Phoning it In. AI Re-cap 1/24/07

The announcer on Fox proclaims that coming up next, it’s Two FULL Hours of American Idol, like that’s a good thing. But for those of you who can’t get enough AI bloat, it was recently announced at the NATPE Convention that Fox is seriously considering upping this season’s Idol output to 45 programming hours. Yes, Virginia, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Well, five down, forty more to go.

Tonight’s episode takes us to New York, New York, a town so expensive, they named it twice. Having lived in the Big Apple for several years, seeing the traffic snarl Seacrest is causing in the middle of Times Square makes me hope someone’s going to come along and kick his candy ass for blocking their path to work. Once at the audition arena, it’s clear the show is not in NYC, but at Continental Airlines Arena opposite Giants Stadium in Secaucus, NJ. My mom lives about five minutes from there in Little Ferry.

Tonight’s episode features guest judge Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter. How nice of her to fly in from Denver to do the show. In actuality, it’s craptacular songwriter and former Mrs. Burt Bachrach, Carole Bayer Sager. Carole once tried to launch a recording career in the early ‘80s, scoring a minor Top 40 single, “Stronger Than Before,” which featured her very thin, weak voice, multi-tracked to the teeth. She then gave up her career to become a professional Joan Collins impersonator. I think she made the right decision.

Speaking of female impersonators, drag-queen wannabe Ian Benardo is the first dickhead seeking his 15 minutes of fame via our last nerve. Ian can’t possibly think he has any discernible talent, yet when has that anyone from auditioning. Ian is a two time offender, having once auditioned for “So You Think You Can Dance.” Fox must have him on speed dial as the go-to guy for scripted bad auditions. Ian is completely offending every one of my senses, so I’m off to pour a drink until he’s done. What a complete waste of time.

I see we’re now at the Chelsea Piers in Manhattan, so the NJ Arena shots were just of the tens of thousands of hopefuls who didn’t get to make it to Manhattan so that fools like Ian could take their time instead. To waste more time, Seacrest launches into the first “human interest” story of the night. Sarah Burgess has come all the way from Ohio to audition and has lied to her parents about coming to NYC to audition, even though she’s, as the used to say in the old days, “free, white and (over) 18.” Apparently, Sarah can go galumphing off to NYC for a week to make it through the five rounds of auditions, as long as she tells her parents she’s “at a friends house” back in Ohio. Bullshit Detector Alert. Sarah’s sob story seems put on and when the tears flow, she loses me. Unlike the pimply guy from last week, this doesn’t feel genuine. Once inside the judges room, Sarah milks the story for all its worth, but her smile gives her away. Sarah has a decent voice with some nice flair, but her singing style has too much flourish and she gussies up her song with ten pounds of cheap rouge. The judges buy Sarah’s bullshit story and put her through. Her story touched Paula, but it made me feel violated. Sarah calls her father in front of the camera and tells him, in a sobbing voice that she lied to him and skipped school and is in NYC. And instead of completely freaking out, asking questions, trying to calm her down, like any normal parent would do, dad just listens until she mentions Idol, then he reads the lines the producers have written for him an tells his daughter he’s proud of her in a completely blasé voice. I officially hate this chick.

Fanya Maria Tsakalakos is referred to as Constantine Maroulis’ female counterpart. They must mean the unruly eyebrows and clown make-up. Fanya is originally from Greece (not Grease, though she does somewhat resemble a very blowsy ChaCha DeGregorio) and is very high on herself. She has a chin mole and some sort of nubbin on her nose that is either a piercing or an unfortunate side effect from the last time she used eye of newt in one of her recipes. When Fanya walks into the room, the first thing out of Carole’s mouth is, “You’re a dancer?” but it’s asked with the most delightful hint of incredulity that I burst out laughing. Simon impatiently cuts off Fanya’s yapping and tells her to get on with the song, which is “Africa,” by Toto. Dare I say that while Fanya is not good, he’s not the train wreck I was expecting. She doesn’t deserve to go through, but she’s better than, say, Tamika Popeyes from last night. Fanya gets so carried away, she doesn’t hear Simon tell her to stop, but one look at the judges’ faces takes the wind right out of her sails. Fanya takes it without protest.

One person who isn’t giving up quite so easily is Ashanti Johnson, who has auditioned for Idol and made it to Hollywood twice before. Get a clue, honey. Ashanti seems nice and has been eating a lot, six times a day even, so that ought to make all the difference. Ashanti sings a fairly off key and affected version of Minnie Riperton’s “Lovin’ You.” I think that even if Ashanti would have blown like the real Minnie, she wouldn’t have gotten through. The judges would never like to think that they were wrong about someone twice and if she had her shot two more times than someone else and didn’t make it, then thanks for playing and step aside for the new blood. Ashanti must be from Memphis because she won’t take no for an answer. She practically begs, Lisa Simpson style, for the judges to really critique her. She wants desperately to be told she’s gotten better. I feel sorry for her, but the producers decide to compound her humiliation tenfold by doing yet another unfunny skit likening her plot to a melodramatic soap opera. Well, maybe they figured since they had Joan Collins in the room… I feel sorry for her but she shouldn’t go through, especially when she starts espousing about how the judges haven’t given her a chance. Baby, they’ve given you two chances prior to this. Get the hook while daddy goes for a refill.

Good lord, she’s still going. Desperation is never attractive. Okay, I’m back and I’m joined by my co-blogger, Hedwig, who’s planted her chunky little butt next to me patiently awaiting my lap. Looks like I made it back just in time for tonight’s dose of bim. Amanda and Antonella are best friends and Jersey broads who are here auditioning at Idol because they’ve yet to be snapped up by some low level mafia henchmen. We see the pair (or both pairs) shopping, frolicking in the surf and soaping up each other’s breasts in the Jacuzzi. Okay, I made that last one up, but I’d lay a ten spot down that the footage actually exists somewhere. Amanda is up first but when Simon and Randy hear her best friend is outside, they immediately order her to bring Antonella in. They are asked to sing a duet, which they both tank, and Simon and Randy yell at them for, even though it wasn’t the girls’ idea to audition together. Amanda sings “Crazy,” by Patsy Cline and she’s okay, but not all that great. Amanda gets put through so apathetically that I almost expect her to turn to the judges and tell them to go fuck themselves for sending her to Hollywood. Antonella is next. She’s got a better voice than Amanda, much better. The judges are much warmer to her and send her through, but not before trying to create a little tension between the friends. To her credit, Antonella does not take the bait.

Clfton Biddle is blowing a harmonica. I hate the harmonica. Clifton Biddle is a moron. I hate morons. Clifton Biddle is singing “Tush,” by ZZ Top, so you know this isn’t a serious audition. I also hate ZZ Top. Clifton Biddle does not go through to Hollywood. I love that.

We see a montage of some pretty bad male hopefuls, including one whose gender is uncertain before the last contestant of the day, Kia Thornton, comes through the door. She has an excellent voice and is quickly, deservedly, put through to Hollywood.

Day Two begins and I’m really bored. Kids, there’s a reason I didn’t blog these last year and I feel like I’m just not coming up with anything interesting to say. It could be because I’m not being shown anything all that interesting, but I will keep sluggin’ away.
Simon is taking the morning off, the lucky bastard, and that can only mean more bad people will get through unless Carole grows a pair and leaps into the breach.

Jenry Bejarano is a 16 year old polite, well spoken and utterly gorgeous young man who was adopted into a Bolivian household as a baby. He also has a most beautiful voice, so perhaps the Bolivians will be known for something other than their marching powder. He very deservedly goes through.

Proving that the producers can never throw us a bone by letting us hear two good singers in a row, we’re saddled with scary fireplug Nicole “Nakia” Clayborne, who is full of way too much energy and has a set of choppers to rival Freddy Kruger. When Nicole sings her first song, a rousing, bouncy version of “Dancin’ in the Streets,” I immediately credit the producers for faking me out. She’s good. But when they ask her to take it down a notch, she sings a very shaky, off-key version of Selena’s “Dreamin’ of You,” that gives the judges all the ammo they need to bounce he snaggletoothed ass the hell out of here. See, I knew the producers wouldn’t stray from the formula. Nakia is almost out of the room when she turns to make a mournful plea of reconsideration. A lot of people are counting on her to go to Hollywood. I mean, do you know how much those souvenir fake Oscars go for on the black market these days?

Sara Goldberg is up next and creeps into the audition room like a country and western mime. Sara sings an atonal version of the ubiquitous Selena song before revealing to the judges that she knows she can’t sing. Duh. She then tells Randy to shut up so she can explain why she’s here and I’m sorry, but she could be looking for a kidney and I would have her ass thrown out if she’d told me to shut up. God, I really wish Simon was here to see this. This bitch is being given way too much time. Damaged. But here to save the day, nipples akimbo, is Simon Cowell. After the break.

Jory Steinberg is up after an unfortunate 47 year old who doesn’t warrant further mention. Jory is originally from Canada and has met several Prime Ministers and even the Queens of Japan and England because, well, she’s Jory Steinberg. She sings a really nice version of Tina Arena’s “Chains.” She’s off to Hollywood. The Queen will be so happy.

Porcelana (yes, Porcelana) Patino has been in training for a year to come to the auditions. She’s lost 20 pounds, works out twice a day and probably uses the anti-aging cream for which she was named. But can she sing? She’s okay, but I think she’s worked hard enough that she deserves to go to Hollywood. She’s no better or worse than most of the shlubs they’ve chosen and as someone who, for a year, got up at 2:45am to go work out five days a week, I feel her pain.

There’s a surprisingly funny montage of contestants with hard to pronounce/misheard names (my favorite is Jimbo being mistaken for Jumbo) before Christopher Henry, who says he’s been compared, looks-wise to both George Michael and Simon Cowell, takes the stage. Christopher is pretty cute, but when he opens his mouth, I wince, waiting for Simon to compare him to a Judy Garland impersonator. It’s not that he can’t sing, it’s that he just shouldn’t sing. And Simon does not disappoint, telling Christopher he should be singing in a dress and stilettos. He and Paula get into a fight and it looks like Christopher is gonna have to shave that hairy chest of his if he wants to make it in show biz.

Rachel Zevita is one of those annoyingly privileged Manhattan babies that thinks she’s way more entertaining and precocious than she really is. She looks like Heather Matarrazo and is in school for Opera. She sings a Jeff Buckley song and though I find her personality completely reprehensible, I can’t deny she has a quality, though she loses it on the Oleta Adams song. She is going to Hollywood and she night want to see about getting that scooped out mole hole on the side of her nose filled in before she arrives. Now she needs to leave before I give her a beat down.

Seriously, quit it with the song montages. So fucking annoying.

Christopher Richardson is going to be singing a Leon Russell song “interpretated” by Donny Hathaway. He’s no Elliott Yamin and not half as good as the judges give him credit for, but he goes through. Didn’t like him.

Oh god, this show has been so long and so bad. Nicholas Pedro, who made it to Holywood last year but bowed out of the competition after badly botching his lyrics during the group sing (and of whom I have no memory, did we ever see him?) is back to try once again. While he tells us his story, he’s being secretively stalked by some old man who is indiscreetly hiding behind a stairway. Paula practically creams when Nick sings “Fly me to the Moon,” but I think he’s much too breathy. He goes through to Hollywood.

And we finish up the night with another idiot, some fat chick named Isadora wearing a hundred jangly bracelets and a cowboy hat. This idiot is a clairvoyant, but not a great one since she clearly doesn’t realize she has no chance. I stand corrected, her bracelets aren’t jangling; the woman has brought a mini tambourine with her. Isadora begins heaving and sighing like she’s holding onto some ben wa balls in a nether place. I will not be having what she’s having. 35 people made it through to Hollywood, of which we saw 10 in a two hour space. I just thank god tomorrow’s Thursday. Seagulls out.