With Two Hours You Get Eggroll. AI Re-cap 1/16/08
Anyway, back to Dallas- home to Kelly Clarkson. Notice how AI is trotting her out as hometown girl made good, yet Clive Davis would rather win a pissing contest and refuse to publicize and promote her latest CD then suck it up and make millions in an industry where sure things are few and far between. If you want to know who is responsible for the failure of “My December,” look no further than the octogenarian with the temperament of a four-year-old.
I gotta tell you, I don’t think I’m going to ever get tired of seeing Taylor Hicks’ head half cut off during the opening credits. But now we’re back in Dallas and look, another drag queen. WTF? And oh yes, this is the town where the dim-bulb mother-to-be went into labor waiting to audition and named her baby “Idol.” Finger crossed it has some birth defects so she can come back next season and exploit it!
Jessica Brown is a stay-at-home mom from Long Beach, Tx. Her two daughters are unfortunately healthy, but thank goodness Jessica has a past drug problem to trot out for America to pass judgment and forgiveness on. Jessica is a former meth-head whose drug picture eerily resembles that of another fucked-up Jessica- Sierra. Jessica found solace during rehab in Carrie Underwood’s anthem to schmaltz, “Jesus, Take the Wheel” (so, natch, we get a shot of Jessica driving her children in the car. I waited for her to let go of the steering wheel and call on the big guy to do some cruise control, but no such luck). Jessica’s mom is there to testify to her daughter’s sobriety, but it seems everyone is keeping hush-hush about that herpes sore on Jess’ lip. Jesus, Take the Wheel. And then stop off at a CVS and pick me up some Valtrex.
Jessica, superior in her sobriety, is singing I’ll Stand by You. She has a pleasant, if unremarkable voice. I dunno, but I’m just so jaded this year by the voices I’m hearing. Jessica has the entire family outside waiting to see her bring out her golden ticket and throw her a party and she does not disappoint. Hey, I’ve never had a problem with drugs or alcohol. I am self-sufficient, pay all my bills on time, don’t break the law, am polite and courteous (except on here) and I even recycle. Where’s my fucking parade?
Some droopy heffalump named Paul Stafford is flailing around in the waiting room, desperately needing attention. Again I ask- where’s my fucking parade? But no, I’ll waste our time on Paul. Paul is a maintenance man at a baseball field and is also a member of the roller-coaster enthusiasts. He’s also either borderline retarded or fully socially retarded. He caterwauls Wait for You by Elliott Yamin. Is this supposed to be funny? What makes this guy unique in the endless parade of doofuses who come here seeking their 30 seconds of fame. Idol producers, if you’re going to make us sit through these bogus auditions, you’re going to have to raise your game with them because they’re really reeking of old hat. The judges are overly kind to Paul, so I’m guessing he must be borderline retarded. On his way out, Paul says he was happy Simon wasn’t down on him because Simon likes to go down on people. No, hon, that’s Ryan.
Beth Maddox is up next and she compares herself to Kelly Clarkson in voice and looks. She certainly has the arm meat. Beth was a singing waitress at a fondue restaurant and will be singing “Beautiful Disaster,” by Kelly. Well, she certainly has a voice that could cool molten cheese. One thing that could heat it back up again is the rack on Beth’s comforting friend and her boobies bounce in sympathy for the three no responses from the judges.
Elena Whittaker has been told she looks like Carrie Underwood, but thinks Carrie looks like her. She sings country, but can sing other styles, as well. She sings a Faith Hill song and actually makes it sound bearable, which is more than I can say for anything Faith has ever sung. The judges don’t fall all over her, but pass her through. I think she deserved it.
By the way, I don’t know what it is about Ryan tonight, but he looks like he’s been caught out without any make-up on. He also has a bit of a pot-belly.
Okay, creepy alert. Bruce is a 19-yr old virgin who has never even kissed a girl. Out here in Hollywood, we call that Ryan Seacrest. Bruce’s dad brought him up to wait for that one true woman who was meant to be his mate for life. So much so that he has given Bruce a chain with a key pendant. Bruce’s dad wears the chain with the heart pendant, saving it to give to Bruce’s future wife on their wedding day. No word on whether Bruce’s dad will be joining them on their honeymoon, taking the bride for a test drive or even offering to carry a baby for the happy couple as a surrogate. Like I said- creepy. Bruce’s dad asks if Ryan is going to keep an eye on him if he goes out to Hollywood. Ryan says it better than I ever could- “You don’t want me keeping an eye on your son.”
Bruce tells the story of his purity to the judges, hoping it will score some points, but even Paula seems creeped out. Now Bruce is telling us he isn’t even going to kiss a girl until his wedding day. That will be his first kiss. Bruce, hon, let me tell you something. No one is going to attach themselves to you without having even kissed you. Not even the Princess Leia girl or the chick who lives with her mother in a one room studio is that desperate. Oh yeah, also- Bruce can’t sing. It’s all melisma and no talent. Bruce gets rejected across the board and somewhere in Texas, a postal service staff or college dorm wing shudders in fear and anticipation.
Pia is a model, musician and a back-up singer (and probably a ringer) but she has a good voice and should be put through and does get put through.
Brandon Green saves his fingernail clippings. Clearly, this is why he was let through, in hopes to give Seacrest an “Emmy moment,” which he botches from the get-go:
Ryan- Hey. There. What’s your. Name?
Brandon- Hey, I’m Brandon.
Ryan- Do you have. Any? Hobbies. (Pure Shatner delivery)
Brandon- Well, now that you mention it…
So Brandon takes out a bag of teeny, yellowed fingernail clippings. My first and only thought- Fuck, we’re only 37 minutes in. Another hour and 20 to go. Brandon sings “Rich Girl,” and has a decent voice. Simon doesn’t like him and Brandon almost blows it with Randy by telling him and Paula that Simon is the one who tells the truth. Luckily for Brandon, they take the high road and don’t bounce his ass out of the room without a ticket to Hollywood, nails and all.
Were you sitting there thinking- Gee, it’s been a good twenty minutes or so since I’ve heard a sob story? Well, then I have amazing news for you. Our next contestant, Kayla Hatfield, is a mother of two who was in a horrific accident when she was 18 and lost an eye (but not the irritating baby-voice, nor the desire to make clothing out of macramé projects and remnants from Rhoda Morgenstern’s old pantsuits.) I’m guessing Kayla never had the ability to sing, pre- or post accident, and she’s suitably dreadful performing a Janis Joplin song, but Evil Simon comes out to play and sends her through to Hollywood, then gives Evil Randy a titty-twister until he acquiesces. Paula is having none of it, but it’s 2-1, so poor Kayla is made fun of and will probably lose her job at the Piggly-Wiggly to fly to Hollywood (or worse, go down on the plane over and lose the other eye.) all for naught.
Katie Malloy is the last singer of the day and practically blows it by telling the panel that she can do impressions of singers. After doing a passable Britney Spears, she is asked to do Katie Malloy and then does a flawless Carrie Underwood. The problem is, she’s Katie Malloy. She finally rights it as herself and gets through, though I think Simon is either over-praising her as the best they’ve seen so far or we’re truly in for a dire season.
Heffalump # 2 is Douglas Davidson, whose father hates him, REALLY hates him because he sings so well. Douglas is being very careful with his voice because he once read that Christina Aguilera said if you use your voice improperly, you could ruin it. Too late. Douglas butchers some Bon Jovi after taking a ridiculous amount of time to “warm up.” Douglas is horrendous and will not take no for an answer, nor will he leave the stage, finally being escorted from the building. Ridiculous.
Angela Riley is too fucking perky and I want to slap her. Her new husband is a hot fucking model and is way too good for her, her dreadful voice and her thick tree trunk legs. They actually bring the husband in to watch the humiliation. I expect to hear divorce proceedings were begun by week’s end.
Kyle Ensley is the next dope to be made fun of- a complete geek that actually has a much better voice than I could have ever imagined. I thought his whole thing was a gimmick and a joke, but he seems to be on the level.
Tammy Tzinski’s personality is about as flat as her limp hair, a fact that the producers are willing to pull out all the stops to exploit. Tammy thinks she has an R&B style, yet chooses a Celine Dion song as her audition piece. The wrong Celine Dion song, since she claims she will be singing “The Power of Love,” yet bleats out a wobbly, tuneless “If You Asked Me To.” Next.
Colton Swon has a name like a porn star, eyebrows the size of killer earthworms and orders his clothes straight from the Hot Topic website. He also says things like “GIT-tar.” In short, I want him. For a couple of hours, at least. He doesn’t have a terrible voice, but is very untrained and doesn’t have a lot of potential. But there’s something the judges like about Colton and it’s his pre-fab look. And I concur. He’s in.
I’ve already forgotten about Colton after I’m introduced to our next contestant, Drew Poppelreiter, a down-homey, hayseedy farm boy who’s just too aw-shucks to be true. In 10 years, he’ll be the kind of man they write bad chick-lit about, but right now, he’s dazzling us on the stages of Idol. I’m barely listening to his ho-hum version of a George Strait song I’m grateful I don’t know because I’m so dazzled by his eyes and his accent. Me likey. However, Drew talk-sings more than he dazzles, vocally. Simon sees it, Randy doesn’t care and Paula pushes him through just for spite. I’m not complaining.
Kyle Renick is very gay, but I don’t know if he’s aware of it. He’s a dorky teacher with “guyliner” and of course he’s singing Kelly Clarkson. Guh-ay. And he can’t sing. Of course, the judges blame it on his “scary eyes,” which only makes Kyle try and sing again at no one’s invitation.
We’re coming into the home stretch, which means it’s time for the montage. “Since You’ve Been Gone,” makes the walk of shame tonight, with reactions from the judges that don’t even begin to match the folks auditioning. It almost makes me pine for the heady days of Brokenote Mountain.
Nina Shaw is from Kelly Clarkson’s hometown of Burleson, TX. She’s singing a Whitney Houston song. Strike One. Her voice is strike two through six hundred. Her second song is “Feelin’ Good,” and she was markedly better. I’d put her through and Randy and Paula do, to the chagrin of Simon.
Well, they’ve waited five seasons, but the producers have finally ensnared themselves a new William Hung. I don’t think any show has roasted the Asians (outside of The Simpsons) as cruelly as Idol has. The thing is- if you saw this guy, what more is there to say? If you didn’t see it, then you dodged a bullet. But I have good news, children- Idol is only an hour next episode. See, sometimes when God skewers an Asian, He also opens a window. Or something.