One Chance by Paul Potts

singer before and after your own performance.
    Everyone else sounded pitch perfect to me. I only had to waver a little to end up finishing last, and I always saw this as inevitable. I generally did better in the duet classes of the competition, where I usually competed with a boy my age named Craig. Craig was from a fairly well-to-do background and spoke and sang proper English, whereas my accent was always far more Bristolian. He would usually come away with a brace of trophies and medals, whereas despite being told by others that I was a better singer, I would come away empty-handed except for my duet with him.
    Nerves often got the better of me. This was less of an issue at Staple Hill, which took place in the Methodist church. The large Victorian-style building had good acoustics, and was always pretty full during competitions. It had two levels, stalls, and a balcony, so it was not unlike a small theatre. My problem was when I was performing at smaller venues with fewer people attending, like at Longwell Green. I regularly failed to get even a merit there. I’d become nervous, and as a result my mind would go blank: I would forget the words in the middle of a song, even though I knew it backwards.
    It was as if I feared singing to empty seats, since you cannot get feedback if no one is there. Singing was something I knew I was pretty good at, and as other parts of my life were less thanideal, I looked for approval. When I couldn’t feel that approval, it left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. Under that pressure, I collapsed and my performance suffered.
    It was around this time that I embraced classical music in a big way. This was largely thanks to watching the Steven Spielberg film ET . There was something about the music in the movie, alongside the scenes featuring a boy who wasn’t fully accepted by his peers, that struck a chord, if you’ll excuse the pun. I loved the feeling of the music washing over me, and I managed to get hold of an LP vinyl record of the London Symphony Orchestra playing the highlights of the soundtracks from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Star Wars , and ET , all written by John Williams.
    Listening to the record filled me with joy—so much so that I wanted to participate in the music, not just listen to it. Making sure no one could see me, I grabbed one of my mum’s knitting needles and imagined it was a conductor’s baton. This made me feel powerful, and I wanted to feel the emotion from the music more and more.
    For my twelfth birthday, Mum and Dad bought me an inexpensive personal stereo. I got hold of some cassette tapes, and while one or two of them were pop, most of them were classical. I would invariably listen to them at full volume and would often be asked on the bus, “Would you mind turning your violins down, please?” This would usually get a few giggles from those around me.
    I particularly enjoyed listening to the most dramatic music from classical composers. My favourites were pieces like Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture , Vaughan William’s A London Symphony ,and Dvorak’s Symphony for Cello . Most of these were with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra with Hebert von Karajan conducting.
    My favourite orchestral piece was (and still is) Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6 , the Pathétique . Its sadness grabbed hold of my heart and wrenched it so hard it wouldn’t let go. I still remember the first time I ever listened to it. I was walking down Fishponds Road close to home, feeling the first movement reach into my psyche and resound with all the sadness I felt in life. It seemed to end with just the woodwind repeating the leitmotif that had been started by the strings. It ended calmly and quietly. I felt myself sigh with satisfaction and then . . . BOOOOM!!!! The full orchestra came in fortissimo. It was like a gun had gone off and I felt myself jump into the air, only just managing to land on my feet. Worse still, I had an