Page 60 of Lyrebird

Laura looks at her, feeling confused. She’s been on the balcony alone.

‘The … never mind.’ Bo’s smile fades and she concentrates on the laptop she has placed on the table. ‘I brought this to show you StarrQuest. It’s important that you go in there fully aware of what’s going on – I don’t want you to do it if you’re not comfortable with any aspect of it.’

Butterflies battle in her belly at the mention. The audition is this afternoon.

‘That’s Jack,’ Bo says, pointing to the screen, and the soft way that Bo says his name makes Laura glance up at her quickly.

‘What?’ Bo’s cheeks pink.

‘Nothing,’ Laura says gently.

‘I’ll, um, get you some more green tea,’ Bo says, and hurries inside.

Laura concentrates on the screen. Bo has lined up a list of YouTube viewings for her. StarrQuest contestants have two minutes to showcase their talent. Incredible acrobats, singers, musicians, magicians, all kinds of talents she never knew existed.

Bo returns and places the mug of tea in front of her. It has practically been filled to the brim with boiling water, water drips from the side. Bo obviously isn’t a regular tea-maker. Laura questions why she’s seeking out her flaws, but she’s never met someone so seemingly perfect before, so self-assured.

‘What do you think?’ she asks.

‘The talent is incredible,’ Laura says. ‘I’d feel out of place joining their ranks.’

‘Laura, you’re more unique than all of them put together,’ Bo says. ‘And Jack Starr, the show’s judge, has asked to see you himself.’

‘And you trust him,’ Laura says. It’s not a question, she has heard how Bo has spoken his name. With warmth. Trust. Love.

Bo freezes a little. ‘Do I … yeah, I mean, he’s … he’s a talent spotter. He’s a musician too. He’s very talented himself, more than people know. He plays the guitar, the piano, the harmonica. He’s known for a handful of hit songs, but there’s a lot more to him. He has so many songs that people have never heard. Better songs. He has a lot of experience and recognises talent in others, and he’s looking for something truly unique.’

Twice Bo said ‘unique’; is Laura being entered because she’s unique or talented? She’s afraid to ask. She’s not sure she wants to hear the answer. She clicks on another link to a video. The show changes people’s lives, the deep-voiced male narrator announces dramatically. Does Laura want her life to change? Laura’s life has already changed, she can’t stop it. She’s trying to keep up.

‘What do you think I should do?’ Laura asks.

Bo doesn’t even take a second to think about it. ‘Do it. Ultimately, it comes down to this: we can do the documentary without you taking part in StarrQuest, of course – this is not a documentary about a talent show – but I think you gaining a profile would not only add to the content of the documentary it would also help the documentary. You don’t need to worry about things like that, but for me as the producer it makes it easier to sell. A successful documentary would give you more options, more directions where you can go with your life. That in itself is a gift. Opportunity, options. Which is what I know you’re searching for right now.’

Laura nods. Bo seems to know her so well. She says all the right things at these moments when she’s confused.

‘Do it,’ Bo says perkily, with a grin, and her energy is infectious. ‘Go on an adventure. What have you got to lose?’

‘Nothing.’ Laura throws her hands up and smiles.

20

Solomon and Rachel arrive at the Slaughter House, the venue for StarrQuest’s live auditions, at noon.

‘Lambs to the slaughter,’ Rachel says, viewing it distastefully.

The venue is famous for hosting gigs with big-name acts; small and intimate, it previously served as a slaughterhouse and was renovated as a live venue. The audition process is different to most talent shows: there are no queues of auditionees snaking around railings for hours on end, instead everybody has already faced a panel of judges and has been selected for the live auditions. It’s a selection process driven by entertainment requirements as much as seeking out raw talent. The format of StarrQuest is that during the live, one-hour show, ten contestants are given two minutes to perform. Jack Starr sits on a throne, the audience sits around the stage like it’s a gladiator arena. After each two-minute performance, Jack hits a button to reveal either an enormous gold thumb up or a thumb down for ‘execution’. The format was devised by Jack Starr and his production company, StarrGaze – a throwback to his band days, when he was lead singer of the Starr Gazers. Last year, after a lengthy court battle, he won the right to resume using StarrGaze as the title of his production company, record company and talent agency, after an unhappy ex-band member raised his dishevelled head to fight him on it.

The StarrQuest franchise has been bought by twelve other countries around the world and is fronted by various presenters with Starr-like qualities and similar histories in entertainment. But the elusive US market still hasn’t bitten, and it’s a target he’s chasing more vigorously now that American Idol has ended its run. As Ireland has become his second home, and the only English-speaking territory that has bought the format, he chooses to appear as a judge on the Irish show. Winners are signed up to his record label and entertainment agency, StarrGaze. It is his moment to shine before the next talent show music don comes along, and he’s enjoying the revival of success almost twenty years after his debut album won Grammys and led him to tour all around the world. He’s making money again, due to the show and the re-release of his debut album. He’s enjoyed the return to playing live gigs, his first love, and tries to include as much of his new material as possible to an audience that has only come to hear their favourite hits. His wish is for his new material to chart; it’s far better than anything he produced in his alcohol-and-drug-fuelled twenties, but his popularity on the show has not spilled into his music career. Since StarrQuest aired, he’s released one song that failed to reach the top forty.

In the centre of the StarrQuest stage is a four-sided screen. A golden glove wavers midway during decision time before becoming a thumbs up or thumbs down. The twist in this is that the audience gets to take part. The audience is made up of those in the studio and people at home who can vote via the StarrQuest voting app. If the audience votes Thumbs Up when Jack has voted Thumbs Down, then they overrule his decision. If he votes Thumbs Up, he overrules an audience’s Thumbs Down, the message being that any Yes rules the day. Since turning to Buddhism after his wild life cost him his marriage, his career, almost himself, he’s tried to breathe positivity into everything he creates. Previous formats of the show saw eliminated contestants who’d received the executioner’s thumbs down leave in a cage carried off by gladiators, but this was abandoned after the first season when viewers protested at the offensive image of a ninety-two-year-old mother of eleven, whose children and grandchildren were in the audience, being carted off after her rendition of ‘Danny Boy’, and a crying ten-year-old boy whose magic trick had failed had a panic attack when forced to enter the cage. The execution cage had, however, remained popular in a Middle Eastern version of the franchise.

Despite the featured acts having been auditioned and scheduled months and weeks in advance, Jack Starr has managed to put Laura on this weekend’s live show. The producers have watched Bo’s iPhone footage of Laura mimicking the coffee machine and some additional footage supplied on request, so they are aware of what she will deliver tonight. But first, a meeting in person, a sound check and run-through to be completely sure. They’re not that trusting.

Security is heavy at the entrance. Michael, Jack’s personal security, decides to deal with Solomon and Rachel himself.

‘You can go through,’ he says to Rachel, but he holds a hand out to stop Solomon. It’s a good twenty years since Michael was winning awards for knocking people out in a ring, but the passing years have done nothing to reduce his enormous frame. He glares at Solomon, who rolls his eyes and hoists his sound equipment on to his shoulder.

‘I’m here to work,’ Solomon says, bored. He’s tempted to add ‘Big Mickey’ – the name he went by in his boxing days in the States. There, it might have sounded cool, but not in Ireland.