Male audiobook narrator needed for dramatic fi

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Project Main Details

Male audiobook narrator needed for dramatic fi 
Male audiobook narrator needed for dramatic fiction with multiple European accents

We're looking for a cosmopolitan narrator to read a dramatic novel set in New York City, in the world of professional orchestra musicians. There is equal focus and dialogue from the male (Swiss) and female (New York native) main characters. This job requires competence in Swiss, French and German accents. Knowledge of musical and artistic terms is a huge plus.

Novel is approximately 63,000 words long and should be about 7-7.5 hours in finished audio. This job pays $200 USD per finished hour of audio, for approximately $1400 USD total. Final de-breathing, mixing and mastering will be done in-house, but the narrator will be expected to deliver a clean recording. 
2015-07-28 17:56:37 GMT
2015-08-01 13:00:00 (GMT -05:00) Eastern Time (US & Canada) 
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0 direct invitation(s) have been sent by the voice seeker resulting in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
Voice123 SmartCast is seeking 35 auditions and/or proposals for this project (approx.) Invitations sent by SmartCast have resulted in 13 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.

Project Parameters

The Voice Actor should be located in:
Fixed - USD 1400
63000 WORDS
English - British OR English - USA and Canada
French, German
Middle Age Male
• Audio files must be delivered via FTP/Dropbox/Google Drive/cloud
There are no special pre-, post-, or production requirements for this project.
Not defined
This is a non-union project

Script Details

custom demo required 
After the meeting in Boston, Claude and his mother went
their separate ways. While she paid a visit to friends in
Cambridge, he flew directly to New York to prepare for his
American debut. On his way to the airport, Claude thought
about Mariana and her evident distress. It disturbed him to
have stayed in Beecher’s office while she fled in tears. He
had wanted to go after her, to catch and comfort her. He
imagined holding her and gently dabbing the tears off her
beautiful face with his handkerchief, stroking her astonishing
hair. But why did he want to? He had always been distressed
by turbulent emotions, especially in women and especially
if he felt that he might in any way have caused them. Casual
relationships, those that came without demands or requests
for commitment, suited him best. And yet women always
seemed to want more than he intended to give, if not at first,
then eventually.
Arriving in New York, Claude checked into the Regency
Hotel on Park Avenue, his mother’s choice. He tried several
times to call his girlfriend, Sophie von Auer, in Lugano,
wanting to tell her about the Stradivarius and his great good
luck, but Sophie was away on a two-day retreat with personnel
from the museum where she worked and could not
be reached. He left only guarded messages on her mobile,
not wanting to spoil the surprise. Then he ate a light roomservice
supper and fell into jet-lagged sleep.
When he awoke, he called the offices of Baum & Fernand.
Christopher Beecher had told him the Stradivarius was in
New York, consigned by Alexander just before his death, for
safekeeping and restoration, to the shop of the instrument
dealer, Heinrich Baum, and his partner, the luthier Pierre
Fernand. Claude was told by the receptionist that neither
man would be available that day. Both were traveling, she said,
but would return tomorrow, and then he could certainly have
an appointment. He informed her that his errand concerned
the Stradivarius, and she said Mr. Beecher had indeed called.
Mr. Baum was aware of the reason for his visit and had left
instructions to make Mr. Roselle welcome the next morning
at eleven, if that would be suitable. Claude said, “Tomorrow
at eleven, by all means.”
Therefore he had a day to practice, and did so in his hotel
room, using a mute and playing his David Tecchler, the cello
he’d bought for himself ten years earlier. He worked on the
Brahms sonatas that he was to play at Alice Tully Hall, going
over the difficult passages, experimenting with new phrasing
and fingerings, but always returning to those Feldmann had
taught him. Next he worked for a while on the Schumann
concerto he would play on his national tour. When his hands
grew tired, he went out for lunch and then walked until he
found his way to Lincoln Center. There, outside Alice Tully
Hall, he saw a poster with his name and photograph: Claude
Roselle and — without a picture — William Rossen. “The
acclaimed Swiss violoncellist,” Claude read, “is making his
New York debut on Saturday, April 10, at 8 p.m. This will be
the first appearance of his American tour.” For the publicity
photo, his hair had been carefully gelled and tousled, and his
eyes were wide. He looked, he thought with amusement,
very Euro.
As he walked, he continued thinking about Mariana and
wondered if she lived alone or if he were anywhere near her
neighborhood. In a city the size of New York, he would have
to make a concerted effort to find her, unless he asked someone
directly. “Concerted,” he thought, and smiled — he was
making a pun in English. He must find her and invite her to
his debut. They had so much in common, so much to share,
he believed — above all, their devotion to her father.
That night he went to dinner with his manager’s American
affiliate and the pianist William Rossen. He and Rossen
planned to start rehearsals the next day. The dinner was a
pleasant one. Over Thai food they talked about financial
regulation and how it might affect Swiss banks, the death of
Alexander, the volcano erupting in Iceland, and the health
of the conductor James Levine. Claude wished he could turn
the conversation to the subject of Mariana to find out more
about her, but he could not find a subtle way to do so. When
he returned to the hotel, a message awaited him. His mother
had arrived and would see him for breakfast at nine.

The next morning, at the hotel restaurant, the maître d’
escorted them to a cloth-covered table near a window.
“Well” — Francine settled back in her chair — “we have
had a great surprise, mon petit, you’ve received a remarkable
gift. And an unexpected one. I had no idea my old friend
would be so generous to you.”
Claude, hair still wet from the shower, played with the
teaspoon in his cup. “Maman, did you really not know of this
in advance? I assumed, somehow, you did.”
“No, darling, really not, though of course I always wished
you would have such a great instrument, and I did wonder
what Alexander would do with the Swan after Mariana
stopped playing.”
“She hasn’t exactly stopped playing, Maman,” Claude said.
“She’s been taking care of her father.” He paused. “Perhaps she
intends to resume her career. That’s possible.” 
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