‘Nowhere to hide’: How my car karaoke stacks up at Australian Idol

She’s precocious. And ferocious. But when journalist Debbie Schipp’s fave karaoke bar burned to the ground there was one place left to belt out a tune. Here’s how she went in front of the Australian Idol judges | WATCH the audition.

Sometimes, the greatest accolade is silence.

When you leave the critics speechless, you count that as a win.

At an Australian Idol audition, silence is the enemy.

I knew at heart there was no great, undiscovered voice in me to be miraculously unearthed in a show real contestants spend years finetuning their pipes for.

Which didn’t make my assignment to audition for Idol any easier.

Daunting behind the desk: Australian Idol Judges, Kyle Sandilands, Marcia Hines and Amy Shark. Picture: Channel 7.

The a capella audition test presents a daunting blank space that needs to be filled with one hell of a voice.

Mine strode in instead.

A capella, for the uninitiated, is Italian for “you can’t sing for shit, and no way are you getting background music behind you to cover that”.

It’s an elegant way of saying ‘there’s nowhere to hide”.

THE SET-UP

My dirty little not-so-secret is I’m a karaoke tragic. The tragedy being it’s not a case of “just add alcohol”. I’ll karaoke sober if prompted.

I've got this … I've soooo got this (I haven’t got this). Rolling into auditions.

I sing in the shower, in the car. Long ago, I sang at a mate’s wedding and managed to pull it off.

This was different. My audience – Idol judges Kyle Sandilands, Marcia Hines and Amy Shark – weren’t mates. And they were sober.

But after spending ten years of my career writing about and reviewing TV shows, it was time for the former armchair critic to stand up.

I reluctantly agreed to audition. Then pretended it would never happen.

I’m not that big on dates or detail when I’m in denial.

I was at the office in my usual haphazard outfit, having spent a maximum of five minutes on a half-hearted hair and make-up, before I realised it was audition day.

Reality hit with the arrival of a single text: “What are you singing today?”

‘Shit,” I thought.

Except I didn’t think “shit’.

“You’re So Vain,” I tapped out in reply. Then, a minute later, “Nah, hang on. Bette Davis Eyes”.

I started another to text to change it back, and forgot to send it, departing from Denial City, population one, to my seat on an express bus on the No Way Back Highway.

Feigning calm, I texted again: “No backing music, yeah?”

“Confirmed no backing music,” came the reply.

“Shit,” I thought again. Except the word wasn’t ‘shit’.

But then … salvation.

“We can request the piano man if you would like?”

Who knew there was a piano man? Could he also stand in as a voice and body double?

“It would help … Piano man and a vat of Fireball,” I replied.

Who knew there was a piano man? Bring. Him. To. Me

Fireball, for the uninitiated, is an alcoholic spirit which should taste like regret, but actually tastes like spicy cinnamon liquid courage.

It makes you think you are the most intriguing person in the room, gives dull people personalities, and makes you think you can sing.

It was time. I slapped more crap make-up over my already crap make-up – because TV – tucked a mini-bottle of Fireball in my bag, and headed for the Idol set.

I had a sudden pang of regret that I no longer smoke.

Not because quitting took the croaky huskiness from my voice.

Nope. I just wanted a nicotine hit.

Instead, I got a reality hit.

NO WAY BACK

The VIP audition status I did not deserve meant skipping the queue of hopefuls waiting to sing – most who had been there for hours, and most, I suspected, far better singers than I.

Microphone on, I was ushered to the ‘warm up area’ for a pre-audition interview.

“OK, so what do people do here?” I – the untrained singer, who can’t read a note of music, much less sing scales – asked.

“Some pace, some sing, some do voice exercises,” came the reply.

The nerves hit. I bolted for my handbag. Retrieved my trusty Fireball. Sipped. Gave myself a mental uppercut.

Started pacing, breathing, humming and singing.

The piano man had not materialised. He was somewhere helping a real contestant.

“Shit, I’m on my own,” I thought.

Except I didn’t think “shit”.

NOWHERE TO HIDE

I stepped into blinding studio lights, and that silence.

My biggest victory? Almost fooling everyone that I was not terrified.

It was a lonely place – a stark white room. A mark to stand on. At one end, Sandilands, Hines and Shark, looking expectant, all sporting way more effective TV makeup than me.

The judges knew there’d be a couple of “dummy” media auditions that day, but not when.

Given it’s a while since I passed for the maximum audition age of 30 and I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge, I suspect it was easy to pick the impostor. They played along regardless.

The curveball came before I could sing a note.

Into the Idol studio … with nowhere to hide. Picture: Channel 7

I thought I’d be asked why I was here – to which I planned to breezily reply “because I’ve got nowhere to sing since the Ding Dong Dang – (a well-known Sydney journo karaoke bar) closed during the pandemic, then burned to the ground”.

So: “Why do you think you can win Idol?” caught me off guard.

I opted for honesty: I couldn’t win, but I wanted to prove something to myself even though my days of dreaming my voice could stop a room were long gone.

But still, buried deep in the car-singing, younger version of me, flickered the faintest hope.

Mentally straightening my imaginary suit of armour, I sang into that daunting silence.

I didn’t fill it with the voice of the next big thing. I filled it with Bette Davis Eyes.

Untrained, but acceptable.

I didn’t forget the words. They recognised the tune, but sadly, didn’t take me up on my invitation to join in.

The nerves crept into my voice until the second half, dammit. Then it was over.

Any of you going to join in? Picture: Channel 7

A faux audition can’t replicate that of a real contender, because I wasn’t putting a dream on the line.

I’m thankful I wasn’t one of those real hopefuls – desperate for a yes, a career kick start. Risking it all, knowing you might fall short – that’s the brave stuff.

At 53, I’m precocious. And ferocious. And I know what it takes to make a pro blush.

I also know footage of me doing a dodgy audition exposing me as anything but a world-beating singer, is no great disaster.

So it was a “no” from Marcia.

And from Kyle, who said the talent was just so damn fierce this year, but he’d happily hit the dance floor if I was the wedding singer.

And a “no” from Amy for Idol, but a “yes” to me utterly owning karaoke.

It was gentle confirmation of what I knew: I’m entertaining, can’t dance to save my life, and can carry a tune, but will never stun a listener to reverent silence.

Job done. Nobody hurt. Not too embarrassing. Fireball bottle empty.

They told me I was far from the worst they’d seen today.

You could have heard a mic drop.

Australian Idol premieres on Monday night — January 29 — on Channel 7 and 7plus.

Spoiler alert: Debbie Schipp is NOT the next Australian Idol