and I still don't understand why we were doing this, but it was something to do with thermodynamics. And like those laws, they have these laws of thermodynamics and those laws are real. Because the next thing I know, I'm stood there and I'm holding just a garden cane, and my uncle is holding just a mouthpiece, and my dad is holding just a trumpet, and this relief floods over to me. I can go back to school. I don't have to be a criminal for the rest of my life. [audience laughter]
When we get home, my mum makes me promise, never, ever tell anybody about what happened that night. [audience laughter] She doesn't need to ask, because I just want to pretend the whole thing never happened. I want to go back to being that person who can be trusted to do things and doesn't make things go horribly, horribly wrong. And so, I'm like, “I will never tell anyone, ever.” And the next day I get home from school and I've kept that secret for the whole day. My parents sit me down, and they say that they've been discussing what happened the night before. I think this is where I actually get told off, because we were in such a panic that never really happened. They say they've been discussing what happened, and they've come to the decision that what they really want to do is they want to buy me a trumpet of my very own. [audience laughter]
[cheers and applause]
Meg: [00:06:30] Laura Hitchcock now lives in an apartment in London, which is not exactly conducive to playing the trumpet, but says, maybe one day she'll pick it back up again, proximity to neighbors, depending. She says, her biggest takeaway from the incident with the trumpet is to know when to ask for help. She said in an email, “Nowadays, I'm more than happy to pay for a plumber, electrician, etc., because I know from experience that neither me nor my immediate family should be doing anything hands on.”
Sadly, there are no photos of the trumpet. She says, perhaps the family was trying to erase all evidence. But she did offer us a pretty humorous artist's rendition of events along with some photos of her from the time. You can find those on our website, themoth.org.
[trumpet music]
Next up, we have a story of a musical mentorship from Jason Mesches. He shared it at a StorySLAM we produced in Los Angeles, where we partner with public radio station KCRW. Here's Jason, live at The Moth.
[cheers and applause]
Jason: [00:07:45] So, at my first piano lesson with Carl Lowell, he was my piano teacher, he said to me, “So, what songs do you want to learn how to play? What do you want to do?” I gave him a book that I had purchased with money that I had saved up, and I said, “I want to learn how to play Billy Joel.” He looked at me and he said, “Well, Billy Joel, he doesn't know too much about music now, do he?” [audience chuckles] I was six, but I was still like, “It’s Billy Joel.”
I learned something at that first lesson. He looked at me dead in the eyes and he said, “If you're going to learn to play piano with me, you're going to learn the standards. You're going to learn the 1920s, you're going to learn the 1930s, you're going to learn the great American musical theater, and that's what we're going to learn.” And I said, “Okay, that's what we're going to learn.” I was fine with it, because I wanted to play like Carl, because I saw Carl play the piano, and he was amazing. He's the best piano player I've ever seen.
But Carl was a very unconventional piano teacher. He couldn't see very well because he was very old. So, because he didn't read music, he didn't teach me how to read music. [audience laughter] We did everything by ear training and by learning chord structure and how chord progressions worked. And through that, I learned the standards. Even though he would just write down lead sheets on whatever he could find around, which was on papers, the back of receipts, I brought home pennies from heaven on the back of a paper towel. My parents still laugh about it to this day.
The whole time, anytime I would bring him in something modern, something of my own, he'd say, “Yeah, well, they don't know too much about music now, do they?” That was a big line of his. He didn't like anything except for himself. [audience chuckles] It was fine, because throughout the years, I learned the standards, and I learned how to play jazz, and I really learned music.
Fast forward, I'm with this guy for 12 years now, and it's my senior year of high school, and you had to do a senior project. My senior project was on George and Ira Gershwin. And I was like, “Yes, this is what I'm going to do.” There's a presentation part of the essay, and you had to do a PowerPoint or something. So, I was like, “I'm going to put together a medley. I'm going to do this big song of all the Gershwin hits. I'm going to have S' Wonderful, and Strike Up the Band and American in Paris, and it was this amazing thing.
And my parents said to me, they were like, “You know, for your last lesson with Carl, you should play him the song. That's going to really make him feel good. He's going to send you off in the sunset with that, and you're going to make him feel great, like he really taught someone.” And so, I brought the song to Carl at my last lesson, senior year of high school. I was like, “Carl, I put together this song. It's this great medley. I'd really like to play it for you,” and I played it. And you know how when a figure skater, they land all their jumps and their twisties and they do it perfect, and Scott Hamilton's screaming his head off? It's amazing.
They hit that final pose. They did it so well that they can only hold that final pose for a couple seconds and then they break down in tears, because they're so happy and that's what happened to me. [audience laughter] Because I played it and I nailed it. It was awesome. I knew it was good, because I had goose bumpies. And I also knew it was good, because Mrs. Lowell came running in from upstairs. She came running into the room and she said, “Oh, my God, Jason, that was you. I thought it was Carl for a couple minutes.” I knew that I nailed it, because she came in here and said that. I knew that I nailed it, so I looked at Carl. I said, “Mrs. Lowell said that,” and I knew it. He looked at me and he said, “Well, the wife don't know too much about music now, do she?” [audience laughter]
And then, we were out of time. It was like 12 years of piano lessons, curtains down, and that was it. I was legit. I was bummed. Mrs. Lowell walked me into my car. She did that every lesson after I got my driver's license, because it was dark out. She walked me to my car and she said, “Jason, do you remember four or five years ago when Carl started cutting back on students as he was entering into retirement?” And I was like, “Yeah.” And she said, “I just thought that you should know that he only kept one.” I was just like the happiest guy. I had the figure skating goosebumps again. But I had to play it cool, because you had to act like you'd been there before, [audience laughter] and I was just like, “Oh, well, actually, Mrs. Lowell, he had to keep me.” And she said, “Why?” And I was like, “Well, he had a mission. I didn't know much about music.” She laughed, she said, “You get it. It was a nice song.” Thanks, guys.
[cheers and applause]
Meg: [00:12:16] That was Jason Mesches. Jason never saw Carl again after his final lesson, but he says he credits Carl with fostering his love of music. These days, Jason is a national touring children's musician. And every week, he sings with kids across the country, helping them to love music.
In an email, he said, “Carl was an unusual teacher and I was an unusual kid. It's a miracle that we found each other, and I hope that my job helps honor his legacy in this world.” If you're wondering, Jason says that the final medley he composed was the only school project he got 100% A+ on. So, not so bad, Carl. Not so bad.
To see pictures of Jason and find out more about his music and his most recent album I Wanna Go to Mars, you can visit our website, themoth.org. Here's a little taste of his music.
[Sound Check song Jason Mesches]
Meg: [00:13:50] Coming up, Mary Poppins meets a tiny primary school in Borneo, when The Moth Radio Hour continues.
[piano music]
Jay: [00:14:24] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.
Meg: [00:14:37] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bowles. Our next story takes us onto a stage and into the spotlight. The celebrated British comedian Phil Wang told this story of his formative adventures into the world of performing. Here's Phil Wang, live from Union Chapel in London.
[cheers and applause]
Phil: [00:14:59] Okay, so, I'm 11 years old. We're in Malaysian North Borneo. The year is 2001, and high off the adrenaline of surviving Y2K. [audience laughter] My tiny primary school and essentially a bit of seaside jungle decides to put on a production of Mary Poppins. [audience laughter] It’s most ambitious play to date, and it had done one. [audience chuckles] Auditions are announced, and instantly the school is awash with gossip and conjecture, “When will rehearsals begin? Who will win the eponymous role of Poppins? What is a play?” [audience laughter]
Now, I want to be Bert Badly. I love the film Mary Poppins and Dick Van Dyke's portrayal of the charming chimney sweep with his devil may care attitude towards social mores, [audience laughter] and what constituted a cockney accent [audience laughter] led me to believe that truly anything was possible. The day of the audition arrived. And in that sweaty tropical classroom, I have to say, I bloody nailed it. [audience laughter] I was big and boisterous, fun and fabulous. Bert was mine. I strolled over to Pam, our Australian librarian and play director, to victoriously collect my chimney sweep brush and flat cap. Pam asks me if there's a part in the play I'd want in particular, “Yeah, just a little bit, Pam, but please.” [audience laughter]
At this point, Pam looks me up and down and goes, “Hmm, okay. One question, Phil. Can you dance?” Now, she says these words, can you dance, in a way that I now know would be described as pointedly. [audience laughter] The problem Pam has noticed and that I have not, is that the part of Bert requires quite a lot of athleticism and dancing. He twirls over rooftops and spins graciously into chalk drawings. I was quite possibly the fattest boy in Borneo. [audience laughter] Really huge. Very, very big. I was an 11-year-old boy in the body of a darts player on boxing day. [audience laughter]
Pam suggests instead the part of Mr. Banks, the father. I protest, but Pam assures me the role is more suited to my abilities, “Mr. Banks is erudite and mature and most importantly, stationary.” [audience laughter] I argue and argue, but then graciously accept. Pretty soon, I really get into it. I'm a bit disappointed at first, but I really get into the part of Mr. Banks. I really get into the process of rehearsing. I start practicing on my own at home, singing the songs and doing the lines. One day my mother overhears me practicing. She comes over and she goes, “Phil, congratulations on the part. [audience laughter] Now, would you like to do something about your lisp?”
Now, I'd never heard the word lisp before, so I was quite incredulous and a little bit angry, actually. [audience laughter] And I said, “Lithe? What's a “Lithe?” [audience laughter] She goes, “That is, dear, you can't say your S's properly.” I go, “Don't be ridiculouth. [audience laughter] I'm fine.” And she says, “Are you sure?” I'm like, “Yeth.” [audience laughter] Now, I was cynical about my mother's claims, because I know my mother. I know knew my mother, I still do. [audience laughter] She's a big worrier, my mother. She worries too much. I was just convinced that this lisp thing was just another thing she'd made up to satisfy her own sick addiction to panic. [audience laughter]
It's just the way she was. My mother imbued in me two core values that have held on to this day, feminism and anxiety. [audience laughter] You might find it strange for me to describe anxiety as a value, but I assure you your belief in the redistribution of wealth or cultural relativism does not enjoy the enthusiasm with which I still believe I've left the shower on. [audience laughter]
Feminism and morbid anxiety. My mother has always wanted her children to know two, that women are equal to men and that death is always around the corner. [audience laughter] So, I ignore it. I let go of this lisping and I move on. I continue going to rehearsals in blithful ignorance. And things are going well. The preparations for what must have been history's most humid production of Mary Poppins [audience chuckles] are going pretty well. We were not messing about. We had a house. 17 Cherry Tree Lane was built. One of the parents, Mr. He was an engineer and built the house in two stories with a living room and a bedroom and magical drawers that through a system of pulleys and strings would close with one of Poppins twists of her wrist.
The rehearsals were not going quite as well. Teaching a bunch of Asian kids the full works of P.L. Travers and expecting them to memorize it is about as challenging as it sounds. [audience laughter] Malaysia is quite a culturally mixed place as well. And if Pam was not concerned with my lisp, it was only because she had about 20 different accents to deal with. [audience chuckles] Most notably our Mary Poppins, a 12-year-old Filipina girl, also by the name of Mary, with the voice of Whitney Houston, but the accent of a 12-year-old Filipina girl. [audience chuckles]
You've not seen the true beauty of multiculturalism until you've seen a little Southeast Asian child belt a world class rendition of a Spoonful of Sugar before sternly telling Jane and Michael to brush their teeth’s. [audience laughter] But still, I'm enjoying the process. I'm getting a hold on the lines, I'm loving the songs, and always going swimmingly in Camp Phil until the day of the cast recording. We recorded a cast album. We were not messing around. [audience laughter] We recorded a full cast album, and its recording studio had just opened up in town, and its first signings were the children of Datuk Simon Fung Primary School. [audience chuckles]
We bowl into this recording studio one by one. All the main cast, the singing roles, and each of the soloists go in to record their songs first, Jane and Michael, “If you want this choice position, have a cheery disposition.” Mary goes in, “Stay awake, don't brush your teeth’s.” [audience laughter] And it was my turn. I bowl in, I swagger in with all the gust of a chubby 11-year-old boy, and I sing Mr. Banks’ song. I come back into the listening booth and they play it back to me. And that's when I hear it. My lisp, clear as day, no ambiguity about It. I found my lisp out in the cruelest of ways with the cruelest of songs. Mr. Banks big introductory solo starts, “I feel a thurge of deep thatithfaction, [audience laughter] much th a king athtride hith noble theed, have I returned from daily thrift to half and wife how pleathant ith the life I lead.” [audience chuckles] They gave the kid with a lisp a song that was essentially a tongue twister for kids with lisps. [audience laughter]
Now, I'm appalled. I'm so, so terribly upset. First of all, because my mother had been proved right, and that's always dreadful. [audience laughter] But mostly, because this was the first time I had been shown that how I saw myself was not always the same as how I was seen by others. It was a bitter pill to take and I was just confused. Where did this lisp come from? Did I always have it? Had I just got so fat my cheeks had started growing inwards and [audience laughter] got in the way of my tongue? What I did know was I had to fix it, cue the rocky montage.
At each of our many rehearsals, I'm sitting there, doing my lines, pulling my tongue painfully back behind my teeth where it doesn't feel right, hissing out this strange new sound with mixed results, feel a thurge of deep thatithfaction, thatisfaction. All the while trying to keep this a secret from my friends and the teachers. I'm practicing at home. It takes diligence, and practice, and determination. I battle this daily war against myself, this battle, this war against my own speech impediment. Strolling up and down the garden, practicing the lines out loud. “Ith that Poppinth woman. Ith Poppinth who'th done thith.” [audience chuckles] But I feel I'm making progress.
Soon, though, time is up. The first night is fast approaching and eventually it does. And it's looking good. Preparations are coming together. The costumes are made, the cardboard hats are put on the heads of little pubescent Chinese boys. Mr. He has really outdone himself with a working carousel and flying chairs that are as incredible as they are terribly dangerous. [audience laughter] It really feels like the whole town's come together to make this thing happen.
My mother also had her part to play. She was charged with the job of making-- Well, designing the front of a newspaper that I had to hold in one scene. And the Edwardian headlines she went for were, “Mrs. Pankhurst, Clapton Irons Again,” and “Titanic, greatest ship ever set sail from Belfast.” [audience laughter] Because my mother wants children to know two that women are equal to men [audience laughter] and that death is always around the corner. [audience laughter] [audience applause]
Pretty soon, the curtains rise and the play begins, the overture starts, and I stand there. Time is up, it's now or ever. Pretty soon, my entrance comes on and I bowl in. I strut onto the stage, bold, determined round. [audience laughter] I get my first few lines out before the first volley of S's hit. But hell, I go from “Money's sound. Credit rates are moving up, up. And the British pound is the admiration of the world.” I've done it. I've cured my lisp. I'm king of the S's. I'm on top of the world. And then, my song starts. My big introductory solo. And this is when I remember that we aren't singing the songs live. We can't be heard over the music and we're lip syncing, like it's RuPaul's Drag Race. [audience laughter] The underage, an Asian Special, [audience laughter] lip syncing, of course, to the cast album.
And so, I have no choice but to go for it. In front of 300 people. I lip sync to, “I feel a thurge of deep thatithfaction. Watch ath a king athtride his noble thteed.” But you know it's okay because this serves as a reminder of what I had just overcome, this past self that I had fixed, corrected with sheer determination and force of will. What's more from the audience, a sound begins to ripple, a sound which I begin a long and vital addiction to laughter, [audience laughter] a sound which to this day makes me feel a surge of deep satisfaction. Thank you very much.
[cheers and applause]
Meg: [00:27:40] Phil Wang grew up in Malaysian Borneo until the age of 16 when he and his family moved to the UK. I asked Phil if held any resentment over the director's choice not to cast him as Bert. And he said, “Pam definitely made the right call. As I've grown older, I've realized that Mr. Banks is in fact the heart of the story. He's the one that undergoes the great change and learns how to be a father. A couple of Christmases ago, I watched the film again and cried my eyes out at this epiphany.”
He said that first theater experience unleashed the performer in him and he can still remember the excitement of being in the wings. His love of the sound of laughter eventually led him into a career as a stand-up comedian and writer. You can find his comedy special Philly Philly Wang Wang on Netflix, or check out his book entitled Sidesplitter, part comic memoir, part book of funny essays on the mixed-race experience.
Thankfully, the event was well documented and Phil has shared a few priceless photos of the production which you can find on our website, themoth.org.
If you're listening now and thinking, I have a story, well, why not share it with us?
Andrea: [00:28:58] What's the one thing people don't know about you? I can legitimately say I was in a freak show. It was 1972. My best friend Kathleen and I were excited to be going to the Greene County Fair.
Let me paint a picture. We were in camping shorts, pigtails, pre braces, overbite glasses. We found ourselves several hours before pickup with about $1.50 each. So, we made the decision to invest in a freak show. We thought we were in trouble when a woman came out and said, “Girls, girls.” Instead, she said, “We're a little short-handed. Would you help us?” And so, my friend Kathleen and I said, “Sure.”
I was Ms. Electric. Audience members would come up and I would shock them. Poor Kathleen was Uranium girl. She sat in a folding chair with a pillowcase over her head and the barker said, “If you look at her face, you will be blinded.” We never traded. She's still mad at me to this day.
Meg: [00:30:00] You can go to our website, themoth.org and look for Tell a Story, and find out all the info for how to pitch us. Or, you can call us at 877-799-MOTH. That's 877-799-6684.
Coming up, learning the true meaning of the show must go on and an unforgettable performance from Liz Phair, when The Moth Radio.
[pleasant melodious music]
Jay: [00:30:49] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.
Meg: [00:31:01] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bowles. Fun fact, the phrase the show must go on originated back in the 19th century in the circus world. If something unexpected happened, a performer was injured or animal ran wild, the ringmaster would say the phrase to get the audience's attention and keep them calm.
These days, it's commonly used whenever anything unexpected happens that might put the show, whatever it might be, in jeopardy. Ashley Johnson shared her very unexpected show must go on moment at a StorySLAM we produced in Washington, D.C. in partnership with public radio station WAMU. From the Miracle Theater, here's Ashley, live at The Moth.
[applause]
Ashley: [00:31:51] I am originally from Maryland, and I knew at a young age that I wanted to be a professional actress. I was one of those weird kids who would lock myself in the bathroom and look in the mirror and make myself cry, because I was getting prepared for all the dramatic roles [audience laughter] that I was going to play. So, I decided that after I graduated from college that I was going to move to Los Angeles.
So, three months after graduating, I moved to LA, the place where dreams come true. Well, let's just say that things didn't quite work out how I thought they would when I got there. So, I ended up getting a corporate America job. But it's okay, because I figured I could work in corporate America while pursuing my acting career, and I wouldn't have to be a starving artist.
So, year one rolls by, I'm working in corporate America, not really doing anything acting related, but it's okay because I just got to LA, still trying to find my groove. Year two rolls by, got a promotion, not really doing anything acting related, because I'm making money, more money than I've ever seen straight out of college. Year three rolls by, year four rolls by, year five rolls by, and I am miserable. I did not move to LA to work in corporate America, I'm tired of sitting at that cubicle, so I quit.
I knew that there were three things that I needed in order to pursue a career in acting. I. I needed a good headshot, I needed training, and I needed an agent. Had the headshot, was taking classes, doing the training, but I didn't have an agent. So, I started sending my resume out. My headshot and resume out to different agencies all over LA. And one day I got an email from an agency asking me to come in to audition.
So, the big day for the audition arrives, and I get to the office building where the agency is, and I'm greeted by the receptionist. She gives me two different scripts. One is a commercial script and one is a dramatic script, and she tells me that I have five minutes to prepare and that she'll come back and get me and take me to see the agents. So, I prepare. I'm ready. I go in the room. I go through the commercial part of the audition, did a great job on that. I go through the dramatic part of the audition, did a great job on that. And I'm thinking, I'm done.
I look over to my right-- Well, let me tell you how the room was set up. It was three agents. One on my right, one on my left and one in the middle. So, I look over on my right and I notice that the agent has my resume in his hand. He's staring at it a little longer than he should be. His eyes stop at the bottom of my resume. He says, “You sing?” And I'm like, “Yeah, I sing,” because I put it on my resume. And he's like, “Let's hear something. Okay, pause right there.” [audience laughter]
Three days earlier, I was having dental work done. I've had a chipped tooth since I was a little girl. So, I decided that if I'm going to take my acting career seriously, I need to get my tooth fixed. So, I decided to get a veneer. If you're not familiar with that, they pretty much shave your tooth down to nothing to put the permanent tooth on there. Well, at least that was my experience. So, they did that. They weren't able to give me the permanent tooth that day, so they gave me a temporary one. And they also gave me a plastic covering to keep the tooth in place, just in case.
Back to the audition. [audience laughter] “You sing?” “Yeah, I sing.” “Let's hear something.” So, I walk over to the agent's desk, and I take a tissue off his desk without asking, mind you, and I spit the plastic covering [audience laughter] in the tissue and then I sit it on his desk. I don't know why I did that. My nerves must have got the best to me. I go back to the center of the room, and I proceed to sing, and boom, the tooth falls out on the floor. [audience laughter] I was so embarrassed. It was so silent in there, you could hear a pin drop. Well, in this case, you could hear a tooth drop. [audience laughter]
In that moment, I had to make a decision, am I going to finish this audition or am I going to run out of here from sheer embarrassment? Y'all want to know what I did? I picked the tooth up off the ground, popped it in my mouth, and sang my heart out. [audience laughter] [audience applause]
So, I'm happy to report to you all that I did end up getting signed by that agency. I was awarded a contract. They really didn't care about my missing front tooth after all, because as the saying goes, in show business, the show must go on. [laughs]
[cheers and applause]
Meg: [00:36:45] Ashley Johnson is still in Los Angeles and still acting. Since sharing this story, Ashley has published three books and is now writing for TV and film. She says, “Things might not happen on your exact timeline, but never give up.”
Our final story comes from singer songwriter Liz Phair, who in her long and successful career has experienced many a show must go on moment. She shared this story at an event we produced at the Wilbur Theater in Boston, which was presented by public radio station WGBH. Here's Liz Phair.
[cheers and applause]
Liz: [00:37:30] I had a top 10 radio hit, a song called “Why Can't I?” [audiencehollers] And the Indie press was coming after me, accusing me of selling out. Up until then, I'd been known for my raw and gritty sound, my confrontational lyrics. I was famous for challenging the mainstream. I was the girl who sang Fuck and Run. [audience hollers]
I was the girl who sang Supernova. But that was the 1990s. Now, it was the 2000s, and the music business had completely changed. Pop music was all the rage. This was the era of Britney Spears and NSYNC and Boyz II Men. My small Indie label had partnered with a major label to try to share in that success for their artists. But when that partnership failed and they divested, I became a negotiating point, almost collateral, and I was left behind at the major label, a company that really only cared about getting hits.
On the one hand, I was excited to be playing in the big leagues. I'd grown up listening to radio, and I'd always wanted to hear myself on the airwaves, and I was ambitious. But on the other hand, I'd lost my anchor of the people who understood the kind of music I made and where I came from. I quickly learned that on a major label, there are only two speeds. You can idle in the backwaters and go unnoticed and unpromoted, or you can plunge into the rushing river of commercial success. It was sink or swim time for me, and I decided to swim.
So, I worked with pop producers and we came up with a couple tracks that they thought would be commercially viable. I began to do back-to-back events, all of them scary. I sang God Bless America at the opening game of the World Series. I performed in amphitheaters. I did interviews, videos, and photo shoots. I was in a pop media circus. When I got an offer to sing Winter Wonderland at the Rockefeller Center Tree Lighting in New York City, I was so excited.
I always loved Christmas time. I thought it was such a sparkly and magical season in a very long and oppressive Chicago winter. As a 13-year-old, I couldn't imagine any greater success than composing a classic Christmas carol, a song that would live forever. And even though this wasn't going to be my own song, in some small way, I felt I was fulfilling a lifelong dream. But the day of the performance, I was deathly ill. I had the flu and a temperature of 103 degrees. But I couldn't call in sick. I'd been announced this was a live broadcast. I had to show up for work. When I got there, everyone was asking me questions and giving me instructions and I was still learning the lyrics.
I was going to be singing along to a backing track, a format that I wasn't particularly comfortable with and didn't totally trust. It seemed suspiciously like karaoke, and I totally suck at karaoke. So, I was distracted, and I didn't notice until I looked up into the mirror and saw my reflection and saw that the hair and makeup team had given me a news anchor face and Shirley Temple ringlets. And I was horrified. I didn't even recognize myself. I turned to my tour manager and I whispered, “How bad is it? Do you think anyone's going to notice?” And he laughed. He was like, “Truthfully, it's not great. [audience chuckles] I mean, it's a look.”
But we didn't have time to fix it. I had to be out on set. So, they put this heavy blanket around my shoulders, and they walked me outside onto the plaza. We stood there in the freezing cold, waiting for the broadcast to go to a commercial break. I was shivering from head to toe. Tremors were moving up and down my body. My teeth were chattering so loudly that I was afraid it was going to be audible on air.
They constructed this little isolation booth, like a little tent, and they ushered me inside and sat me down on a stool. The sound guy attached me to my microphone, the lighting guys had these beauty lights glaring in my face, making my eyes water, the camera guy was tracking his shot, the hair and makeup team were still tugging on my hair and blotting my face. I'd been the center of frenetic activity, a team of people, for hours. And then, they all backed away, and I was left by myself out there alone, facing the camera and five million people watching me live.
I could hear the sound of my raspy breath and the thud of my heart. I knew I had to wait two bars before I started singing. That was my cue. As I listened in, my earpiece to, the anchors introduced me. I waited for the music to start playing, but I didn't hear anything. I started to panic and finally the track rose up in my ears. I counted, I waited the requisite time, and I started singing, “Sleigh bells ring, are you listening? In the lane, snow is glistening.”
Something sounded a little off, but I thought, okay, it's the audio mix. It's just strange. I plunge ahead into the second verse, “Gone away is the bluebird.” Something's still not right “Here to stay is a new bird.” This sounds really off. “He sings a love song,” oh, fuck [audience laughter] “As we go along Walking in a winter wonderland.” And that's when I realize I'm in the wrong part of the song.
The melody I'm singing is completely clashing with the chords. It sounds awful. It doesn't even sound recognizable. And so, I freeze. I stare straight ahead, listening intently as I try to find my way back into this song, listening for any clue as to what section I'm in. But what the audience sees is a stupefied woman, slack jawed, wide eyed, with 10 seconds of dead air, 15 seconds of dead air, 20 seconds of dead air. I can see my reflection in the camera lens, and it's those damn poodle curls again. [audience laughter]
So, by the time I hear the bridge chords and I'm so elated that I actually know where I am, my mind has gone completely blank and I can't remember any of the lyrics. So, I just start singing gibberish. I'm pulling phrases and words from other parts of the song, repeating myself, until all of a sudden, it's just over. Everybody rushes back in, and they unhook all the equipment, and they put the heavy blanket around my shoulders, and they start walking me back inside. It's like I'm in a trance. I'm totally numb. I can't believe that just happened. I can't believe I just humiliated myself in front of the greater metropolitan area of New York on live television. Everybody feels incredibly sorry for me. They're all trying to reassure me that it wasn't as bad as I thought. And everyone at home is making food and they're drinking and talking, but I can tell from their faces that they're lying.
I go back to my hotel room. And instead of all the congratulatory calls and emails that usually happen, nobody knows what to say. So, the next morning, my manager calls and I ask him, “How bad was it? Do you think anybody noticed?” [audience laughter] And he's like, “Truthfully, Liz, it wasn't great.” Howard Stern has been making fun of me all morning, speculating that I had a stroke [audience laughter] or that I was on drugs. And the Indie music press is having a field day. They've been waiting for me to fail. And this is almost too easy. It's low hanging fruit.
I remember one joke, that my curls were so tight, oxygen couldn't get to my brain. [audience laughter] But I don't have time to feel sorry for myself and I don't have time to recover from my illness. I'm on to the next performance and the next. But that was the beginning of realizing that I didn't belong here. I didn't belong in this space. If I'm not connected to my instrument or to my band, if I don't feel passionately about the song that I'm singing, if I'm not coming from a place of true authenticity, it's going to be a disaster. So, I fulfilled my obligations and the season wound down, but that was the point at which I truly let go. Thank you.
[cheers and applause]
Meg: [00:48:36] Liz Phair is a Grammy nominated singer songwriter, who's been recording and touring for over 25 years. Her debut album Exile in Guyville is considered by music critics to be a landmark of Indie rock. More than two decades later, her influences in contemporary music is felt more than ever. Liz has also written a memoir entitled Horror Stories, which is a fun read but also an insightful look into her experiences in the music world.
[music]
Now, it's time for this show to wrap it up for now, but we hope you'll join us again next time for The Moth Radio Hour.
[Uncanny Valley theme music by The Drift]
Jay: [00:49:47] This episode of The Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns and Meg Bowles, who also hosted and directed the stories in the hour. Coproducer is Viki Merrick, associate producer Emily Couch.
The rest of The Moth’s leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin Jenness, Jenifer Hixson, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Klutse, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Glodowski, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Kaza.
Our pitch came from Andrea Crouch from Lookout Mountain, Georgia.
Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift. Other music in this hour from Chet Baker, George Gershwin, Jason Meschus, Cormac, The Sherman Brothers, Paul Eakins’ world famous Calliopes, and Liz Phair.
We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.