Hillary in the Woods

My Experience Losing AGT (again)

Yesterday, I was eliminated from America’s Got Talent, and I’m currently at the beach licking my wounds. I’ve been thinking about how that woman ran into Hillary Clinton in the woods the day after she lost the 2016 election. What was that conversation like? Did Hillary find it sweet, or was she annoyed? Did Bill offer to take the photo? Does he know how to use an iPhone camera? It haunts me!

I’m sad about the elimination, but even more so, I’m embarrassed. Six months of planning, picking songs and little outfits. I would temper it with friends, “I know no one watches this show, it’s not a big deal.” But it really was a big deal, to me at least. After such a great response from my “Pink Pony Club” audition, I let myself hope. After being in the military for 10 years dreaming about being a performer, it was finally happening.

But like Carrie Bradshaw, I can’t help but wonder, what does everyone think about me now? My boss gave me a month of time off, my friends and family purchased plane tickets, Michelle Obama said she was rooting for me. What did people think when they heard me cry through a pitchy performance of a bizarre song choice, with so much hairspray on that if there had been pyrotechnics, I would have exploded on stage? Even worse, did my close and personal friend Michelle Obama hear it? What did she think?

When the producers suggested the song “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley, it took some convincing, but I got on board. I knew the risk involved and fully own the decision, as it was a last-minute change from “Please, Please, Please” by Sabrina Carpenter. This was going to keep the judges from saying I’m a one trick (pink) pony. This was going to send the message that I’m “never gonna give up” on my dreams.

The producers were very cool and talented— I love them. We worked on the track for days and talked about how to convey the message. I rehearsed it beyond my vocal limits. Each rep they’d say, “you’re not giving enough. You really need to sell it, emotionally” (which I agreed with but how do you truly sell “Never Gonna Give You Up” as an emotional ballad). In the minutes before the actual performance, I stood by the stage and worked myself into an emotional knot, thinking about what little Benjamin would say about all of it. The vocal producer told me not to watch the intro package that plays live before my performance as it might make me cry (I watched it). Tears ran down my face as I approached the piano and put my hands on the keys. I took a deep breath and heard my in-ear monitor count down “3…2…1…”

And then I blew it. My emotions made my voice strain and crack in the worst places. My tears made the performance unsettling. I looked at the wrong parts of the room and messed up the words and my falsetto was pitchy. My voice was hoarse from rehearsing it too many times and almost no note behaved as it left my mouth.

When I finished the song I put the mic down to hear the judges’ opinions. Mel B and Sofia Vergara liked it fine, but Howie Mandel said the song just sounded like musical theater, to which I leaned in to respond “thank you” but then realized he meant it as a critique (theater kids rise!). Simon said the song was over produced (which might have been more of a comment to the team who produced it, and less to me). The host, Terry Crews, asked me on live television what I thought about the judge’s comments. I started crying again and said some business about not giving up on my dreams. And then it was over — six solid months of anticipation, wasted in a poor attempt to all-too-sincerely “rick roll” America.

Me, crying after the performance. I wish I was an elegant cryer.

I didn’t sleep that night. The next day, for the televised results show, they placed me against Bay Melnick, a 10-year-old guitarist, who is both adorable and talented in equal measure. I knew it was curtains for me then. On stage, in the seconds (hours) before they said who America voted off the show, I tried to make eye contact with the judges, who, with a very hunger games capitol energy, avoided me by staring into space or looking at their phones (maybe I should’ve worn a dress made of flames or shot Simon Cowell with a bow and arrow!). When they announced that the tiny guitarist had beat me, instead of celebrating, he reached his tiny little arms up to give me a hug. I’ll think about that moment forever, both sweet and humiliating. How sweet that his inclination was to comfort before celebrating, and how sad it must have looked for a 6 foot 4 adult man to be comforted by a tiny boy in a studded leather jacket.

The most haunting part of it all is that within five minutes of my elimination on live television, I was back in my quiet hotel room. Alone, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the graffiti art on my beige wall that the Sheraton thought would add an edge to their Hollywood themed interior. I cried. I cried because knew I could sing better than that. I cried because maybe I lost my only shot. I cried because I gave a good chunk of my year to this show and now I’m embarrassed.

The truth is, absolutely no one is thinking about it but me. No one thinks about anyone that much. People have jobs! Because of the show, I have new music and other projects in the works, and I am not contractually obligated to anyone. I am, in fact, deeply grateful for the experience. It was a thrill to be able to sing at such a level, as myself, and I consider it a precious gift. I’m proud of how much I put into it.

But for right now, in this moment, the loss aches like a sports injury. I’ll let it ache for a few more days and then I’ll get up, walk it off, and get back on the field.

I went on a run today, down to the beach. I didn’t take headphones so I could quietly stare at the ocean and have a “girl who is going to be ok” moment. I found a nice bench, sat down, and looked at the horizon. After only a minute, I noticed a posh woman approaching me with bright blue eyes and a white linen dress on. She said, “excuse me…. is your name Benjamin?”

“Yes...?” I replied.

“Oh my…” she continued. “My kids and I are the biggest fans of you. I have watched your AGT audition hundreds of times and sent it to all my friends.”

She asked if she could give me a hug. This was my sweet “Hillary in the woods” moment.

We took a pic and then I, ready to be quiet and alone, sat back down on the bench to stare at the ocean.

And without hesitation, she sat beside me.

“So what do you think happened? Why did you get eliminated?” She asked.

I think Hillary found it sweet, then annoying.