“If a picture’s worth a thousand words, why didn’t I become a photographer instead of a voice-over?”
That was typical Bill. No “Hello” or “How are you”. Bill always comes in with some kind of wisecrack.
“Why do you look so happy?” I asked. “Just watching you makes me miserable.”
“I think I nailed that last audition, man. I totally rocked the house,” Bill said, beaming from ear to ear. “I even added some special effects.” He made the sound of an airplane on the runway. I was utterly confused.
Bill is no Shallow Hal. Bill is deep. A while ago, I nicknamed him ‘Bill the Boomer’ because of his powerful pipes. Most mics aren’t made to handle Bill’s almighty ‘basso profundo’. Most of his clients aren’t either.
Do you want to know something remarkable? I don’t think Bill really has a voice. It’s more of an instrument. His vocal cords could be a terrible weapon in the hands of the wrong people. If LaFontaine was the ‘Voice of God’, Bill had to be the incarnation of Beelzebub. Well… sort of.
Bill and I go way back. This is what you should know about him:
He has a heart the size of Texas and New Mexico combined.
Bill has ambition.
Bill has talent.
And… Bill has no social filter for his thoughts. He doesn’t listen and just spits out words. Unminced. He is always heading for some kind of impulsive disaster.
I have told him many times: “Bite your tongue Bill, or otherwise you’ll get in trouble.”
He always gives me the same answer: “I can’t bite my tongue. I’m a voice-over. I’d be out of commission for weeks. Besides, you know me: I’m spontaneous.”
“There is a subtle difference between being spontaneous and being obnoxious, Bill,” I explained. “And you can be both.”
One day, I overheard him as he was talking to his agent on his brand new Droid. I could tell he was not amused:
“If they want me to use my money voice, they should pay me a decent rate! Give me a break. And if they don’t like it, tell ‘em that they’re free to shop at voices one-two-three or whatever. There they’ll find plenty of people 
who’d do this job for a piece of paper with Franklin’s face on it.”
“They’ll do it for less, Bill,” I said. “I just found this website called Fiverr dot com . It’s advertised as ‘The place for people to share things they’re willing to do for five bucks’.
Guess what? I found someone to replace you! His listing reads as follows:
“For $5 you’ll get me speaking and recording your script no matter what it is! English man with a clear accent. Check out my voice here.”
“You must be kidding me,” said Bill. “I wonder what else people are offering for a fiver?”
“That’s a scary thought, Bill. Don’t even go there.”
Instead, I read a few other listings to him:
- I will design a Professional Logo for any porpuse for $5 (that’s how it was written)
- I will help you with setting up your own studio for $5
- I will write any article of any length for $5
“Seriously, last time I checked, there were at least 1600 pages of these ads and each page has seventeen listings. Perhaps we should have become professional photographers after all. Look at this… I can’t compete with this guy. He writes:
I will create 30 second voice overs if you provide the script. I will allow retakes until you are satisfied. Voice over professional with over 20 years experience.
A week later Bill asked me over for some energy drinks.
“What’s the deal with that audition you were so proud of? Did you get the gig?” I wanted to know.
“Funny you should ask,” said Bill. “I need to talk to you about that. I want an honest opinion. You see, I thought I nailed it, and this morning the producer called me for 
something else. He also told me that everybody in the office had had a good laugh when they listened to my demo.
They ended up offering the part to that guy who used to do these Geico commercials. He suddenly became available. Can you believe that?”
“No,” I said. “I can’t believe that.
Nobody likes being rejected, my friend. Were you at least graceful in defeat?”
“Well….” said Bill. “I think I might have hit a bit of a snag in that department. You know me and my blabbermouth. I just couldn’t help myself.”
“Bill, tell me, what did you say to that producer when he told you that you didn’t get the part? You know you can be very rude, dude.”
Bill took a deep breath.
“I didn’t really mean it,” he said.
“Didn’t mean what, Bill?”
“I told this fellow that he wasn’t making any sense and… that I thought he was so gay that he couldn’t even think straight.”
“Oh… come on, man,” I said. “You should have known better than that. That was way off base. Some of my best friends are producers, and they would have wrung you out and hung you up to dry.
Listen to me, Bill. If you ever want to have a long career in this industry, begin by thinking before you open that money making mouth of yours. And I’ll tell you something else: you better start embracing your inner rainbow! You’re in show business.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you want me to start liking Liza Minelli?” asked Bill, as he took a sip from his Gatorade. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Can you be serious for a moment?” I asked. “You and I know that some of the best jobs don’t necessarily go to the best people. Why do you think that is?”
Before he could answer, I continued:
“Some people know how to schmooze, my friend. They know not to bite the hand that feeds them. They know that if that powerful producer says something that is even remotely funny, they are expected to laugh like Pavlov’s dog.”
“I didn’t know dogs could laugh,” said Bill.
“For Pete’s sake, Bill,” I tried. “How can I ever get through to you? This isn’t funny. Show some respect. Call that producer now and apologize. It’s about time you learn the art of flattery, my friend. These guys can make or break your career, so you better start sucking up to them. If you don’t, you’ll end up burning all those bridges that you haven’t even built yet. Capisce?”
“Point taken. I apperciate the advice,” said Bill, pretending to sound like George W. Bush. “But I still think they should have given me that job. I’m telling you: my audition was funny and flawless, but this producer said that I’d completely missed the mark.”
“Alright, mister president,” I responded. “Let’s play that demo before you call him back and eat some humble pie.”
I have to admit that Bill’s audition was weird. It seemed like it had been recorded in the cockpit of an airplane. He’d been right about these special effects. He also sounded happy but in a forced way, when he said:
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are now flying at an altitude of 5000 feet and the skies are clear. Why don’t you sit back, relax and enjoy our complementary peanuts. Organic peanuts from Greener Pastures. Green never tasted better.”
“And…?” asked Bill expectantly. “You’re a straight shooter. Give it to me.”
“Bill, I have to be totally honest with you. What on earth were you thinking? This demo doesn’t make any sense whatsoever,” I said. “You’re nuts.”
“That’s exactly what the producer told me,” said Bill. He even asked me:
“Why did you spoof Leslie Nielsen in ‘Airplane!’ instead of coming up with some kind of silly character voice?”
“And what did you tell him?” I asked.
“I told him that I just followed the instructions that came with the script,” said Bill.
“What instructions are you talking about, Bill?”
“It read:
This is for an animated pilot.
How was I supposed to know they meant a cartoon?”
Paul Strikwerda © 2010
www.nethervoice.com
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PPS In my next article, I will tell you how I turned a firm NO into a solid YES and landed a lucrative audio book deal.
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Have you ever wondered what’s going on behind the closed doors of a casting agency? 
Some people believe that auditioning is nothing but a numbers game.
