Singer - 13. Live Show

Chipper spent most of the summer in New York City and was unable to connect with Greg Nalbo. Not that he was interested in meeting with the man. The way he looked at Bliss and at Chipper, the impression was of a lascivious predator. Chipper could not shake the feeling any interaction might be dangerous.

He and the other remaining contestants were back in Los Angeles by the end of September. They gathered at the by-then familiar Universal Studio’s soundstage to watch the show’s season premiere.

The next day, he met with Adam. “Ready to work?”

“Definitely. I have the list of potential songs you asked for.”

Adam perused the sheet of paper and nodded. “Not bad. One of these you can’t do. I’m planning on it for the Team Adam performance.” He turned the list around to point at one of the songs. “I think I want you to do this one first. We want to hook viewers with a razzle-dazzle performance. If we get them to become fans early on, they’ll support you throughout subsequent rounds.”

“Umm, okay. Can I do this one after?” The tune Chipper wanted to perform was a slower one. “I love the song, I know it well, and I think it would be nice to show a more emotional side.”

“I’m not entirely sure about it. However, if you really want to, I can live with it. Maybe have you start off at the piano?” Adam looked lost in thought while scratching his beard. “Okay, this one third. It’ll be cool to have you sing an upbeat tune in Spanish. This one for the finale.

“I hear they’re flying you to Miami for a concert. I want you to perform all of these. When you return, we’ll look at the tapes and see where we stand.”

With several weeks of prerecorded shows in the can, contestants returned to their hometowns for public appearances once their place in the competition was public knowledge.

“HELLOOO, MIAMI!” The audience loudly returned Chipper’s greeting. “It’s great to be back at The U.” The crowd around the outdoor stage in front of the student union roared. “In case you haven’t heard, this Cane’s a contestant on The Voice. I want to make UM proud and I need your help. Once the live shows start, I want you all to vote for me.”

His confidence boosted by the enthusiastic response, Chipper returned to Los Angeles, immersing himself in rehearsals. Some contestants would not advance sufficiently to perform all the selected numbers. Chipper was confident he would be in the final four. A positive mental attitude was essential.

“What the hell’s that for?” Chipper had allowed his hair to grow over the prior year; he planned on wearing it tied back for the performance but needed a trim to prevent loose strands from flying around.

He had removed his t-shirt when one of the show’s hair stylists asked him to as he sat in the barber’s chair. The man stared at the clippers in his hand. “This? I need to trim your chest before we shave it.”

“Hell, no! You’re not trimming or shaving me.”

“Don’t be such a baby. We do it all the time. I already waxed the other guys going on stage with you.”

Chipper was adamant. “I don’t care about the others. I’m keeping my fur.”

“But the girls like—”

“Dude, what decade you living in? Haven’t you noticed longer hair, full beards, and hairy chests are in for my generation?”

Ambient light revealed robed figures facing away from the audience. Seconds after music exploded from on-stage speakers, Chipper raised an arm with his hand spread open and shouted “Stop!” The rousing sound of violin strings came to a halt. “Wrong track.” The deception he had worked out with the sound engineer.

Swiftly, a different melody was heard, stage lights shone, and everyone on stage turned. Chipper stood in the middle flanked by four robed figures. Behind them, half-a-dozen individuals swayed and clapped to the new beat.

Snapping his fingers and strutting forward, Chipper sang the opening lines of Justin Timberlake’s “Can’t Stop The Feeling” while the four dancers mirrored his moves a step behind.

The choreography was simple but the moves were flawless. A minute into the performance, as Chipper and the choir alternated the same refrain he and the men dancing with him dropped the robes. The tempo increased, and the audience roared its approval.

All five wore skintight, black, stretch jeans. The shirtless dancers displayed rock-hard smooth chests and abs while Chipper’s hairy torso was partially covered by a beaded, black vest. The production embraced Adam’s suggestion of a razzle-dazzle performance to hook viewers and turn them into fans.

The wireless microphone attached to the earphones allowed Chipper to move freely about the stage. During a slower portion of the song, he walked to the edge and either shook hands or bumped fists with audience members. Girls shrieked. Moving back in line with the other men, he snapped his fingers to the beat.

The trick worked, the audience joined him, the screaming diminished, and his voice rose above the crowd’s reaction. The tempo increased and so did the complexity of the dance moves. Any boy band member would have been jealous of the performance.

All the hours in the gym paid off. Chipper’s athleticism allowed him to effortlessly dance from one side of the stage to the other. It was a joyous performance of an infectious tune. He could not help smiling even when sweat dripped into his eyes and droplets clung to his chest hair.

Halfway through the performance, Kelly Clarkson stood and swayed to the music. A fraction of a second later, Adam joined his fellow judge. At the end, when Chipper landed in a split as the music stopped, all four judges were on their feet and so was the audience.

He had done his job. It was now up to the viewers. America’s vote would determine who would move on.