Remember the good olden days of adolescence? You were alone in your room, headphones on. The Wild Boys blared at tinnitus-inducing volumes. Your mic was a Dr Pepper can (with those few leftover drops that invariably landed in your eye), your audience a mirror framed with yellowed clippings of A-Ha and Andrew McCarthy. Yes, yes, I know, we’re talking a very distant adolescence here. Anyway, that mirror showed you where you knew deep down you belonged: on a glamorously lit stage – aka the high school gym at prom – flooring the Heathers who ignored you all your life and dazzling the handsome-oblivious-misunderstood jock you’ve been secretly worshipping since fifth grade. Oh, and let’s not forget the talent scout from Sony Music who just happens to drop by your small-town prom with a multi-million-dollar contract in his pocket.