to be a lot of people there, but the more aware that you become of them, the more they will be aware that you are nervous. Audiences like confidence, not nerves. Even though you may be trembling inside, never show it on your face. Remember everything that I taught you.”
“Yeah … but how do I make myself confident when I’m not?” I replied.
“Are you nervous in the studio?”
“No.”
“So you have to make yourself feel like you are in the studio. The way to do that is to imagine the people as just part of a backdrop—like they were painted on a big tapestry or something. They are just scenery. You need to turn them into scenery in your head.”
“I’m not sure it’s that easy.”
“Trust me, you will get there, and the more confident you are, the better time your audience will be having and the better time you will be having. Remember, this is what you want to do. This is your dream, so go get it!”
The pep talk didn’t really work. My hands were shaking so badly that I ended up stuffing them in the pockets of my yellow hoodie. Not only that; I was just soaked in sweat. It was dripping down my forehead, and I could feel the beads piling up and running down the small of my back. I’m just glad I wasn’t wearing a dress shirt, because it would have been soaking wet and sticking to my skin. No surprise, I didn’t place in the competition, but I had conquered my first public performance, and that gave me some sense of accomplishment.
As time passed, I got to perform more often. What used to be a very nerve-racking experience began to feel quite comfortable, and as this happened, I began to fall in love with the stage. The whole thing became addictive—the spotlights on me, the sound of applause, the larger-than-life feeling. I loved it all.
_______
Sitting by the windows of the Fairways Grill & Patio up at the Westwood Plateau Golf Club on a hot summer day, I felt a dark cloud hovering over our table. We had just received a call early that morning from our management overseas to arrange an emergency meeting. Our downcast faces stood in contrast to the spectacular view of the sunlit ridge visible from our seats. After months of training and relentless practice, our record deal had all but evaporated.
“What’s going on? This is crazy! I thought we were going to sign the contracts next month? I thought everything was in place.” Joe was getting really angry.
“I know! What the heck? He promised us everything. First album coming out before Christmas … all lies! All this work we’ve done—all for nothing? This is BS!” James lit up his smoke.
“This is ridiculous! I can’t believe it …” I was trying to digest what I’d just heard over the phone.
“He even told me I should drop out of university. Good thing I didn’t listen to him. I’d be so screwed otherwise!” Joe hit the table with his fist.
“And luckily I still have my business running. He told me to give up everything here too. Well, what are we going to do with this group now? It’s over, right?” James picked up his lemonade.
“I don’t know, man … We still need to tell the other three what’s going on. I wonder how they’re gonna react. But before we do anything, let me make a follow-up call and see if this deal is really over. Maybe there’s still hope.” I sighed.
In 2001, an agent from MTV Taiwan came to Vancouver in search of young talent for a new boy band. They wanted to form a Chinese version of NSYNC. I was selected at the interview along with Joe, Kenny, Abraham, Wilson, and James—all my music friends. This experience gave me confidence that we were really going to make something of ourselves.
The agent promised us a lot of things. However, after six months of working with us as their prospective boy band, management decided to drop us because they had a better opportunity with some guys from LA. They were not going to fund two projects. That put an end to this chapter of my dream.
I felt like a loser and spent weeks feeling completely dejected. I had a terrible time coming to terms with the experience. Yet in my heart I didn’t believe that the dream was dead, so I began to think about far more pragmatic career backup plans. I had to prepare for the possibility that I was never going to make it in music, but I wanted a job where I could have a little artistic outlet. After chatting with my grandpa, I decided to apply to a hairstyling college to earn my hairstylist licence while I continued to seek ways to enter the music industry. That way, I could earn a little money and would have something I could fall back on for a while if nothing came of music.
Another year went by—lots of practising, lots of training, lots of sweeping hair clippings from the floor—and then another big-name record label, Warner Music Taiwan, came to North America to scout talent in view of forming a hip-hop group. With the help of my new-found friend Yuen, a young music producer, I entered the competition with a song I had co-written. It was held inside Radisson Hotel, Richmond. Some big name producers and artists’ agents and two regional department heads of the record label in Hong Kong and Taiwan were among the panel of judges. Apparently, I hadn’t been selected in the first round of auditions at Fairchild TV Station, Vancouver, four weeks earlier. Somehow when the judges reviewed all the video footage in Taipei, they spotted my performance and picked me as one of the 12 final contestants. They had high expectations. Later I was glad that I didn’t know all these details until after the competition or I probably would have been under so much pressure that I wouldn’t be able to give my best shot on the stage.
In the green room everyone was busy getting in some last-minute practice, while I lay down on the couch to rest. My theory was that since I had spent countless hours practising at the dance studio for the past four weeks, if I still didn’t remember my routine, there would be nothing else I could do at this point. So I chose to reserve my energy.
“Boz, you’re up in 10 minutes!” The stage manager woke me up from my rest. I stood up slowly and did my last stretch. In front of the mirror, I looked into my eyes, tapped my face lightly, and said to myself, “This is your dream; now go get it!”
The moment I entered the stage, all spotlights were on me. The panel of judges was at eye level. Lights flashed from all corners of the auditorium. Some friends of mine, including Joe and Kenny, were there cheering for me. I could hear them yelling my name somewhere in the crowd. Audiences didn’t bother me anymore. I had mastered the skill of treating them as a backdrop. Once the music kicked in, I was on autopilot because of all my practising, and the performance went very smoothly. I had a great time on stage. After I finished singing the last line and had my ending post, I bowed my head, greeting everyone, then headed back to the green room. Not wanting to think too much about the outcome, I lay back down on the couch to rest.
An hour passed by before all the contestants were called back up to the stage for the final result. Standing up there, I didn’t know what to expect. The judges announced the second runner-up, then the first runner-up. In the midst of all the cheering and applause, my mind went completely blank. I snapped myself back and turned my focus to the two contestants who were holding their trophies, and I wondered how it’d feel to hold one myself.
Suddenly, the MC asked everyone to quiet down as Sam, the regional department head of Warner Music Taiwan, came up to the stage. He spent a couple of minutes giving the audience a short story about the next-superstar search and how they ended up in Vancouver. He went on to list all the successful stars of their company. Unexpectedly, after his speech, he turned to me and said, “And I’m happy to announce that Bosco Poon, B.O.Z, is now part of our family! He is our winner! He is the next superstar of Warner Music.”
In
