MY MTV VJ AUDITION

MY MTV VJ AUDITION

FEATURES

JIM FELDMAN

Little did my friend Sue—ace MTV publicist—know what she was doing when, several months ago, she called to suggest that I audition for MTV's newlyannounced, sixth VJ (Video Jockey) slot and then write an article about the experience. No doubt she figured that she was doing her job—getting press coverage for her employer—and providing a friend with an out-of-theordinary story idea. But suddenly filled with visions of glory (delusions of grandeur, if you will), I decided that, all things considered, I was a natural for the VJ slot: An erstwhile actor, I pride myself on my ability to maintain my cool in front of the camera and to express a whole range of emotions with the greatest of ease. Ob|ectively speaking (and if you don't believe me, ask my mother), I am photogenic—videogenic?—enough to pop up on the tube without visually insulting audiences from coast to coast. And most important, as a music critic/ journalist and a life-long rock 'n' roll enthusiast (well, ever since I put away my Bambi records), I know whereof I speak when it comes to matters musical. So, why not go for the big time, the big bucks—from my point of view—and the chance to hobnob with all of my, your, or someone's favorite rock stars?! I told Sue, sure, it sounded like a good article idea, but make no mistake about it, the story and the bucks I'd get for writing it were far from my thoughts as I imagined myself the latest MTV sensation.

Well, the check for this story sure will come in handy—I'm going to buy myself a Walkman and maybe fill in my collection of Neil Young, Janis Joplin,

Van Morrison, and Ramones records. In other words, I won't be showing up any time in the near or far future on your cable TV screen. No, I don't know who will be the new VJ. He or she hasn't been chosen yet, as I write this. And nobody called from MTV to tell me to stop working on my "personality" and dust off my typewriter. So, how do I know I didn't get the job? Oh, I know, all right. Sometimes reality is just inescapable.

Clever fellow that I profess to be, I spent the first part of the requisite formal interview with MTV Executive Producer Julian Goldberg wearing my journalist's cap, figuring that the more information I had, the better I'd be able to convince Goldberg that I was THE ONE. He told me that as a result of trade ads announcing the nationwide search and plenty of word-of-mouth buzz, MTV received over 1,500 submissions. In addition to the photos, resumes, and occasional videotapes from expected applicants—radio personalities, music journalists, music, TV, and radio industry people, actors, etc.—there were submissions from dentists, housewives, construction workers, students, stewardesses, you name it. Looking for people with valuable credentials and solid musical backgrounds (whether professional or not), MTV execs narrowed the group of applicants to about 1 50 for auditions and interviews in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles. While all this was very interesting, it only made me nervous, since I made the lucky 150 largely, if not entirely because of my supposed journalistic interest. (Of course, there was a chance that my 8x10 glossy and my resume knocked 'em silly, but only a chance.)

An erstwhile actorf I pride myself on my ability to maintain my cool in front of the camera...

Then it was my turn to answer some questions. "Why do you want to be a VJ?" "Why do you want to be on TV?" "Are you willing to give up a tremendous amount of your privacy?" "How much do you know about music?" "How would you handle interviews with rock stars?" "How well do you take direction?" "Could you start right away?" "Are you contractually obligated elsewhere?" Look, I know how to sell myself (no, not that way), but occasionally sheer desire tripped me up, so I would give myself B + /Afor the interview. Before I left his office, however, Goldberg tried to de-glamorize the VJ job, maybe to see if I'd lose interest: "It's almost a 7-daysa-week job.. .VJs have to do lots of research...read biographies...listen to albums.. .watch all the clips.. .go to concerts, clubs, parties.. .VJs participate in writing scripts.. .shoot five days a week...personal appearances..." Undeterred, I said, "See ya at the audition."

Up early the morning of my audition, I worried: What to wear? When in doubt, I stick to basics—blue blazer, buttondown shirt, rep tie; i.e., I'm a prep from way back. Full of confidence, I took one last, admiring look in the mirror before heading out the door, and thought to myself, "Why don't I just pretend that the zit in the middle of my foreheard isn't really there?" When I arrived at the studio where the tapings were being held, I was handed over 20 pages of copy to study before my big chance. Short announcements, fully scripted news stories about Keith Richards, the Beatles, etc., copy for an MTV T-shirt pitch spot, short items about Ian Hunter, Glenn Frey, "Tainted Love," and Bill Wyman, and other short spots. Boy, did I study hard.

Finally, it was my turn. I twitched too much, but in general, I think I handled the scripted news stories well, if a bit grimly (Smile, Jim.). The short news items, some of which I had to improvise, were OK, too, although I was suffering from an incredible stiff neck by this point. And the T-shirt spot was fine; I made up a little story about going out dancing in my MTV T-shirt—even if I did crumple up the T-shirt. But oh Lord, did I blow it when it came time for my spontaneous video resume. Not only couldn't I think of anything—ANYTHING AT ALL—to say, but when I finally decided to say that I've been a rock critic for a number of years, I opened my mouth and outcome, "I've been a rock star for a number of years." And, if possible, things only got worse after that.

So, I'm not going to be a VJ on MTV.

So what? I gave it a shot, right? And that's what counts, right? But please—be kind, MTV. Burn my audition tape, and let's pretend it never happened.