Curiosity got the best of us. We signed a contract guaranteeing us 15 minutes of fame. Fifteen minutes we never got. Trust me, I’m not a disgruntled reality television star. Just one who saw reality TV in a new light.

Nothing remotely interesting happens in Morgantown. Actually, the best word to describe the entire state of West Virginia is “remote.” But I love it, and it’s home. We’re a state known for boozing, college football, pepperoni rolls, and, in a combination of singing and choregraphy, show choir. More specifically, my high school’s show choir.

In 2006 we were the only show choir in the nation invited to perform at Carnegie Hall. Though we had trouble placing at state competitions, Carnegie gave us bragging rights—so much so that we entered ourselves into the running for an eight-episode documentary about show-choir life for MTV. After a lengthy interview process, MTV called in March 2006 and gave us the okay. Taping began in May.
Pretty soon, girls talked about becoming the next Lauren Conrad, and one member even went as far to say the show was going to launch his “celebrity status quo.” A few weeks later, selections began for the lucky seven whom MTV would follow for nine months: The self-absorbed girl whom everyone hated, the gay guy (actually bisexual), the longtime couple, the guy who turned gay after the show, the perfect Italian princess and two natural-born talents.

They got more than they bargained for. Each of the seven stars had microphones taped to his back 24/7, so anything and everything you said was fair game in the show. Six cameras recorded their every move. Once, cameras followed two of the girls into the bathroom and taped them talking trash. One of the people they talked about was me. (My role in the show choir was pit orchestra violinist, so I couldn’t even tell you why I came up.)

The crew set up question-and-answer sessions at the end of especially dramatic days of taping. Zach Warman, the show-choir captain and arguably the main character of the series, said that many times during the production he was told what to say. “I felt that MTV really wanted me to be the me they wanted me to be,” he says. Producers said that since people weren’t used to being on camera, it was beneficial to them and the show (aka a ratings boost) that they be guided along.

Then there was the re-taping incident. One of the characters on the show got into an argument with the director of the choir. She stormed out to her car, only to find that the cameras followed her the entire way. They asked her to go back and “re-tape the scene with the same emotions.”
The show was also edited so that each person would have a distinct stereotype. Warman complained that he came off as a “stuck-up prep and a show choir nazi.” Many others in the choir complained of appearing in a bad light too.

The editing was the clincher. The producers cut together little bits of us, putting separate conversations together and rearranging incidents to create drama. Add that to the re-tapings, scripted interviews, and a national show choir title on the line, and you get one hit-or-miss television show.
Except that it never aired. Our beloved choir director was linked to a sexual-harassment scandal just three months before the show was scheduled to air, and the producers pulled the plug. But I’m grateful. The cattiness, fakeness and conceit disappeared. The school was calm and peaceful again. Thank you, MTV, for coming our way and giving us the biggest reality check that money and fame could never buy.