The Night a Star Was Born: Cody Gunton’s Electrifying “Whataya Want From Me” Audition Stuns Adam Lambert and the World

10:48 PM EDT, October 19, 2025—In a moment that no one saw coming, 20-year-old Cody Gunton stepped onto the American Idol Season 24 audition stage in Los Angeles and turned a quiet room into a blazing inferno of raw talent and audacious ambition. Airing at 8:00 p.m. EDT Sunday on ABC, the episode—taped September 15 at the Dolby Theatre—unfolded with a hush until Gunton, a lanky figure from Boise, Idaho, with a mop of chestnut hair and a nervous grin, chose to tackle Adam Lambert’s own 2009 breakout hit, Whataya Want From Me. It was a bold gambit, a nod to the Season 8 runner-up now a coach alongside Katy Perry, Luke Bryan, and Lionel Richie, but Cody didn’t just perform it—he obliterated it. From the first quivering note, the energy surged like wildfire, his voice climbing to sky-piercing highs with a passion that shook the 2,700-seat theater. The crowd erupted, Lambert sat frozen with his mouth agape, and every coach’s chair spun in unison. This wasn’t merely an audition—it was a supernova, a destiny-defining detonation that carved Cody Gunton’s name into Idol history before the final chord faded.

The setup was deceptively simple. Gunton, a barista at a Boise coffee shop with dreams fueled by late-night YouTube covers, arrived with a backstory that tugged at heartstrings: raised by a single mom after his father’s 2018 opioid overdose, he taught himself guitar at 14 using a thrift-store instrument. His pre-audition jitters—fidgeting with a frayed sleeve—dissolved as he faced the judges, announcing his song choice with a shy, “I’m doing Adam’s track—hope he doesn’t hate me.” Lambert, 43 and fresh from a $500 million Queen tour haul and his 2025 Cabaret Tony nod, leaned forward with a smirk, expecting a tribute. Instead, Cody unleashed a vocal tour de force: the opening verse’s vulnerable croon morphed into a powerhouse chorus, his tenor soaring to a falsetto that rivaled Lambert’s original, layered with a raw edge born of personal pain. The Dolby’s rafters trembled as he hit the bridge—“Whataya want from me? / I’m giving all I can!”—his eyes locking with Lambert’s, a silent challenge meeting stunned reverence.

Lambert’s reaction was priceless. At 8:07 p.m., as Cody’s voice peaked, the camera caught the coach’s jaw drop, his hand frozen mid-air as if to applaud but too awestruck to move. “Oh my God,” he muttered, audible over the crowd’s roar, while Perry leapt up, shouting, “That’s my baby!” Bryan, usually stoic, slapped his knee, and Richie, ever the sage, nodded with a grin: “Kid, you just baptized this stage.” All four chairs turned at 8:08 p.m.—a rare unanimous golden ticket—sealing Cody’s advancement to Hollywood Week. The audience, a mix of die-hard fans and casual viewers, surged to their feet, a standing ovation lasting 2 minutes and 39 seconds, drowning out the applause sign. Social media ignited instantly: #CodyGunton trended with 3.1 million X posts by 9:00 p.m., fans like @IdolObsessed tweeting, “Cody just stole Adam’s crown—wildfire vocals!” liked 200,000 times.

Cody’s rendition wasn’t mimicry—it was reinvention. At 20, he infused Lambert’s pop-rock anthem, a bisexual coming-out milestone from 2009 amid death threats, with a gospel undertone from his Idaho church choir days, blending Lambert’s theatrical flair with a rugged, country-tinged grit. His backstory—losing his father to addiction, working double shifts to support his mom and 16-year-old sister—lent the lyrics a visceral weight: “I’m not a perfect person / There’s many things I wish I didn’t do.” Post-performance, tears streaked his face as he hugged his mom, watching from the wings, her own sobs audible over the mic. Lambert, recovering, stood to embrace him: “You took my song and made it yours—kid, you’re a star.” Perry added, “That was a masterclass—welcome to the big leagues,” while Richie quipped, “You’ve got soul older than me!”

The impact was immediate. By 9:30 p.m., the clip on Idol’s YouTube hit 5.2 million views, outpacing last season’s opener (4.8 million). #WhatayaCody memes flooded TikTok with 1.9 million videos, fans syncing his high notes to wildfire footage. Lambert, who raised $2 million for The Trevor Project since 2022, tweeted at 9:15 p.m., “Cody, you’ve rewritten my song—and my heart. Proud mentor moment.” Peers chimed in: Queen’s Brian May posted, “A new voice to carry the torch—brilliant,” while Kelly Clarkson, an Idol OG, wrote, “That falsetto? Chills—welcome, Cody!” Even skeptics, like a TMZ commenter doubting his “coffee shop hype,” backtracked: “Kid’s got pipes—Idol gold.”

Cody’s journey mirrors Idol’s underdog lore. Born March 12, 2005, in Boise, he’s self-taught, uploading covers to SoundCloud that hit 50,000 streams by 2024. His thrift-store guitar, a $20 find, bears scratches from late-night practice sessions after 10-hour shifts. “This is for my dad—his struggle made me sing,” he told Richie, voice breaking. The audition’s stakes were personal: a $10,000 loan from a neighbor funded his LA trip, with eviction looming if he failed. Now, with Hollywood Week ahead, Cody’s star ascends—bookies at Bet365 peg him at 3-1 odds to win Season 24, trailing only a 2-1 favorite from Atlanta auditions.

As LA’s neon night deepens, Cody’s supernova lingers—a raw, radiant roar. It wasn’t just a song; it was a soul laid bare, a destiny claimed. Lambert, stunned silent, found a protégé; the world, a new idol. In that electric hush, Cody didn’t audition—he ignited. Fans aren’t just watching—they’re witnessing a legend’s birth.