pray for the soul of kieran

With Two Hours You Get Eggroll. AI Re-cap 1/16/08

2008-01-22T21:31:00.000-08:00

We’re back in Dallas for evening two of the audition episodes and I am still woefully behind in my re-caps. While I’m watching and blogging this episode, the new one is being tivoed. At this point, with two episodes a week, I’ll never catch up. I’m so irrelevant. And on god-damned jury duty this week, so while I could be home catching up on trying to entertain all of you, I’m stuck in a courtroom with people who need instructions on filling out their personal information sppon-fed to them. In Spanish.

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.

Seagulls out.

Yes I Can-Can AI Re-cap 1/15/08

2008-01-22T18:54:00.000-08:00

Gosh, is it January already? This has always been the most depressing month to me. Besides the bleak weather, there’s always been the precipitous drop back down to reality and obligations after the heady, irresponsible time between Thanksgiving and New Years. No one really seems to take anything too seriously during those six weeks and the air is ripe with anticipation, overspending of money and thoughts about how I’ll get my life back on track, just as soon as these next few weeks are over.
So, how was your year? Mine wasn’t so hot. After spending much of 2007 prepping my second feature film as a writer-director, funding was yanked three weeks before the start of pre-production. Silly, when you think about it- the budget was around a half-million dollars, we had some name actors and producers attached. It should have been a smart investment, a no-brainer; so close, I could touch it, and now everything is in limbo and I, like several hundred other people in this industry, am out of work and pondering my future. And then, like a cracked streetlight with a rapidly fading bulb, strong enough only to attract the moths- American Idol appears on the horizon. Do I return to blog and recap for another ultimately pointless and disappointing season? Is there anything left in this trampled upon, jaded, cracked and bleeding heart of mine? You bet your asses. A friend of mine suggested I get out the virtual tin cup and solicit for PayPal donations to keep the blog running, something to help keep me solvent until I find another means of employment, but I find that somewhat distasteful and smacking of charity. Plus, I think there’s nary a dozen of you who come to visit. I’d be homeless in a week. And then where would I plug in my laptop? If I had, say, millions of readers, I might do something like implore you all to send in one dollar each to help finance the film. Wouldn’t that make for a fun Sundance story? But ultimately I’d not reach my goal and I’d have to wind up returning the $7.12 cents I raised, and well, I’ve had enough humiliation for one year. So I return to you and remain blissfully free of charge. So let’s get our Idol on.

Before the show has even started, the controversies are swirling. Accusations of the producers bringing in ringers to help boost what has to be the slew of diminishing returns in terms of hopeful contestants have been flying fast and furious around the internet. It’s been rumored that several contenders that have been passed on to the Hollywood round have had major label deals, one of whom was even nominated for a Grammy award in a duet with Alicia Keys. Distasteful, to say the least, but knowing we’ve pretty much drained the Earth of its untapped natural singing resources, wouldn’t you rather have a handful of Grammy nominee nobodies than 12 Sanjayas and Haleys? Or even one Sanjaya and Haley.

Speaking of nobodies, I’m happy to report that both Taylor Hicks and Katharine McPhee were dropped by J Records and Clive Davis. Taylor had hugely inflated sales reports, claiming to go platinum, but in reality, selling less than 700,000 units of his debut CD. McPhee fared even worse, selling roughly 365,000, and I would say a good portion of both of those sales are moldering somewhere in the basement of 19 Entertainment. Their dismissals are extra sweet for me, considering that Elliott Yamin, the person I fervently backed during Season 5 as the best singer in the competition, possibly of the entire show ever (honestly, only Kelly Clarkson, Tamyra Gray and LaToya London could be considered as good, if not better) tapped out in third place in favor of non-starters Hicks and McPhee.

Daughtry and Carrie’s huge sales aside, the bloom is certainly off the Idol rose, and stinking up the joint most recently were Jordin Sparks and especially Blake Lewis. Blake’s CD, “Audio Day-Dream,” is off the Top 100 Album chart after a scant five weeks. Jordin’s CD is hanging in there in the mid-40s, based on the strength of her Top 10 single, “Tattoo,” but neither singer is going to make you forget the heady sales figures of, say, Mandisa. These are who were chosen in favor of Melinda Doolittle last year, based on their potential to connect with the public and sell records. Not that Melinda would have done any better, sales-wise, but who would you rather listen to for an entire CD? I rest my case.

This week’s recaps are coming a bit late to you all due to the fact that I came down with a horrible fever and virus last week and could barely sit upright, let alone be witty. Then again, if this show is as bad as I was told, I might wish I had the excuse. Here we go…

Seven cities, tens of thousands of goobers, more drag queens than absolutely necessary and a handful of ringers to get to Hollywood. Ryan Seacrest says that someone in the crowd is on the verge of becoming a superstar. Is that claim at all valid after the quadruple debacles of Hicks-McPhee and Sparks-Lewis? Damn Daughtry had to ruin it for all us sourpusses. Seacrest looks very hoe-down at the auditorium, with an Okie haircut and a gingham checked western shirt. You know they helicoptered him in to record that 10 second intro bit, then ushered his ass the hell out of there. They probably had an emergency facialist waiting on the tarmac for him.

By the way, did anyone notice Taylor lost his solo slot in the opening credits? He winds up sharing a screen with Fantasia and Carrie, both of whom got their own solo photos earlier in the sequence, AND the top half of his head was cut off. Now that is cold.

Tonight, we kick off in Philadelphia. How long before we get to hear “Philadelphia Freedom” butchered by someone? My guess is it’s gonna be done in the montage by all the bad singers. The judges are introduced and if anyone enjoyed the delicious awfulness that was “Hey, Paula,” on Bravo over the summer, you know that everything myself and everyone else has been saying about Paula is 100% true. Simon is wearing another man-boobilicious t-shirt and Seacrest is wearing a shirt that has “Monarchy” printed across it; perfect for a queen. And Randy gained back even more weight.

Someone who lost weight, 200 lbs of it, is our first contestant Joey Catalano. It’s most certainly impressive and you hope this will be an inspiring story with a happy ending, but one look at Joey geeking it up in the private room and trying to do kickstands, we know it’s not gonna end well. Plus, he’s wearing cuff links. Shockingly, Joey has a pleasant, if derivative voice, aping Adam Levine just a little too closely on Maroon 5’s “Sunday Morning.” He gets through with three yeses, so perhaps we’ll get to see how sharpeish his folds are. I don’t see him moving past the Hollywood rounds, but you know- at least we didn’t start with a joke, so I’m grateful.

Uka is our next contestant. He’s originally from Egypt. Apparently, all the dentists over there are busy building another set of pyramids, because Uka’s teeth have parted like the Red Sea, with a wide center gap. Uka will be singing The “Mr. Bee Gees,” because they make him feel special. Uka says he loves American girls and that his friend, who is a girl, tells him “Uka, you have sexy face.” Ok, so we’re going for the Borat jokes. That’s our Idol, cutting edge til it hurts. A black woman in line asks Uka if he loves women, to which he shyly answers yes. She then asks if he has kids. He pauses and says he’s not married. I guess he’s still new to the country, as the woman points out- “You ain’t have to be married to gots kids. That’s all that’s goin’ on up in here.” That last sentence just blew apart my spell and grammar check, so I hope it was worth it.

Uka is a virgin and he wants to wait until he can love a girl from “the hair to the navel.” Or nipple. I couldn’t understand him, even though he punctuated it with a round circle made by his fingers. Could be either one. In any case, if that’s as far as he wants to go, he’s never gonna pop his cherry. But I suppose with a tooth gap that big, there are other ways to please a woman. Poor Uka is going down for a hard fall. Make no mistake, Uka is not good and he malaprops the lyrics of “How Deep is Your Love” (by Mr. Bee Gees) worse than Sam Goldwyn, but he’s not half as terrible as I expected and if he spoke English better, he’d be borderline. Paula squirms her way through a delicate rejection, egged on by Simon, and Uka takes it all in stride, back to Hoboken and a blissful, antiperspirant-free existence.

Melanie Nyema is up next and her claim to infamy is that she was a back-up singer for Taylor Hicks on his most recent tour. So she’s seen the ravages and disappointment of the competition up close. Melanie is no Melinda Doolittle when it comes to back-up singers wanting to step into the limelight. She barely wrestles “Unwritten” to the ground before cutting it short. Paula likes her, Simon could care less and Randy says yes. Somewhere in a trailer in Memphis, Taylor Hicks is spilling grape Nehi down his undershirt, getting potato chip crumbs in his boxers and muttering, “You’ll see, girlie,” under his breath.

James Lewis is a tour guide in downtown Philadelphia, which means he puts on a frilly shirt and a tri-cornered hat and is pitied by local Philadelphians. James also has a bad lisp and wears a mustard colored suit that he bought at Arsenio Hall’s last yard sale and which is at least one size too big for him. He says he feels the judges will think he has a very unique voice, a cross between Paul Robeson and Eddie Vedder, which means he’ll be stuck hustling tourists for a little while longer. James sings “Go Down, Moses.” Or he’s imitating Kirk Douglas, post-stroke. I wasn’t sure. Paula and Randy are howling with laughter; Simon is speechless; James is shocked at their reaction. Once the judges get ahold of themselves, James begins singing again. Or he’s imitating Rosie O’Donnell in “Riding the Bus with My Sister.” Again, I wasn’t sure. Outside the venue, James vows to return next year and sing something more contemporary. If that isn’t enough to keep you passing the open windows, I don’t know what is.

We return with a handful of rejected wannabes, my favorite being ZhingZhong Yu, if for no other reason than that name. Junot Joyner is up next, singing “I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues,” by Elton John, giving it that overly melisma-ed treatment that I hate so much. I think anyone who makes a monosyllabic word sound like the first line of a tone poem should be automatically disqualified. He gets through, anyway, but he seems sweet and unassuming and he’s likely doomed, anyway, so who am I to step on someone’s dream? Oh, right.

Jose Candelaria from Bayonne, NJ, is up next and sings “Un-break my Heart,” in full Spanish. I predict this one is going to go somewhat far into the competition, milking this gimmick until we’re all sick of it. I vote for “already over it.”
Lastly is some bland boy named Jonathan Baines, who has nothing dynamic about him, whatsoever, and is also chewing gum. He gets through.

Temptress Brown is a 16 year old football player with Nubian-colored skin, a blonde, Motormouth Maybelle wig and an outfit straight out of the Della Reese collection by way of Carvel. Ryan can’t believe she’s a middle linebacker and actually gets down on the floor to approximate some football moves that you know he paid some teamster $50 to demonstrate for him right before the cameras rolled. And he still looks like he’s doing a cheerleader move straight out of a Toni Basil video. Temptress could break his dainty ass in half and braid her weave with his crumbs. Temptress is auditioning for both herself and her mother, who is very sick. Actually what she is is about 600 lbs, so I don’t have much sympathy for her. They wheel Momma Brown into the waiting room, replete with oxygen tank (or it could just be filled with Arby’s scent until she can get out for her next snack). Momma doesn’t have a camel toe so much as a mooseknuckle and if she could throw her voice and make that thing sing, I’d send her to Hollywood in a hot minute. It’s sweet that Temptress loves her mother so much, but I’d feel a little more magnanimous if I didn’t suspect the Brown family hired the forklift in order to curry favor with the judges and get a little extra face time. Temptress should worry less about singing for her mother and more about keeping her mouth shut so she doesn’t wind up the same size as her.

Temptress is singing “’I Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere’, by Jennifer Hudson,” and from the sound of it, she’s still wearing her athletic cup. Painful. Now I know lard-ass rolled Momma down here for sympathy. The judges were very sweet to her, more than she deserves, but she cries, anyway. Even her tears are fat. And smell like butterscotch sauce.

Mark Hayes fashions himself something of a comedian. All his audition did was waste money on a royalty for “White Christmas,” just to make a stupid cricket joke.

Udi is a joke and wants a way to get on television for no reason. He is so obviously a rehearsed plant, even the judges reactions look thought out. This guy is such a fake douchebag, let me not give him any more publicity.

Oh goody, time for my least favorite part of the show- the montage. Instead of Philadelphia Freedom, the song chosen is “I Love Rock n Roll.” Not quite sure what that has to do with Philly, but it gives us an opportunity to see a bunch of idiots and freaks who got through to the room in favor of some people who could probably sing.

Next up, some skank looking for her fifteen minutes by the name of Alexis Cohen. Alexis is 23, looks 17, sounds 50 and acts like an infant. She’s from Allentown, PA, and makes an effort to tell us the town was the subject of a rock song by Bon Jovi (Billy Joel, actually). Now, if you did not watch tonight’s episode, you may be wondering just what Alexis looks like. Well, if Ace Frehley from Kiss mated with both Connie Stevens AND an open sore, you’d probably wind up with Alexis Cohen. Alexis lives in a one room studio apartment with her mother, two cats and a dog. Mom has the bed. Alexis sleeps on some square lump in the corner, probably a compost heap with an IKEA sham thrown over it. She’s studying to be a vet. She wants to knock the judges “on their feet.” Sam Goldwyn strikes again.
Alexis compares herself vocally to Janis Joplin, Grace Slick and Pat Benatar. She sings “Somebody to Love,” by Jefferson Airplane, though she basically does a full on Grace Slick impersonation, bringing nothing of herself to it, nor any artistry. She’s not bad, and if she knew how to sing, knew how to use her instrument, she maybe could develop into something. Right now, she’s just a one trick pony, and not one suited for this show. The judges are fairly decent to her in their rejection, but she seems stunned, which is either an act or she’s honestly never watched the show before. She walks out and the “tirade” begins, bolstered by having a free camera within inches of her face. Alexis begins cursing Simon, but her delivery is pure cue-card reading, so either she’s memorized this or someone’s breaking the writer’s strike. Alexis decides she’s going to go for “actressing,” but if this tirade is any indication, she should stick with veterinary medicine. If she can find an animal brave enough to let her touch them.

Oh my god, only one hour down. I’m exhausted. And hour number 2 begins with a sob story.

Angela Martin is 26. She got pregnant in her senior year, which is bad news for her but good news for the personnel department at Denny’s. Angela’s daughter was born with something called Retts Syndrome, which somewhat resembles Cerebral Palsy. Already I hate this woman who would exploit her helpless, innocent, handicapped daughter in order to advance in a singing competition. Angela excruciatingly details for us the laundry list of complications for her daughter in dealing with this disease. I’m just about to pick up the phone and pledge a twenty when I remember I’m not watching a telethon, but American Idol.

Angela’s family surrounds her, all wearing t-shirts with her image emblazoned upon them. We hear from Angela’s sister, Latrina. Yeah, that’s right, Latrina. I have no idea what Latrina said, I’m so delighted by her horrific name. She doesn’t hold the title for long, as Samotta Acklin, a friend of Angela’s speaks next. Yeah, that’s right, Samotta. I’m thinking no one in this neighborhood went home with a mini license plate when they visited Disneyland. The whole family sheds copious tears and we’re treated to loving close-ups of Angela’s poor, slack-jawed daughter, who probably has no idea what’s going on around her. All to get on Idol. Shame on this entire family.

Angela has a decent voice, if- as Simon pointed out- some irritating vocal habits, but the fact is, she would have gone through without all the daughter-exploitation. And we might have liked her better. At this point, I’m rooting for her to fail.

Alyse Wojichiechowski is up next. She’s already making a fool of herself in the waiting room before even stepping in to audition, so it stands to follow she sings like a sack of potatoes. As does Teresa Anello, Brandi Park and some dumb old fuck named Milo Turk, who is taking the big-bird lady slot from last year. Ryan pretends to look stunned when Milo tells him he has a very important message to deliver, a song called “No Sex Allowed.” I don’t think Seacrest should try out for “actressing” either. Nor should Randy, Paula or Simon, as they try and act like they didn’t know Milo was coming in three days ago. I’m fast forwarding.

Kristy Lee Cook is up next, a generic blonde hick, sans the accent. Kristy had to sell her best barrelhorse in order to come to Philly to compete. Kristy looks a little like Kyra Sedgwick and spreads the melisma thick as molasses on an unendurable “Amazing Grace.” Look for her to be this year’s McPhee. Simon tells her she looks like someone who would be singing in the 60s. No idea where that came from.

Some schmuck named Ben Haar has come dressed in a sort of Princess Leia/Return of the Jedi outfit covered by a cloak. Somehow, Randy and Paula convince him that if he waxes his very hairy chest, they may be able to concentrate better on his audition. Ben goes off in search of some Nair and further humiliation while we listen to Pedro Riviera, Shekhinah Bathyudah (who really needs to join Angela Martin’s group of friends and family) and Paul Mauterano waste more of our precious time. Paul sings a really gross, stalkery song he composed for Paula and I’m already over this season, though I have to appreciate his Wilona Woods reference.

Beth Stalker is up next. She’s 28 and a stay-at-home mom and when she was a mere tot, recorded an album of Jesus songs under the name Little Liz. I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume her parents forced her at gunpoint. Beth sings “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered,” and sounds very promising. Simon says he doesn’t believe she’d stand out in the competition, but I would have to say that of all the people we’ve heard tonight that did make it through, hers is the only voice I remember. Thankfully, Randy and Paula send her through to Hollywood.

Ben is back and freshly waxed and gets out two words of “Don’tcha” before the plug is pulled by Simon- and good for him. As Ben trots off, Simon mutters, “All because that fat lump wants to be on TV.” Well, if you guys would stop letting all the other fat lumps be on TV, then perhaps you could have prevented this one.

Chris Watson is next and though he’s cute and can sing, his voice is completely sound-alike and unmemorable. But he’s exactly what the show is looking for, so of course, he’s through.

Christina Tellisano is dressed up like Princess Leia and Mary Catherine Gallagher. I hope she gets nervous and sticks her fingers under her buns and smells them. She can’t sing, and is borderline psychotic, but the judges actually let her down easily. She actually bursts out of the room, crying as her humiliated grandparents try and comfort her. One of her press-on buns comes loose and she curses a blue streak while Grandpa stands by and flaccidly fondles the hairpiece.

Brooke White is last to audition. She’s a nanny to twins in Van Nuys and says that not having her own children at the moment (did she pawn them to fly to Philly?) it’s wonderful and rewarding for her to be with them. Brooke has never seen an R rated movie and is too pure to be Pink. Brooke is not terribly impressive. It’s more of a “singing in the shower” voice, but the gimmick of purity gets her through.

Christina Tellisano is still bitching and moaning about diversity while we see Idol’s version of diverse choices spill across the screen. Hey, I have jury duty tomorrow, so I’m headed to bed. Thinking back over the past 3 ½ hours of watching and blogging, I find that my prediction has come true; the only person I have any memory of from this evening is the girl Simon said would be unmemorable.

Until I catch up to the next post- Seagulls out.

Boobies! AI Re-cap 3/1/07

2007-03-01T22:58:00.000-08:00

20 up, 4 down. Everyone is crammed onto the stage, grateful to not be smelling Paul Kim’s feet or the residue from last week’s performance. All have mustered fake smiles except for Stephanie Edwards, who looks terrified. Guess she logged onto dialidol.com. Chris Sligh, who was at the opposite end of the stage in the first shot, has now been shoved to the bottom of the stairway, possibly so Seacrest wouldn’t have to navigate around his big belly on his way down the steps. Ryan says they hate to see anyone go (we’d like to see you go), but that they have a great show to help ease the pain. He announces that Kellie Pickler will be performing tonight, then visibly gulps when he gets no studio audience reaction and begins applauding to help prompt them. Cut to a shot of some shifty looking audience members and someone who looks like Ellen Travolta, shifting uncomfortably in their seats and half-heartedly clapping.

Well, the show’s numbers may be strong in the Nielsens, but the voting numbers haven’t improved. 32 million, same as last week when there were four more contestants to spread it out over. My feeling is that once the audience gets to know these people, the voting numbers should increase as they become passionate to keep the ones they love from going home. But besides Melinda, who in this bunch is there worth even finding the phone for, let alone actually dialing it.

I love the recaps of the previous nights’ shows, because it’s stuff I can fast forward through. For instance, I can guarantee Ryan is still trying to get someone to believe that story about how much better the guys were this week than last. No wonder nobody buys this guy is straight. I can also predict the moments that were shown, like Antonella sassing Simon. And I wish I could fast forward through what’s about to happen now, but alas, I wouldn’t be a proper re-capper if I cheated. This week’s group sing-a-long is “Joy to the World.” Haven’t they already done this one before or are they keeping to this week’s theme of recycled songs (true to form, that was a recycled quip.) I need coffee for this one. I‘m finishing up the last of my holiday stash of Coffee Mate Pumpkin Spice non-dairy creamer. Nestle’s busts a few xmas flavors out in November and they usually sell fairly quickly and once they’re gone, they’re gone. So I hoard because I love everything pumpkin, even those two big gourds on Lakisha’s chest last night. Gimme pumpkin or go home.

So- Jason begins the song with his growl-sing and looks so proud of himself for managing to sound just a’ight. Then Sanjaya joins in a three-part-harmony that officially starts our trip to Gaysville. Joni Mitchell can’t get up that high. I’m convinced Chris Richardson has some sort of tremor in his left hand because he can never seem to keep it still. Timberlite, there are some songs you don’t need to wigga out on and this is one of them. Quit throwing the imaginary dice and just sing poorly. And here comes AJ Tabaldo and Gaysville just turned into Homopolis. Tabaldo sings, “You know I love the ladies.” Yes, to dish with and go shoe shopping. My guess is Bruce Gowers has a wicked sense of humor and tried to get Sanjaya to sing that line, but had to settle for the lesser of two she-males. Lakisha must have just stepped on Gina’s toe because the poor gal is howling in agony. Antonella is unfortunately teamed with Sabrina. Coincidentally, Hedwig just yakked up a furball. I’d love to stick around and see how this number ends, but the line for the water flume is gigantic and I wanna go get my picture taken with the guy dressed up like Chip. Or is that Dale?

Elimination number one and it’s one of the guys. I really want Brandon Rogers to stick around, since he’s the only eye candy left. Ryan asks if it’s any easier this week. Why does he ask the questions everyone in the world knows the answers to and no one cares?

Phil is safe. Tell the maids to make up his coffin for another week. Chris Sligh is safe. Jason is safe. His dad is more feeble looking than Ed McMahon and the corpse of Uncle Miltie put together. Ryan asks Blake to stand and the poor boy says to Seacrest, “Give it to me,” completely unaware of the torrents of laughter he’s unleashed on home audiences everywhere. No Blake, Ryan takes it. The beat boxer is safe. After trying to fake out Jared, Ryan reveals that he is safe. That’s a shame. He seriously sucks. Ryan looks so proud of himself- see how sneaky I am!! Nick Pedro is the first victim of the evening (if you don’t count the 31 million people who had to sit through “Joy to the World.”). No great loss, though I would have sent home Jared well before Nick. The judges have some nice parting words for Pedro though I find I can’t remember what he sang on Tuesday until he starts it up again right now- “Fever.” I liked this on Tuesday and I like it now. I have to say he’s doing even better with it this evening. If he had used this much energy the first time around, it might be the Geico caveman going home. Jason is crying, knowing full well his fat, hairy ass should have been on the chopping block weeks ago. Nick gets a great parting gift, a full on hug from Brandon Rogers, who’ll probably be joining him in a few minutes.

Ladies’ turn. Ryan asks Jordin how she’s holding up and, being seventeen, Sparks doesn’t realize he actually isn’t interested, he’s just filling time. She goes on to tell us all about her day until Leslie kicks her in the leg and signals for her to shut up.

Stephanie is up first and she’s safe. She’s very lucky because she chose a crap song and tanked on it. She can’t afford to make another mistake like that. Glocksen is also safe. Sabrina Sloan will be sticking around, as will Melinda Doolittle (duh). Seacrest rips the band-aid off Alaina Alexander nice and quick. He doesn’t even announce what she sang last night (he probably forgot, just like the rest of us) or what the judges had to say (how many different ways can you phrase “suck-ass?”). She is going home. He ought to give her a swift kick in the ass, to boot, for wasting our time. No tears from the other contestants at Alaina’s ouster. Guess she wasn’t as liked as Nick, who had three on camera cries attributed to him tonight. Ryan finally gets around to reminding us what Alaina sang and what the judges thought. When he says that Simon felt she “ran out of steam,” Alaina snaps back, “Clever.” Oh, I really want to hit this girl. I wish one of the judges would mention her utter inability to take criticism. In reality, the only reason she made it this far is her looks. Alexander exhorts her competition to sing their butts off (translation- do exactly the opposite of what I did) and we finally get a few pity tears from Jordin, which can more likely be attributed to being 17 than any love for Alaina. Alexander can’t even get through the song and makes the other girls come hug her. She’s surrounded by non-losers as the back-up singers take over the song. I so want Lakisha to emerge from the huddle, snacking on an arm and declaring, “That’s some good white girl!” Lord, Jason Head is crying again. Permission to fast forward through this. I still have to sit through Kellie Pickler. Seacrest asks Paula to give Alaina some parting words of wisdom, probably because Randy and Simon would have ripped her a new one. Something strange happen to the sound and Abdul is rendered completely silent. It’s the most coherent I’ve heard her in years.

Seacrest announces more info about the American Idol challenge and shows last week’s winner in the audience, some toothless hillbilly named Sean Jones who you know probably made motorboat sounds with his lips as the plane was taking off and who likely smells just a tiny bit of cow dung and unwashed ass.

It’s Pickler time. Wearing a low-cut dress and what looks like an Eva Gabor wig from the new line catering to younger white trash, Picks jiggles out with a newly minted boob job. Nice to see she has her priorities straight. Sure Grandpa, I know you raised me and all and you need a new tin roof, but my ta-tas come first. Simon is seen secretly discussing Pickler’s cleavage with Paula while Kellie and Ryan engage in some painfully pre-scripted banter about sushi. I’d say Burns and Allen’s reputation is probably safe, but it’s nice to see that the head writer for “The Brady Bunch Variety Hour” has finally landed another gig.

I gotta say, Kellie did a lovely job with the song, which I found better than any of Underwood’s singles. It was nicely written and very simple and sweet. I’m impressed. Hell, I’m floored. It actually made me want to hear the rest of the CD.

Another guy is about to be cut. Please not Brandon. Please not Brandon. Chris Richardson is safe. Bleagh. Yeah, Brandon is safe!! That means Juliet and Juliet are about to be broken up. I’m telling you, I know Will & Grace is off the air, but there’s only so much swish the country can take. Ryan makes Gay & Gayer take center stage. We start with Sanjaya whose hair is styled like a cross between Farrah Fawcett-Majors and Kristy McNichol. Sanjaya’s reviews are all pans, while AJ Tabaldo had two of the three judges on his side, but clueless moms and nine year olds everywhere have decided to punish us by keeping Sanjaya around for another week. That’s fine, he’s the easier of the two to make fun of and AJ was suck city, anyway, though he sings circles around Princess Jasmine. What stinks is that if Leslie is the next girl to go, we’re going to have to listen to “Feelin’ Good” two times in a row. It’s like tempting Beetlejuice. Once again, we’re treated to Jason crying. Either he’s overly emotional, or he keeps plucking out a beard hair in order to get more face time. Oh well, AJ, if they ever do a revival of “Torch Song Trilogy,” your name should be the first up to play Marina Del Rey. Night Night, dear.

Final cut of the evening. I have my fingers crossed for Leslie, but I fear she’ll be on the chopping block and we’ll have to endure another horrid week of Haley. Lakisha is safe. Haley is also safe, so bye bye Leslie. Down to Antonella, Leslie and Jordin, who’s still talking about her day. All three step downstage. Antonella is safe, which is ludicrous. The poor girl has given two hideous performances. I want to be in her corner and I am about the photos, but it doesn’t give her a free pass to sing like a dying seagull. Leslie’s going home and I applaud her for not giving in and playing the sympathy card regarding her lupus. I’m sorry to see her go and I hope Haley chokes on her bitchy attitude and gets eviscerated next week. Well, I’ll be sure and do my part.

Seagulls out.

DooPlenty! AI Re-cap 2/28/07

2007-02-28T23:52:00.000-08:00

Before we begin tonight, I’d like to pose a question to any readers out there who follow “America’s Next Top Model.” I, myself, don’t watch the show and never have but I came across five minutes of it tonight and it struck me- This is, what, the 500th season of this show or something and, other than being used for other Viacom-based reality shows, have any of the winners actually gone on to do anything else, you know like actual modeling? Just wondering.

Well, after last night’s show, in which everyone tried to pretend the boys didn’t suck as badly as they did last week, there’s a small glimmer of hope- we get to see the ladies perform. I get to hear the lovely, lilting tones of Stephanie and Melinda, feel sorry for Antonella and rag hard on Alaina, Haley and Gina. Such fun. Randy is wearing a fugly-assed paisley shirt that looks like Prince’s old backing band threw up on him. Even more hideous is the lie he keeps perpetuating that the guys are actually starting to do well. I thought more about it today and there wasn’t one performance I’d even remember or want to watch again. Not one single standout. And it’s way too late in the competition for these guys to not have their game faces on. Forget nerves, forget inexperience. There isn’t a star performer in the bunch.

But you came here to see me beat up the girls and, good news, we’re starting with a doozy- Gina Glocksen. Don’t forget, it’s still dedication week. Let’s see if Gina decided to single out a song to anyone else but herself. Surprise, surprise, Gina has a boyfriend. She found someone who can put up with her me-me-me bullshit. Gina yammers on about how she wasn’t going to audition for Idol this year because she felt so rejected from the years before. There’s that entitlement creeping in. Gina is in the dreaded first position, so let’s hope it works its magic, though to be honest, I could put up with her ass for one more week if it meant dumping Haley and Alaina. As much as Gina bugs me, I can at least stand to listen to her sing. Taking another page out of her strategy book, Gina decides to sing “Alone,” by Heart. You really can’t go wrong with an Ann and Nance song; hell, even Melissa McGhee managed to keep her ass in the game with one. Is it me, or are the songs cut down even shorter this year. It doesn’t even feel like Gina was onstage for longer than 60 seconds. Anyhow, it was not very good. The first verse was pitchy and not confident, then when she got into the chorus, the back-up singers harmony blew her out of the water. She managed to hit one of the three money notes toward the end, which should be enough to carry her through, but the sad part is, Heart songs are no longer a sure thing. I can still remember Carrie Underwood’s performance of this song two years ago. It gave me chills and she never came close to duplicating that talent on the show again, though she’s done well where it counts. Randy liked it but called it pitchy. Paula brought up Carrie Underwood and then seemed to completely lose her train of thought and Simon said he was confused as to what image Gina was trying to go for, because that concerns him more than the singing, sometimes. He thought Gina was edgier, which brings up the first hoot-worthy comment of the night, made by Randy- “That song IS edgy.” No, hon, that song was a Number 1 Adult Contemporary single. Edgy it is not. Your fucking hideous shirt is edgier than that song. Paula starts going off on what Gina is wearing, completely obliterating the point Simon was trying to make. Ryan insinuates himself into the conversation, trying to get Gina’s boyfriend to propose. Hey, Ryan, if I were you, I’ be concerned with my own sham marriage preparations than trying to stick my nose in to other folks’ real business. This one needs to buy the best beard money can find.

Alaina Alexander is next and she answers Ryan’s hard hitting question about song choice by saying that this week she picked a really well-known song. Uh, “Brass in Pocket” is a really well-known song, sweetheart, you just stabbed it over and over with a dull butter knife. Song choice ain’t your problem, lack of talent is. Alaina has chosen “Not Ready to Make Nice,” by the Dixie Chicks, which she dedicates to her mom. After the first three notes, I know I’m not ready to make nice, either. Shaky, off-key and completely drowned out by the back-up singers during the chorus. And a really bad dye job. Why is she here again? Alaina’s voice is so weak, there are times when I can’t even hear her over the ladies in the back. This is probably a blessing in disguise. Now she’s shouting. Paula is in her cups and standing and clapping. If this chick doesn’t go this week, there’s no justice. Randy says it was a mess and Alaina sticks her tongue out. Paula baldly lies and says it’s a hard song to sing, which even Randy can’t swallow. It’s not hard to sing, Paula, the back-up singers were handling it just fine. Simon said Alaina ran out of steam, which causes her to roll her eyes. Sweetie, if you can’t take criticism, especially when it’s warranted, go the fuck home. Paula feels bad and plays the “you look beautiful” card. They keep cutting back to some bitch sitting next to Alaina’s mom in a crocheted cap who keeps throwing out these nasty looks to the judges. Family, gotta love how blind they are. Ryan lets Alaina rebut (fuck this rebuttal shit that’s become de rigeur this season. Take your criticism and deal with it.) Alaina whines and moans to the judges, “What would you like me to do?” Go home.

Lakisha is next. I’m curious as to why she didn’t go first since she went last the previous week. Phil went first last night after being in the final spot the week before. Lakisha is dedicating her performance to her 90 year old grandma. Grandma looks damn spry for 90! Good for her. Grandma is in “luv” with Ryan Seacrest, so perhaps dementia is beginning to set in. Lakisha is singing “Midnight Train to Georgia,” and unlike Gina with Carrie, after Paris’ wretched performance of this song last year, there’s nowhere to go with it but up. I’ll be honest, I would have preferred hearing a better voice such as Melinda do this song. Lakisha was fine, but definitely off-pitch in spots. She’s better at handling lower range than Mandisa was, but she still resorted to some shouting toward the end when it wasn’t necessary. She gets a pass this week with hopefulness about her future prospects, but I have still yet to be blown away by her. The judges all liked her, though Simon wasn’t crazy about her orange top. Pardon me, “Salmon,” as Seacrest is quickly and emphatically pointing out. Umm, I’m gay and even I couldn’t tell the difference. I’m surprised Ryan didn’t look over at Sanjaya and go- back me up princess, it’s salmon, right?

Melinda Doolittle is next and I see they’re subtly trying to make the audience make a choice between black female divas. Big mistake. There’s room for all of them, especially this year, where the show would be nothing without them. Melinda is the first person not to dedicate her performance to a family member, and I love her for that even more. Instead, she’s singling out her two best girlfriends, though when we find out one is her vocal coach and one is her stylist, I don’t know that’s going to go over too well with poor, Midwest working folk. Doolittle is singing “My Funny Valentine,” and I see we already have a theme week going- Recycled Songs- not that after Melinda’s first two notes will anyone really be able to remember Constantine’s anemic take on this one from two years ago. Okay, that performance gave me literal chills. I still have gooseflesh. Folks, if you saw this, you just witnessed the birth of a star. Amazing. I’ll happily sit through the rest of the chaff if I’m allowed to hear Melinda once a week until the end of the season. The judges agree and I have definitely found one person I would eagerly pick up the phone for. Excellent job, Ms. Doolittle.

Thankfully, the show has decided not to address the nastiness going around the internet about Antonella Barba. I, for one, am in full support of her. I don’t think she did anything wrong and I think the photos, real, photoshopped or otherwise, have nothing to do with the competition. That being said, she still sang like shit last week, so I’m not giving her a pass on that. Tonight’s song is dedicated to her foxy brother Vincenzo. Barba is singing “I Turn to You,” and I already know before she sings one note that she’s going to get slammed for doing an Xtina song. Okay, whoops, she’s singing “Because You Loved Me,” by Celine Dion, so just repeat that comment and sub in the French bitch’s name. I kept that blunder in there because I wanted to illustrate just how much those two songs sound alike, and not in a good way. Barba is marginally better this week, but much like Jason Head before last night, she’s run out of chances. Over her shoulder, I keep seeing Haley Scarnato smirking during the performance, as though that skag has anything to feel superior about. Shouldn’t you be at a bris singing Hava Nagila? By the way, Antonella looks really hot this week and her dress is sexy. Randy thought it was terrible, Paula thought she improved considerably and Simon thought she was worse this week. Antonella makes an enemy of Simon by saying that she’s not going to listen to him because he rejected Jennifer Hudson and look what happened to her. And the Chris Sligh Out of Your Depth Sass award this week goes to… Simon swiftly corrects her that the voting public tossed Hudson out, not him. Only Antonella’s notoriety will save her if she makes it through another week.

Ryan makes a gay panic joke about Sanjaya’s hair (8) before introducing Jordin Sparks. Thanks, Ryan. Here I am trying to listen to Jordin dedicate her performance to her brother and all I can picture is how badly you want to give a pearl tiara to The Brown Bunny. Jordin is babbling and crying and just sing already. You’re seventeen fucking years old and your dad is richer than Croesus. You wanna cry, come spend a week at my house. Jordin is pitchier than a Tilt-a-Whirl and singing yet another song done by someone last season, “Reflection,” which I think was done by Ayla Brown, but I can’t be certain. Jordin hit her power notes, but the rest of the performance was kind of a mess. Not good tonight. And now she’s crying again, and I hope it’s because she realized she tanked it. Randy says the pitchiness doesn’t matter, Paula uses the word “really” 1700 times and Simon manages to get in another veiled dig at Alaina.

Finish slopping the pigs early tomorrow, because Idol’s special guest will be Kellie Pickler, whom they are desperately trying to push into legitimately going gold, not just lying about it. That’s five minutes I can fast forward through. Five minutes I wouldn’t dare fast forward through are coming up next in the form of Stephanie Edwards. Ryan wants to know all the gossip. Using the word catty won’t do much for your image, bub. God, Seacrest just has no discernible skills. Stephanie dedicating to parents. Over the whole dedication thing. Just sing. Out of the gate, Stephanie is completely out of synch with the music. I have no idea what this song is but it’s a terrible choice. It makes Stephanie sound worse than she is. It’s too staccato to show off any sense of vocals. I still have faith in Edwards, but she made a serious blunder. Oh, okay, this is a Beyonce song, which explains the staccato vibe. That bitch can’t handle more than two notes strung together without needing a breath and a cocktail and someone to fix her weave. Ladies, NEVER sing a Beyonce song if you want to show yourself off. Okay, I now fear for Steph’s safety. Randy is nuts, saying it was SO much better than last week. Stephanie fucking KILLED last week. Thankfully, Paula and Simon give her a pass. I wouldn’t have been so generous, but we need Stephanie in this competition and I think they realize that.

Ryan is trying to climb the steps to the ladies’ holding area and almost steps out of one of his lifts. Seriously, they may need to get him an elevator if his little legs can’t handle the trek. Leslie Hunt is next, dedicating to Grandpa Bob. She’s singing “Feelin’ Good.” Apparently, we’ve run out of songs from last season, so now we’re feeding on last night. I gotta say, Leslie is definitely growing on me. I think she sang this really well, though I’m not sure what the fly-overs will make of the scatting. She totally blew AJ Tabaldo out of the water and performed it more masculinely, to boot. Definitely one of the best of the week for me. Randy didn’t like it. He says it was pitchy, and he’s running on fumes. Paula loved it and Simon gets out one of the best zingers in a while when he says the reason she liked it is because the scatting reminded her of herself judging the show- unintelligible. Of course, none of this helps Leslie when she really needs it. Come on, guys, help this girl out. Simon says that no one will remember the performance. Oh, I will. Ryan comes out with a pathetic attempt at humor, trying to interpret the scatting Leslie did. He’s getting harder and harder to defend, those of you who still like him, isn’t he?

Scarnato is next. Her dedication is to her fiancée Bobby. Haley says he’s not good with her being so far away. Awww, that’s so sad. Let’s help out the happy couple and send this hack home. Good lord, Haley is actually tryin to do some Whitney- Queen of the Night. Honey, you aren’t even Queen of three in the afternoon. If she makes it through this week, she ought to send a fruit basket to each of the backup singers, who are rescuing her like her own personal Bodyguard. Haley’s power notes were wobbly, at best, and I think what’s missing from her performance is her asking for everyone to give a big hand for the new Mr. & Mrs. Tzeitelbaum. Randy says the thing he doesn’t like about the song is that there are more background parts than lead. Simon quips that that’s why Haley chose it and doofus Randy believes him, asking Haley if that’s true. Haley gets all superior and sneers at Simon. Send this bitch HOME. Randy says no good, Paula doesn’t try to discuss the actual performance tonight, other than it was better than last week. Simon says the effort was there, though it was a little manic and you can just see Haley completely checking out, mentally. After Simon tells her she’s one of two or three very vulnerable girls tonight, we actually see that familiar McPhee-I-just-smelled-a-fart look cross her face. Ryan tells Haley that her fiancée enjoyed it and the camera cuts to him with an expression of “I’m gonna dump this chick as soon as she gets booted, so please stop showing me.” Haley starts to well up, trying hard to garner sympathy where none is due. No, hon. I feel sorry for Antonella. You, I could care less about.

God, one more and I thought we were home free. Sabrina Sloan, or as Ryan says- “THIS. IsSabrinaSloan. Performance dedicated to Grandma. Sabrina is talking completely out of her nose. Let’s hope she doesn’t sing that way. Man, she has one fugly profile. And it’s another Whitney joint, “All the Man That I Need.” Sabrina has an okay voice, but she runs out of gas halfway through each of her power notes, so she should probably use them sparingly. She gets incredibly wobbly. All in all, she wiped the floor with Haley in terms of doing a Whitney song. Randy and Paula liked it, Simon not as much, but still likes Sabrina and thinks she’ll be back next week.

Okay, my Tivo just cut off, so if anything else happened, I missed it. Boo Hoo.

My rankings 1-12

1- Melinda Doolittle
2- Leslie Hunt
3- Lakisha Jones
4- Sabrina Sloan
5- Stephanie Edwards
6- Gina Glocksen
7- Jordin Sparks
8- Haley Scarnato (only because the backup singers helped)
9- Antonella Barba
10- Alaina Alexander

Who should go: Alaina and Haley
Who will go: Alaina and Leslie

These 90 minute shows are too long. Without all the dedications and Seacrest shtick, this coulda been an easy hour.Seagulls tired.

You Can't Stop the Bum Rush. AI Re-cap 2/27/07

2007-02-28T08:38:00.000-08:00

Well, I was actually looking forward to tonight’s show and re-cap until I wound up going out and now have to start this mother at 11:30pm. The fact that Seacrest is going to be crowing about Jennifer Hudson’s recent Oscar win as though he’d accomplished it, himself, isn’t going to help any. Yes, for those of you lucky enough to miss the news, Jennifer Hudson won the Oscar for Dreamgirls on Sunday, not for giving any sort of performance that even closely resembled Effie White, but for doing a verbatim imitation of Whitney Houston in “Waiting to Exhale,” hands on hips and head waggling so much, I wanted to dress her up like Jesus and put her on my dashboard. But you know, it makes for a good story and since when have the Oscars been about quality first? They hired Ellen DeGeneres to host. I know Ellen is a lesbian with a capital LLLLL, but would it kill her to put on a dress. Hell, Jodie Foster is as butch as they come, but even she shows up looking like a woman, not a Detroit pimp, circa 1973. But at least her clothes made me laugh, which was more than I can say for her monologue. I’ve heard knock-knock jokes that were more cutting edge.

Okay, Hedwig and Rufus are glaring at me. It’s their bedtime and I’m keeping them up, so let’s get going. Tonight, the remaining ten male contestants (or nine and Sanjaya- hiyohhhhhh!) will compete. Let’s hope they can at least muster their C game so it won’t be as painful as last week. Seacrest is dressed in an outfit rejected by Ellen for the Oscars as being too femme as he claims that for the guys, this week it’s personal, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. Sanjaya has gone full tilt Michael Jackson, wearing a toddler-catching fedora. Jason Head has been stress eating. And of course, there’s Ryan mentioning Hudson. They show a photo of her holding her award. It looks like she must have rushed to the ladies room and changed out of that shiteous brown dress she was wearing, because she has on a gold lame’ number in the picture. Jeff Foxworthy is in the audience tonight, possibly looking for new “You know you’re a redneck…” material. Jeff, you’re about a season too late, but I’m sure someone can hook you up with Kellie Pickler’s phone number or the location of the jail her daddy is in.

Randy says he knows the boys are going to be a lot better this week than last. Paula immediately switches coke cups with him and makes a mental note to have the on-set P.A. fired right after the show. Paula tells the guys to have fun and say they are celebrities now. Funny, I can’t even remember half their names and I just heard them 60 seconds ago.

In order to waste the requisite amount of time to fill out 90 minutes, the contestants are asked to dedicate their performances to someone who inspires them. Phil Stacey, who is up first, dedicates his to his Navy Battalion. Yes, that’s right. Seeing as how Lakeisha has the corner on children and now knowing that all the other military folk have fallen by the wayside, Phil feels confident that his naval status is a great tool to help him overcome his general unlikeability and frightening resemblance to Max Schreck. I’m hearing more about Phil right now than I ever wanted to learn about all of the contestants put together. Shut the fuck up and sing. And sing he does. It’s John Waite’s “Missing You,” one of the few ‘80s songs I’ll never be nostalgic for. Phil is suffering from the same problem he did in his initial audition and every time thereafter- a very rough start to the song. He manages to right the boat, but it’s dull sailing. There’s nothing terribly wrong with this guy’s voice, but he’s a complete and utter bore. And late in the game shouting isn’t going to make me remember a nap-inducing performance. Randy lies through his teeth, because this week the guys are going to be excellent no matter how much they have to color the truth. Can’t have the masses thinking they shouldn’t be tuning in to watch Tuesday’s shows. Simon tells the truth and gets booed for it. He calls Phil a very good karaoke voice but thinks that his popularity will keep him this week. I agree. It’s not quite time for Phil to go. Let’s dump him at #11 so he can’t go on tour and has to go back to do the job he signed up for- naval recruit.

I’d rather get a hysterectomy than watch this new Fox show The Wedding Belles.

Ryan in the red room asks the guys what the buzz has been since last week’s show. Instead of the obvious answer- that someone is trying to smear Antonella Barba with fake blow-job photos, they answer some innocuous blather about singing. Jared Cotter, who’s next, says he’s going to be more adventurous and sing some Marvin Gaye. Wow, way to take a risk, there. If this show doesn’t pan out for Jared, he could always get a job as one of the cavemen on the Geico commercials. Jared is dedicating his performance to his mom, who made his lazy ass go to the audition. Jared does sound a lot like Marvin Gaye- after he was shot in the stomach. Painful and strained when it isn’t dull. I’m gonna finish this one out playing fetch with Hedwig. I know Simon has been trotting out the karaoke offense a lot this season, but boy is it so worthy. Randy liked it and his behavior is just off the fucking wall tonight. Simon calls it “Love Boat.” Jared tries to pretend he’s sexy and Ryan tries to pretend he’s actually had sex to this song. Jared, if you’re going to dress up in a blazer and slacks, you might want to wear something other than white tennis shoes. Your outfit was as corny as your performance.

A.J. Tabaldo is up next and is dedicating his performance to his parents. We see an Olan Mills family portrait of some extras from “Chico and the Man, so I assume those are the folks. Wonder if they know he’s gay? Tabaldo is singing Nina Simone’s “Feelin’ Good,” and I wish I knew voodoo so I could raise her body from the dead and send her down to the studio to kick his craptacular ass. I actually knew Nina Simone for a brief period of time and she would slap the fuck out of this candy ass for what he’s doing to her song. A.J. starts sashay/shantaying up and down the stage. I feel like we’re watching Ugly Betty’s nephew five years from now. But Kieran, how were the vocals? Well, best of the night so far, which isn’t saying much. AJ can sing, there’s no doubt. What he can’t do is perform, which seems to be the downfall of all of the guys this year. The judges compliment his voice but they all feel like they’re dancing around something they’re afraid to say. Simon sort of touches on it when he says AJ looked “strangely comfortable” (i.e. gayer than a pair of Madame’s jeweled panties) and when Ryan starts to question the comment, Simon cautions him to drop it.

Continuing the West Hollywood Pride Parade, Sanjaya Malakar is up next. He’s dedicating his performance to his grandfather. And we see there’s some Caucasian blood in the family. They show a photo of Sanjaya as a little boy and he looks like a creepy chick even at age three. Sanjaya smiles too widely and I find it unsettling. He decides to croon tonight, performing “Steppin’ Out.” It’s not even karaoke, more like high school variety show. Simon, you can have that one with my blessing, mix it up a bit with your usual standbys. I’m half expecting three jocks from the football team to stand up and throw eggs at him. Randy didn’t like it and oh my god- we’re in agreement about the high school thing. Simon hated it even more. Sanjaya says he chose the song for his grandpa and gets an “awwww” from the audience. Don’t be fooled, suckers. It’s time for Aladdin to take a magic carpet ride home. But go ahead and vote for him, maybe by next week, the other testicle will have dropped.

Chris Sligh is talking with Ryan and man, you learn something new every day. Apparently ol’ Chinese Phone Book is married and to a halfway decent looking chick. If this troll can sucker some poor woman into matrimony, then there’s hope for rotund, funny-in-their-own-head kind of guys all around. Sligh is singing the Ray LaMontagne song that Taylor did last year, which is basically repeating the word “Trouble,” sixty three times in a row to an atonal groove. I seem to remember Taylor did a decent job on this last year and the judges hated it. Man, what is the problem tonight with the guys? Chris’ voice sounds fine, but his performance skills suck ass. At one point, he turned away from the audience and sang into the floor. They cut to a shot of his wife in the crowd and now all I’m wondering is if she has to lift up his belly in order to find his penis. Please, god, don’t show Jason Head’s wife. Okay, Chris- good voice, so not a star. And here’s a sentence I never thought I’d type- Taylor blew Chris out of the water if we’re comparing versions. Seacrest actually says “It’s time for Fox to make good with the benjamins.” How do people just not point and laugh at him when they see him on the street?

Nick Pedro is now singing. He’s dedicating his performance to his girlfriend Caitlin, so all of you who had Nick as gay, you lose the pool. She’s cute and they make a really cute couple. Nick is singing “Fever.” So Nick sounds good, if a bit breathy, though his performance skills are just as dull as everyone else’s. He almost makes it through scot-free when he goes off-key and never manages to find his way back for the rest of the song. Damn. I was pulling for you, babe. Randy thinks it’s cool that everyone has come back and done better than they did last week. That’s like saying after causing a 40 car pile-up on the freeway, this time you managed to only take out a couple pedestrians.

Last week, Blake Lewis blew two opportunities to show us he was more than just a beat-boxer, first with his badly off-key version of “Somewhere Only We Know,” then his Peter Brady-esque few lines of “Sowing the Seeds of Love.” In my opinion, this guy can’t sing too well. Can he turn me around by singing “Virtual Insanity?” I’m as big a Jamiroquai fan as I am Keane, so it’s doubtful. Blake is off-key right out of the gate, but rights himself fairly quickly. And for those of you who had “Week Two” as when Blake would pull out the beat boxing, congratulations. Of all the male performers, Blake is the only one with a shred of charisma, so it goes a long way in helping him with some of his off pitches. So far, it’s been the best of the evening, but again, it’s not saying much. These guys are not good. Ryan and Paula loved it up, but Simon felt Blake was copying Jamiroquai in parts and off-key in others. Could we just fire Paula and Randy and let Simon talk the whole time?

Brandon Rogers is dedicating his song to his Grandma. I think Brandon is adorable, easily the best looking chap in the bunch. This gives me something to concentrate on other than his shaky, unconfident performance of “Time After Time.” It gets better, but Brandon is aided mightily by the backup singers. The truncation of the song didn’t do him any favors, either. The judges didn’t love it. Brandon tries to- good lord! My cat just took a dump so fragrant that it would have cleared out a VFW hall of drunken vets. Kee-rist! I can smell it all the way at the other end of the house. Okay, sorry. Brandon tries to play the dedication angle, but Simon is right- shut up about the grandma story and just sing.

Timberlite is up next. Chris Richardson is also dedicating to grandma, who he calls “spunky.” Chris is singing a really crap-ass Jason Mraz song called “Geek in the Pink.” I guess this is the week for High School variety shows. Richardson tries to wigga out to give the song some flavor. He must have been speaking Randy’s language because Jackson thinks it was better than the original version. The other judges loved it too, so maybe I’m the one with shit in my ears. Richardson has clearly inherited the Ace Young/Constantine Maroulis mantle this year. Doesn’t matter how you sound cause the girlies wanna fuck you, so we’ll keep you on until we have no more use for you.

Jason Head is going to be bringing this underwhelming evening to a close. Lucky us. Jason is playing the newborn card tonight and for those who accuse Lakeisha of pimping out her child to get votes- watch Jason and see what that maneuver really looks like. Head says maybe one day he and his son can sit on the couch and watch this and laugh. Cringe in embarrassment is more like it. Jason is singing “Mustang Sally.” He’s finally sounding like he did at the first audition, though it’s been so long since we’ve heard that I forgot what it sounded like. Now I remember I wasn’t too impressed from the get-go. Sure, it’s better than the several steaming piles of feces he’s dumped all over the show since then, but so what? The judges will likely go apeshit and they do, easily pretending Head hasn’t been god-fucking-awful for the past month.

I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that not one of these performances were as good as Kevin Covais’ last week on the show singing “When I Fall in Love.” Keep Chris Sligh and Brandon Rogers and the ten girls and move on from there.

My choices 1-10 from suck-lite to shitbreath

1- Jason Head
2- Nick Pedro
3- AJ Tabaldo
4- Chris Sligh
5- Blake Lewis
6- Brandon Rogers
7- Phil Stacey
8- Chris Richardson
9- Jared Cotter
10- Sanjaya Malakar
Who should go: Sanjaya Malakar and Jared Cotter
Who will go: Jared Cotter and Brandon Rogers or maybe AJ Tabaldo

That’s 2 hours and 25 minutes I could have spent reading a book or buying shoes online.
Seagulls pissed.

You Can Leave Your Shoes On. AI Re-cap 2/22/07

2007-02-22T23:24:00.000-08:00

One blessed hour, thank goodness. I’m just up and refreshed from a nap and ready to tackle the injustice. Well, except for Melinda Doolittle, I wouldn’t cry to see anyone leave tonight, so I suppose injustice is the wrong word. Oh, wait, Fantasia is performing tonight. THAT’s what I meant by injustice. I knew we were going somewhere with this.

Tonight two guys and two gals will get to slink off in shame. Thankfully, they’ve had the practice after the rotten performances that were given by almost all this week. I’ve got my favorites (two) and those I wouldn’t vomit involuntarily over having to listen to again (two). But right about now I’m thinking Marlee Matlin is the luckiest person in the world.

Seacrest stands in front of the Top 24, who are crowded onstage as though they were trying to fit in the final Titanic lifeboat. Chris Sligh looks properly over it. Look, Arbuckle, you’ve already sold your soul. You’ll never be cool again so you may as well smile like all the rest of them. Besides, when people with multiple chins smile, it makes them look a slight bit thinner and every little bit would help.

Ryan says they had almost 32 million votes, but there’s no hyperbole along for the ride. My guess is that’s nothing to brag about. He asks Randy if, after the lackluster performance by the guys Tuesday night, they will see one at the finale. Randy says it’s a girl’s race to lose. Simon says there are one or two guys who have potential (read: one or two guys I could turn into a Timberlake-lite, so let’s not give it to an unmarketable black girl just yet). And Paula, who I was about to state looked fairly with-it tonight, is like a deer in the headlights when asked if she has a message for the boys (Let me help- “There are Xeroxed directions to my house backstage, boys. Pick up some Hypnotiq on the way, but keep in mind, I pass out by 10:30.”). What she really slurs is “Bring it on.” Fucking Hallmark, man, so inspirational.

Ryan tells us the importance of making it to the Top 12 and then totally shoots that theory out of the water when he introduces some of the names that are booked to help the kids out this season. Diana Ross. Jon Bon Jovi. Jennifer Lopez. Gwen Stefani. Martina McBride. And the corpses of Tony Bennett, Lulu and Peter Noone. Plus Barry Gibb. At least the final four know something about singing, though their help and their experiences will be lost on this crowd. I’d be excited to work with Lulu and Barry Gibb. Let’s hope these kids use the internet for something other than porn and look these folks up. As for the others, what the fuck do Jennifer Lopez & Gwen Stefani know about how to sing well? For them it only occurs after the push of a button. And Diana Ross has the thinnest reed of a voice and is even a megabitch in her sleep. Oh god, so much fodder! I’m suddenly happier about my prospects for this season.

Re-cap city for the past two nights, and then we get a group sing. The wannabes are performing “Sowing the Seeds of Love,” by Tears For Fears and it sounds like the beginning of one of those urban high school movies starring The Rock or Martin Lawrence where some streetwise cop is hired to turn a bunch of misfits into the choral district champions in six weeks and finds THIS is what he has to work with. Oh my god, it was so horrendous, I might never recover. I half expected them to start performing a skit about how wack drugs were and to Just Say No. This is the kind of stuff they make you listen to at religious cult indoctrinations. I never thought I’d say this, but Fantasia has to be better than that.

Back from the break and Ryan has the guys on the risers. It’s Q&A time. Chris Sligh backpedals away from his Tuesday night comments to Simon so fast, he easily lost five pounds explaining how much respect he has for Cowell and how he fears he was taken the wrong way. He would hate for America to get the wrong idea. I see someone’s been reading the forums. Here’s an idea, Chris, keep your fucking chin hole shut and America won’t get the wrong idea. Ryan cuts the first guy. He asks the back to join him onstage. Brandon is safe. Jason, inexplicably, is safe, so we’ll get to see him fail yet another week. Chris Richardson is safe, no big shocker there. Nick Pedro is also safe, so it’s down to Paul Kim and Blake Lewis. Wow, the suspense is killing me. Paul is wearing shoes tonight, all the better since he’ll be walking out the door. Well, I’m batting .250 so far and I couldn’t be happier. I loathed Paul Kim, though it’s a tad bittersweet since he was so horrible, he made my job that much easier. Chin up, kid, now at least you can wash the skidmarks out of those funky lucky drawers. Ryan asks Randy to give Paul some helpful advice, which is about as likely as him going two whole sentences without going all bligga on our asses. Randy blathers on about song choice instead of telling Paul that, though Boy Bands may still be the hot thing in Shanghai, in this country they’ve gone the way of corded phones and Monica Lewinsky jokes. Ryan asks Paula if Kim has enough to make it and for once, the lie is readily apparent on her face as she gently sidesteps the direct question. Ryan asks Paul to sing for his fans one more time, however they don’t immediately evacuate the studio and turn off the cameras, so the rest of us are stuck listening to him, also. Paul is doing that weird accent thing again when he sings (forever is sung as fow-weva) and easy fodder aside, I’m glad he’s going home because he would have been truly annoying to listen to again. Hedwig has joined me on the couch and is trying to crawl under my legs. I know, baby, but he’s going home.

Girl time on the risers as Ryan continues his hard hitting journalistic ways. The back row joins Seacrest onstage. I don’t see Amy Krebs up there and Melinda Doolittle is at the end of the row with Antonella Barba, so hopefully Ryan is gonna pull something sneaky or why bother with the whole thing? Jordin is safe. Stephanie is safe. Sabrina is safe. Leslie is safe and her grouchy brother smiles for the first time. Both Melinda and Antonella are safe. See, Ryan is predictable even in his unpredictability. Instead, Amy Krebs is asked to come to the stage and then told she’s history. Okay, so I’m now at .500, but I also predicted Leslie would go home (though I didn’t think she deserved to) so I won’t be scoring perfectly this evening. Krebs looks pissed, which is the first personality trait I’ve seen cross her face. Ciao, Amy, I can’t even remember you and I’m looking right at you. While Amy sings, Nicole and Alaina are sweating bullets in the background. I had Alaina as my second pick of who should go, but I thought she’d squeak by on the bim vote, as well as some sympathy after Simon ripped her a new one. Melinda Doolittle is seen bawling like a little girl, as is Sanjaya Malakar. Yeah, that’ll help his image if he isn’t already sexual roadkill.

Ryan introduces a contest called the American Idol Challenge, however instead of actually being a competition to see which viewer will actually make it through the whole season, it’s just some dumb trivia question. Which of the following Idol winners multi-platinum albums was called “Breakaway?” The choices are Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson and Fantasia Barrino. Ahh, a trick question, since Fantasia didn’t sell anything close to a multi-platinum album.

Hey everybody, it’s Bo Bo time. Fantasia is introduced and we see Quincy Jones in the audience, for once without a white woman on his arm. Fantasia announces the news, which I broke in the forums last week, that she’ll be taking over the role of Miss Celie in the Broadway musical version of “The Color Purple.” So nice to see her continuing her Cable-Ace-Award-seeking acting career. Apparently, it was between her and the lady who played Pearl Shea on “227,” but when the producers found out that woman was dead, they went with Barrino, figuring she’d sell more tickets than a corpse. The jury is still out on that one. I pledge to you, dear readers, that if the show hasn’t been evicted by the time I’m in NYC for work this summer (Fantasia doesn’t take over until early April), then I will score some comps and sit through it again (I’m sure as hell not paying) and report back to you how Fantasia did. Ryan asks Q if Fantasia is up to the task, then cuts him off in the middle of his answer. Barrino sings a number from the show called “I’m Here.” She pronounces the word sister “shsishther,” which means she was hanging around Paul Kim in the green room too long. In fact, every ssss is pronounced shhhh. Fantasia is trying really hard not to bobo. I’m trying hard not to hit the fast forward button. Whoops, looks like we both lost the challenge.

Girl cut happening. Haley is safe (for tonight). Lakisha is safe. Gina is safe. Between Alaina and Nicole, Alaina is safe, so the bim vote won out. Nicole should have gotten one more week, if only to spare us another horrid Alaina performance, but I won’t miss her and Alaina’s time is coming very soon. Nicole is actually very classy in her loss. Lakisha tries to take the stage “in support” and she’s quickly shut down by the director. You had your moment, honey, let the loser sing her song badly by herself. Wow, Nicole is triply worse tonight than she was last night. I’m outta here til after the next break.

Tell the truth, does anyone really give a shit how The O.C. ends? Did anyone know it was even still on the air?

Last cut for the evening. Chris is safe, but he better keep his mouth shut next week. Phil is safe. Jared is safe, as is AJ. Apparently America likes their boys flaming, since Sanjaya was in the Top 4 boys. That means Rudy is going home. I predicted AJ, but no big loss. I hated Rudy. I hope Tom Lowe is watching and smiling. Sanjaya can barely make it to his seat before the waterworks begin. Ryan looks for some words of wisdom for Rudy from Simon, but may have wished he hadn’t asked after Simon basically tells Rudy to give up the ghost. Randy isn’t much more help, but Paula, denied some Rudy slamming in her boudoir, goes to bat for him. We’re left with a montage of the first four losers’ journeys, backed by a Daughtry track that, though middlingly average, is much more pleasing to listen to than that fucking Daniel Powter song.

That’s the haps for tonight. Join me next week when we’re mercifully spared with an hour less Idol than this week. 90 minute performance shows and an hour wrap-up. Take your vitamins, kids.
Seagulls out.

Brass Balls in Pocket. AI Re-cap 2/21/07

2007-02-22T01:10:00.000-08:00

Good evening friends and welcome back to the thing that’s masquerading as American Idol, much like a pod from “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” but one that’s taken over your lazy boyfriend who refuses to get off the couch and find a job or show any initiative at all, really, but then gets pissy when you dare to criticize him. Shut up, you’ve all been there.

I haven’t yet fully recovered from last night’s nap inducing debacle and already, we’re back again. If I’m being honest, this show is a nightmare to re-cap this season and I’m putting it and you on notice. I have a business trip to NYC in exactly three weeks whereby I’ll have to miss getting to watch that week’s shows until I return, necessitating very late re-caps. If things don’t markedly improve by then, either by getting much better or so much worse that the show is fun to watch, I’m out. This is starting to feel like a chore. While it bolsters me to know so many of the rest of you feel this same frustration, I don’t think many of us are having much fun. I am keeping my fingers crossed that something amazing happens soon, because when there’s material, I really do enjoy doing this and chatting about it with all of you. But for now, you’re stuck with me, so let’s get to the ladies, Ryan included. (Yes, that was a segue into reminding you the gay panic count is at four (4) )

Ryan handslaps his way down the ladies, complementing them all on a particular fashion choice they’ve made (5). Gina Glocksen is sporting a few streaks of red in her hair, which could be either color or raspberry filling from the box of donuts she polished off in rehearsal this morning. I don’t know what the hell Seacrest is wearing, but I swear I saw his nose grow when he said we had a pretty strong start to the competition last night. As if to further expose the lie, we are tortured with a re-cap of last night’s offenses.

The women are introduced and I can so far say I only like three of them going into tonight’s show- Melinda Doolittle, LaKisha Jones (whose name is spelled differently every time I see it in print. Can we get a ruling on this already?) and Antonella Barba. Jordin Sparks is also okay. The others I either don’t like or haven’t heard enough of and after last night, they’d better bring it or we’re fucked.

Paula looks like she’s wearing an overcoat. Perhaps she was standing outside of Rudy Cardenas’ dressing room and flashing him before the show. She also has “floaty eyes,” so I’m guessing she’s feeling no pain. Seacrest calls Randy on his conflicting advice to the contestants and Randy says something that makes no sense, even to Paula. I’d agree with Ryan, but with this bunch this year, what can you really say to them except “Whoops”? Paula has a strange thing going on with her coiffure tonight. It appears she got custody of Anna Nicole’s dog, Sugarpie, and attached him to the back of her head. Maybe the dog secretes methadone. It would explain a lot. Ryan tries to get under Simon’s skin, but he isn’t biting, which makes Ryan look like an even bigger dick.

Stephanie Edwards is up first. She is nineteen and from Georgia. I can’t say I remember her initial audition, but hearing it now, it sounded good. Tonight, she’s singing…no idea, sorry. She’s singing well and working the stage like a pro, much more mature and experienced than a 19 year old. Good job, Stephanie. Nice way to start off the show. Girls- 1, Boys- 0. Randy and Paula loved her and Simon says it was better than anyone who performed last night. I highly agree. Paula is wearing some earrings that look like miniature manhole covers.

We’re about to be tortured by a Bonnie Raitt cover, but before that, Ryan queries the gals on last night’s performances. Melinda Doolittle gives a wonderfully diplomatic answer, but I have no idea what the hell Antonella is saying. Amy Krebs is next. She and Chris Richardson must go to the same dermatologist. Seacrest actually reached up at one point and scratched the words “Ryan Luvs Ryan” into her make-up. Anyway, we see how Amy got here, but not why, since her initial audition of “Pride/A Deeper Love,” sounded like one of those purposely bad auditions we get stuck with every year. I’m still not getting it through the rest of her journey. Amy is singing “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” and truer words were never spoken. I’ve decided that, to keep myself awake during this, I’m going to count Amy’s pimples and name the patterns. Hey- there’s the Big Melisma on her right cheek! The judges were unmoved and after following a great performance like Stephanie’s combined with no previous airtime, Amy is toast.

The other chick no one has seen before, Leslie Hunt, is up next. Apparently, Leslie suffers from Lupus, but hearing her initial audition just now, I would have guessed Cerebral Palsy. She sounds like Cousin Geri when she sings. She’s singing “Natural Woman.” She reminds me of a spastic Sara Rue and he’s letting the backup singers do all the heavy lifting. Did anyone notice that one of them got a cell phone call and turned off her phone in the middle of singing? I didn’t love Leslie, but I didn’t dislike her. Her voice is good, but she has to work on her performing skills. She’s awkward in the way McPhee was last year, along with the fake beauty pageant smiles, but I’d put her through to the next round, for sure. Randy thought the song was too big for her. They keep cutting back to a man an woman in the audience and I think the woman is Leslie’s mom, but the guy is too young to be her dad. Is she married? They’re sitting next to Phil Stacey’s wife, who ought to be home with the kids, since he’s not doing anything tonight but sitting down. Man, way to bond with your newborn. Paula rises from the table to show her cleavage and slur her support, and then Simon tells Leslie she looks ungainly and uncomfortable on stage (translation- you look like you have Lupus when you try to move.) Leslie’s dad/brother/husband looks like he wants to kick Simon’s ass after that comment. I understand what Simon is saying, but if the reason is because of the disease, then it shouldn’t have been mentioned.

The next “who the fuck is she,” Sabrina Sloan, is up next. She’s a professional singer from Los Angeles, who went ahead and sang an Alicia Keys song for her audition, anyway. She talks about her Hollywood week, excited that Paula gave her a standing ovation, not realizing Paula has to stand periodically to get the Oxycontin flowing through her bloodstream. Stephanie is singing another Aretha song and right out of the gate she botches the initial notes so badly that I actually made this involuntary sound- GAWP- while drinking some water. She rights herself quickly, but she’s shouting too much. She’s this year’s Mandisa- good when she shouts, but when she just sings, I can tell she doesn’t have half the quality to her voice. She’s good enough to go through to the next round, but I’m not in her corner just yet, even though she was still better than any of the guys last night.

Antonella Barba is up next and unwisely chooses to sing “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” a song that has never done anyone on this show a favor. It continues its streak as Barba sings it nervously and off-key throughout. My favorite thing to watch during this performance is Chris Sligh in the background with his mouth agape, probably mourning the death of any hipster cred he might have hoped to salvage from participating in this competition. Barba’s performance is the worst vocal so far this evening, but that being said, this performance would have topped ¾ of the men’s. Randy keeps it real and says it wasn’t good. Paula falls back on the “you look beautiful” comment. Simon hated it and says he thinks it’s damaged Antonella’s chances of staying here, however he offers good advice when asked, which is that Antonella has a pop voice and she should choose a pop song. If Antonella gets a reprieve, look for her to choose something like a JoJo song next week and then get bashed by the judges for not choosing a song that shows off her voice. I think the only thing that could keep her another week is her hotness (my apologies to Jennifer Chapton, who apparently trademarked that word.)

Ryan is in the red room talking to glamazon Jordin Sparks, the Wonder Twin to Season Two’s Kimberly Locke. Jordin is singing a Tracy Chapman song and if her career as a singer doesn’t work out, she can always take over as the lead on “That’s So Raven.” I liked Jordin. I didn’t love her, but she has potential, even though she’s a bit too young. I think if given the chance, she could really come into her own. I also liked her rendition of the song, even though Randy disagrees. Paula loved it, bracelets a-janglin’. Simon liked it, as well. A success for Jordin. Ryan says she was poised onstage, but I wouldn’t call her that. She was a little geeky and dorky, but so far, the gals are head and shoulders above the guys.

Nicole Tranquillo is up next. I didn’t like her one bit during Hollywood week and I don’t know if I could listen to her now even with Paula’s ears (or meds). Nicole has chosen to sing a Rufus & Chaka Khan song. Foolish girl. She looks and sounds like she had a few belts before she went onstage. Vocally, she’s all over the place. Shrieking until one eye almost pops out of the socket is not the same as singing in tune. Randy didn’t like it, but Paula tries to get support from the boys for Nicole, more to try and compose herself, because the drugs are setting in. Paula’s starting to speak in that pattern where each word is a separate sentence, so she’s pretty much done for the evening. Simon felt the performance was indulgent and over-rehearsed and I think that’s one of the most astute things he’s said all season. Nicole looks like she’s about to cry really hard, so Ryan keeps grilling her instead of letting her go off the stage. It’s all about Seacrest, innit?

Haley Scarnato and Celine Dion. Surely this combination was one of those signs of the Apocalypse that got cut before the final seven, but much like Tommy Daniels, probably deserved to be there over some of the others. We’re about to find out. But first, we get to see this wedding singer’s journey to undeservedness. We hear her butchering a Celine song during Hollywood week and if this is the selfsame number she’s performing tonight, get those earplugs and Dramamine tablets ready. It is. Haley is wearing a mini gong around her neck as though she’s just begging for Jaye P. Morgan to run up onstage and strike it in the middle of her number. She is such a complete and total wedding singer, not terrible, but indistinguishable from any beauty pageant contestant we’ve heard in the past twenty years. Randy nails it when he says she has a Broadway kind of voice. More like a Broadway understudy. Paula softsoaps her, and Simon tells her she sounded like a lounge act by a 40 year old. I’m getting the same undercurrent of “bitch” from her that I got from McPhee last year, even though I’m sure to be attacked for that statement, but I don’t really care. Anyone who says you can’t pick up a certain vibe off of someone from seeing them for only a few minutes needs to sharpen their interactive personal skills. Haley builds her ark as she tells Ryan that she hears what the judges are saying, but she’s going to stick to who she is. Well, darling, who you are is a wedding singer, so be sure to hand out as many cards to the audience as you can, because you’ll need to drum up some business after that performance.

We’re greeted with the double bad news that not only will Fantasia be boboing her way across the Idol stage tomorrow night (actually good news since that’s five minutes of the show I can fast forward through), but also, the next contestant will be singing yet another Aretha song. This also turns out to be good news when we find out the singer is Melinda Doolittle. This girl is so adorable and talented. Oh and she’s singing one of my favorite Aretha songs, “Since You Been Gone.” Wow, this girl is Gladys Knight reincarnated. The difference between Melinda and all the other so-called power singers we’ve seen so far this evening is that she actually has a good base from which to support the shouting when she does it. She doesn’t shout to mask a weak voice, she takes the power and escalates it. You have to have a solid foundation to be able to do what she does and make it sound good and none of these girls has that. My definite favorite.

Three gals left; the good, the bad and the ugly. Bad is up first in the form of Alaina Alexander. Alaina is a crier. Unfortunately, she’s not much of a singer, as evidenced by the reminder of her truly awful initial audition, singing (?) “Feelin’ Good.” How Simon liked that audition is a gauge for his horniness. Christ on the cross, Alaina is singing “Brass in Pocket,” so poorly I’d wager that anyone reading this could do an equal, if not better job than she’s doing. We see a long shot of Stephanie Edwards staring dumbfounded, then snorting. Alaina will get through on the bim vote this week, but she’ll never make Top 12. Randy is not liking it and even Paula can’t find anything nice to say. Simon says exactly what I expected him to, by telling Alaina she kept singing the line “I’m Special,” when she really wasn’t. Amen! Simon tells her that after that, she’s going to be relying on her looks and not her talent to make it through to the next round. She sneers, “Nice,” at him, but he’s telling her the god’s honest truth. She and Ryan must have become BFFs because he’s really going to bat for her where he ought to be encouraging her to give up singing like she was planning on doing all along. I’d say Ryan endorsing anyone is the kiss of death.

Next up is the ugly- Gina Glocksen. I remember Gina from last season specifically because I couldn’t believe she’d gotten put through to Hollywood on the same show where some girl who was infinitely more talented, was denied. Gina did nothing last year to impress me and I was happy when she got cut. All of this is based on her vocals because we were really showed little to nothing of her personality. Now before you send the hate mail, the reason I say ugly doesn’t have to do with her looks as much as it does her all-encompassing need to be on this show. Her desperation really bleeds through in everything she says, does and sings this season and need is never attractive. Whereas the two guys who are in the Top 24 this season who were previous contestants are just happy to be here, Gina has a sense of entitlement that’s also really unappealing, especially when balanced against her middling talent. Flop sweat and arrogance do not a pleasant combination make. I will say Gina looks better tonight than she did in the audience yesterday, though her too tight vest isn’t doing her any favors. She has to watch what she wears because the wrong outfit really makes her look heavier than she is. She’s singing “All By Myself.” I have to say though she was on-key, she melismaed too much and I hated her rendition of the song. Too screamy and Mariah-ish. Still, she was far from the worst tonight, however the arrogance is a major turn-off.

LaKisha Jones is bringing up the rear. I loved this gal all the way through the audition phase and I’m looking forward to her. Unfortunately, she’s singing this season’s most overplayed song, “And I’m Telling You, I’m Not Going.” Too screamy. Another Mandisa. But that’s the nature of this song and no one has ever done it justice since Jennifer Holliday sang it, even overhyped, overpraised Jennifer Hudson. This will carry Lakisha easily to the next round, but I’d like to hear something different from her soon. Melinda was much better and I think the next few weeks will bear that out. Simon says he should tell 23 people to book their tickets home, which is a slap in the face to a few really good singers, some better than LaKisha was tonight.

Okay, my picks, 1-12

1- Melinda Doolittle
2- Stephanie Edwards
3- LaKisha Jones
4- Jordin Sparks
5- Sabrina Sloan
6- Leslie Hunt
7- Gina Glocksen
8- Antonella Barba
9- Nicole Tranquillo
10- Haley Scarnato
11- Alaina Alexander
12- Amy Krebs

Who should go: Amy and Alaina
Who will go: Amy and Leslie

Thank heavens for little girls, for little girls just saved American Idol’s ass. See you tomorrow for the first cuts, for they are the most delicious.
Seagulls out.

And a Double-Chinned Child Shall Lead Them. AI Re-cap 2/7/07

2007-02-21T01:37:00.001-08:00

It’s raining men. Or actually, it’s barely drizzling male talent. Tonight, the Top 12 guys compete for the first time. Ryan Seacrest is dressed as though he’s just come from an “Annie Hall” costume contest and tries to dupe us into believing that this is both the biggest season of Idol and with the best male talent yet. What show have you been hosting, Pickles, ‘cause it sure isn’t this one.

Get ready, folks. Irritating, smarmy, self-serving Seacrest is now in the house and will be staying for the rest of the season. I’m almost happy, as my previous commentary has been surprisingly light on the Ryan-bashing front. The tiny one trots down the steps and hand slaps and high fives the guys in his best approximation of hetero-male frat boy behavior. Since Ryan has much more to say tonight, he’s really punching that important third word speech pattern for all it’s worth.

The guys do their strut of shame in front of the camera. A.J. Tabaldo looks like he wandered in from the waitstaff of El Torito. The rest give ridiculous thumbs-up signals, save for Jason Head, who’s probably still embarrassed to be here after his terrible Hollywood week performances. The gals are in the audience, cheering on the guys. Gina Glocksen looks as though she’s put on a freshman 15 since making it into the Top 24.

Ryan intros the judges and it looks like we’re going to get loopy Paula tonight, since her bangs are strewn across her forehead and one eye is slightly closed. We see a useless montage showing how the 12 guys made it this far, which manages to leave out any vocal performances, whatsoever, though with this group, that was probably a smart thing. They’re hoping America won’t be reminded and turn off their televisions, en masse. What a huge waste of time, but lest I forget, this is a two hour show they have to try and fill any way they can.

Rudy Cardenas is up first and we see his less than stellar rendition of “Open Arms,” and that Simon called it by initially rejecting him. Rudy is shown playing for the cameras at every possible interval and it makes me hate him more. Cardenas chooses to sing “Free Ride,” and holds a note for an interminably long time, which only tells us he has big lungs. To me, it was a total cruise ship entertainer performance. I’m surprised he didn’t walk over to the judges table and refill their water glasses during the song. Randy though it was corny (Keepin’ it real!), Paula gives him a huge softball, saying no one has ever started off the season with such energy. Simon immediately contradicts her with a devilish grin. Simon tells Rudy he’s never done anything unique and doesn’t have a distinctive voice, which begs the question- “Then what the hell did we just have to listen to him for?”- but considering last year this time Bobby Bennett was firing up “Copacabana,” I suppose the point is moot. Paula still argues because she’s always wanted to ball Rudy. Rudy hopes he’ll be able to change Simon and Randy’s opinion. I’m not sure if I want him to stay around that long. It all depends on who’s worse.

Back from the break and Ryan is “kickin’ it” with the guys in the red room. He asks Chris Sligh what tonight is all about. Chris answers, tongue in cheek, that it’s all about the guys looking pretty, and to underscore the point, the little hobgoblin that lives in his third chin pops out its head and croaks, “S’alright!” Ryan makes some lame ass gay panic joke that no one laughs at, then goes to the pretty, vapid Chris (Richardson) to ask what he thinks of this season’s players as compared to seasons past. I was wondering how long until he pulled that one from his tiny arsenal.
Brandon Rogers is up next and Seacrest manages to fondle him while making a second gay-panic joke. We ought to keep a running tally throughout the season. (2) We first have to see Brandon’s individual journey. He talks about being a back-up singer. Brandon has talent and is one of the few people this season I’m pulling for, however, he reminds me that Tommy Daniels ought to be here, as well. Brandon is singing a silky smooth, slow jam version of “Rock With You,” by Michael Jackson and if it was 1993, he could have a hit with it. Unfortunately, he goes into Vegas mid-tempo with the song, which is his fatal flaw, because after speeding up, he starts to sound more nervous and less assured. He manages to sort of pull it out at the end. It was a decent double, but no grand slam. Randy calls it pitchy, Paula tells Brandon to stop doing so many background runs and Simon calls it safe and predictable, but thinks Brandon has a really good voice. I concur.

Jason Head follows and we see him being really honest about how sucky he’s been since his initial audition. I suppose he figured the only chance he had was to play the honesty card, because everyone and their deaf, dumb and blind boy knows he took multiple dumps in Hollywood. He’s singing “Knights in White Satin,” and if I didn’t know better, I’d think this was a ‘70s theme night. Head has a good tone to his voice, but he’s clearly nervous and is in way over his head (no pun intended). He’s better than Rudy, but simply not good enough to be here over a lot of other people. I kind of feel bad for him because I can tell he probably beats himself up a lot over his shortcomings, but the next step is then to fix them, which he clearly hasn’t, so all that’s left is to get the hell off the stage. The judges can’t even pretend the performance was good, but they all softball him (and the voters at home), playing up how good Head was at his first audition. May I remind them that the first audition was a LOT of auditions ago and this guy has shown, much like Paris Bennett, he’s never going to be able to duplicate that level of talent. Chalk it up to a lucky day and move on. Folks, we’re seeing our first case of blatant TCOism happening, but I can’t quite figure out why. Ryan ambles onto the stage and it sounds very much like he says, “Sundance…fuck!” I played it back a few times, and I can’t tell what he really said, but he doesn’t look too panicked, so I’m sure I misheard. But that’s okay, because I’m sure it’s what everyone else in the audience was saying. Jason holds up three fingers to remind us to vote. Dude has some fucking Jimmy Dean pork sausages. Those rings must have been soldered on.

Well, Paul Kim is next and no matter what else happens tonight, we already know that with Paul here, Jason Head won’t be tonight’s worst singer. For those of you who managed through therapy and meds to forget Paul’s initial horrendous boy-band audition, you’re out of luck, because here it is again. Where’s Rosie O’Donnell when you need her? We get to hear all about Paul’s barefoot fetish again. Perhaps he could compensate for the bare feet by wearing a ski mask when he sings. Paul will be eviscerating “Careless Whisper,” tonight. He’s terrible and singing in such a low key, it’s hard to make what he’s saying half the time. That plus the fact that he’s acting like a Chigga, with his ridiculous hand movements, is really lowering my tolerance of him. I also can’t tell if he’s singing with an accent or singing with an “accent.” His speaking voice is totally American with no impediments, so I’m guessing it’s the latter. He’s gone full tilt ghetto. His high note is so off that even he’s plugging his ears. If he doesn’t go tonight, America is even more deluded than normal. Randy leads the crazy by stating that Paul has one of the best voices in the competition this year. The bligga leading the chigga. Paula feels he oversang the song, but hopes people get past tonight’s performance and push him through. Ryan takes his shoes off too, momentarily forgetting that without his lifts, he’s only 5’1”. Ryan says he’s showing off his new pedicure. (3)

Much Ado About Nothing Chris Richardson is next, reminding us he’s not fit to carry Elliott Yamin’s jock, singing Donny Hathaway. The producers are still pushing the Justin Timberlake angle with Chris, but from the look of his skin, I’d say he’s more comparable to Cameron Diaz. Chris is singing “I Don’t Wanna Be,” another song Elliott Yamin covered last season. At this point, maybe he ought to start covering the oeuvre of Patrick “Bread” Hall, because he needs to be judged against someone who isn’t so far out of his league. Chris is doing a total white boy jerk-dance. I expect him to finish the song, down a brewski and crush the can on his forehead, then go fuck a drunk sorority babe without a condom. The judges will go apeshit for him because he’s so cute (I guess). Randy says he feels like the show just started. Barf. Chris will sail through on his good looks. Paula says she loved the different arrangement of the song. There was nothing different about it at all, but when your head is buried in a glass of vodka for the duration of the song, I suppose everything sounds a little different. Simon hits the nail on the head by saying that if you close your eyes and listen to the vocal, Chris’ voice sounds very small, but that the girls will vote for him, anyway. Ryan puts his shoes back on and is up to 5’4”.

This is taking forever. Five down, seven to go. Nick Pedro is our next disappointment. Showing us his Hollywood stuff was a huge mistake, as he sings “California Dreamin’” so poorly that I wouldn’t be surprised to hear Michelle Phillips had died tonight out of embarrassment. I have no idea what song Nick is singing. He’s terribly breathy, not in a boy band way, more of a recent lung resectioning way. However, the audience goes crazy for him. Randy didn’t like it, but I think Nick was better than Chris Richardson. Randy is correct that it was boring. Nick kind of disappeared onscreen. Paula concurs, but Simon thought it wasn’t that bad. Nick is sort of sweet and there are guys who definitely deserve to go home over him, so I’ll give him another chance.

Gina Glocksen is getting fatter every time they show her. She must have a stash of fruit pies under her chair. Blake Lewis is up. This is the guy I’ve been most excited about seeing because I feel like it’s been so long sine we’ve actually heard him sing, that I’ve forgotten if he has any other talent besides being the guy from “Police Academy.” Blake looks like he was wearing a tie designed by one of my favorite artists, Dwellephant, but it went by so fast that I couldn’t tell for sure. If anyone knows, drop me a line. We see the infamous “How Deep is Your Love” performance and all it does this time is remind me we got stuck with Rudy Cardenas while the other blond guy in that group, Tom Lowe, got shitcanned probably for being openly gay and no other reason. Blake is singing one of my favorite songs of the past five years, Keane’s “Somewhere Only We Know.” I want him to be good, but this is a tough song to sing and unless you have a fantastic range, you’re gonna botch it. And botch it Blake does, first by forgetting the words and then by completely failing the high part. Bad choice, Blake. He better hope for the pretty boy vote, because that performance isn’t gonna carry it. Randy softsoaps like crazy; they obviously want Blake to go through a few more rounds. Hell, I’d like Blake to go through a few more rounds, but, folks, that was not a good performance. Paula says the vocals were spot on. If I took a drink every time Paula was totally wrong tonight, I’d be in Keith Whitley territory right now. Simon calls it the best performance of the evening. Blake says he wanted to let America know he could sing. Whoops. But he’ll go through.

Sanjaya Malakar is next. This boy needs an extreme makeover. That hair alone is a disaster area. We’re treated to all his different shades of gay, as well as the proto-incestuous-but-not-really-because-he-likes-dick relationship between Sanjaya and his much less talented sister Marie. (Sorry, I’m not learning her name if she isn’t performing. She’ll take Marie and like it or she’ll forever be banished from my re-cap.) Sanjaya must still be a virgin because he totally has his sister on a pedestal. She’s his whole world and that can only come from someone who hasn’t gotten a really good lay. Or even a bad one. Sanjaya is completely away from the band, both behind and ahead of them, if that’s possible. He’s singing a Stevie Wonder song because you know, we really never get to hear any of his music on the show. His performance was a tad pitchy, but inoffensive. I barely remember it and I’m still listening. Randy, completely off his nut, tells Sanjaya he shouldn’t have sung a Wonder song because he can’t compare, forgetting that just moments ago he was shown praising Sanjaya’s initial audition- singing a Stevie Wonder song. I hope Randy packed some twinkies in his prostate because he’s had his head up his ass all evening. Sanjaya wasn’t bad, just unmemorable. Ryan tries to get Sanjaya to grow a set and tell Simon off. Seacrest, if it were that easy, then you’d have a set, too. Sanjaya is an adorable puppy, but he’s way too gay to appeal to middle America. I think he’s toast.

2/3 of the way done. Chris Sligh is up next. This guy hadn’t impressed me at all until his final audition in Hollywood and I think he needs to knock off the sarcastic quips. They aren’t as funny as he thinks they are and it just serves to remind us how fugly he kind of is. And he is. I have no idea what song Chris I singing, but he’s singing it really well. He has a nice, clear tone to his voice without any bullshit tricks. If he didn’t have the bad lisp, I’d proclaim his performance perfect. He’s definitely the best so far tonight, but the lisp is gonna be a problem, for me at least. Randy and Paula like Chris, but say he was ahead of the beat, which I didn’t notice. Simon, being Simon, immediately tears Chris down, realizing that none of the guys sings as well as he does and he weighs approximately the same as all of them put together, except for Jason. Simon will not have another fat boy for an Idol. Ever. So he has to plant the seeds of doubt in our minds. Ryan gets angry because Simon calls him sweetheart. (4) Chris tries to burn on Simon and makes himself look like a complete asshole. Chris, you could go far in this competition by being humble, but remember, Simon is the star of this show and next year, you’ll be forgotten. The audience isn’t going to be on your side if you rag on their favorite.

It’s “and the rest” time. Jared Cotter, who we don’t know a bit from before, is in the professorandmaryann group. Jared has a thin voice and is all over the place. He’s singing “Back At One.” Completely nap inducing. I’m gonna hire him and Sanjaya to help me with my insomnia. I’d say it’s back to Long Island for you, Jared.

A.J. Tabaldo will be performing as soon as he brings me my chips and salsa and busses the booth behind me. AJ has tried out five previous times for Idol. All I have to say is what went wrong this time? He’s singing “Never Too Much,” by Luther Vandross and by the way he’s bouncing around, I’d say Sanjaya won’t be a virgin for long. AJ doesn’t have a terrible voice, but it’s easy to see why he’d be rejected so much; he’s a totally average and forgettable performer. Randy asks if AJ had a good time, never a good sign. Paula, who got up and danced, loved him. Simon thought it was “theme park.” Ryan asks if AJ feels, after five tries, that he could finally own Idol. Why don’t you ask him that on his way home Thursday night.

Phil Stacey is bringing up the rear. Don’t like this guy, never have, and now he’s making sure we know he’s an active duty sailor in the Navy, in hopes to erase all the bad blood he caused with women all over the country by skipping out on the birth of his daughter to audition for Idol. I knew we’d get stuck with a serviceman this year. Phil, just shut the fuck up and sing. I will say that Phil did a decent job on the Bryan Adams song in Hollywood. Unfortunately, he didn’t bring that A game with him tonight. I have no idea what he’s singing, but he’s singing it too low. Oh, “I Could Not Ask For More.” Bleah. He gets better as the song goes on, but he thinks he’s Chris Daughtry, right down to the adoring wife and kiddies and the Jesus Christ poses. And that performance wasn’t enough to sway me. Randy thinks Phil was the best of the night. Head. Up. The. Ass. Simon though it was just okay. I agree. Phil agrees, as well and says he’s going to work to be better, offending Randy and Paula, since they both liked it. They mock complain that no one listens to them. They finally get it!

Lackluster men. My ranking from 1-12.

1- Chris Sligh
2- Brandon Rogers
3- Blake Lewis
4- Phil Stacey
5- A.J. Tabaldo
6- Nick Pedro
7- Jared Cotter
8- Jason Head
9- Rudy Cardenas
10- Sanjaya Malakar
11- Chris Richardson
12- Paul Kim

Who should go: Paul Kim and Sanjaya Malakar
Who will go: Sanjaya Malakar and A.J. Tabaldo

I would just like to say that after Chris Sligh, my rankings were more of a “least worst” scenario than best of the rest. Folks, if this is what we have to work with, I’ll say it again, it’s gonna be a rotten season.

See you tomorrow night when we stick it to the girls.
Seagulls Out.

Unforgiveable. That's What You Are. AI Re-cap 2/14/07

2007-02-15T14:02:00.000-08:00

After what will go down in the history books as the dullest Hollywood week show ever, tonight, the judges narrow the field even further, from forty to the final 24. Ryan Seacrest has on his official I’m-gonna-stress-every-third-word-so-what-say-sounds-extra-important voice, so you know this is a crucial episode. THIS is American IDOL.

Elevator rides for all tonight. Speaking of which, my apologies for being a little late with the re-cap. Though I don’t advocate Valentine’s Day as a holiday whatsoever, I did have a date last night and I was otherwise occupied. We went to the movies and all was going fine until he turned to the coming attractions posters and said, “I really want to see ‘Ghost Rider.’” Needless to say, I came home alone.

We begin with Sanjaya Malakar. The more I see this kid, the more turned off I am by him. His final audition consists of a terribly shaky, off-key and VERY karaoke version of Grand Funk’s “Some Kind of Wonderful.” The kid has really ugly, over-producted hair, is much too breathy and obviously needs to cut the family apron strings. The sister guilting him needs to stop. I realize horses aren’t sacred in India, but this one has been beaten for all it’s worth. Honey, you sucked, you didn’t make it through, deal with it. Sanjaya, however, has made it through. I’m so far unimpressed.

Next up is 23-ft tall Anna Kearns, who doesn’t make the cut, then tries to argue that they’ve made a mistake because the show has never had anyone like her before. When Simon asks if she means “tall,” Anna gets huffy until finally, even she has to admit the only thing special about her is the ability to see into third floor windows wearing flats.

Bernard Williams is not through. I’m trying had to remember him without having to search the archives, but from what I recall, I liked him. Ah yes, he was the one who Paula claimed was completely off-key during his flawless audition. Wow.

Someone named Eric Davis, whom I’ve never seen before, is also cut, but since I have no idea who he is, I don’t care. Future “L Word” guest star Tami Gosnell is also cut, so the judges got one right. Never liked her and now I can leave her alone.

Melinda Doolittle, one of my early favorites, is up next. I don’t recognize her final audition song, but she sang it very well. Simon tells her she is no longer a backup singer and that she is ready to stand on her own. She’s through to the next round. So far, Melinda has my full support.

Brandon Rogers, another back-up singer who I remember liking a lot, is also through, though I can’t say I was terribly impressed with his final audition, a listless rendition of “Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman,” in which the back-up singers, ironically enough, did all the heavy lifting.

Gina Glocksen is next up. I hope she doesn’t make it. Her final audition was the same Bryan Adams song Brandon sang, though sung about fifty times worse. She sounded like she was doing an ad for Ricola. Oh fuck, she’s through. The judges have completely lost it. I will be sure and vigorously NOT vote for Gina. Haley Scarnato has somehow also, inexplicably made it through. I’ve never been impressed with her and her final audition did nothing to abate that apathy.

Jimmy McNeal, the Ruben Studdard-lite, has been cut, as has someone named Eric Johnson.

Phil Stacy is up next. He’s the clown who skipped the birth of his child to audition. He’s also someone who I think is overrated, through I will admit, he’s done the best version of the Bryan Adams song so far. I only wonder if the women out there voting can be as forgiving as his wife because he’s through.

Shameless promotion time. Just when you thought you’d get away scot-free without any sightseeing footage, we get treated to an extended and unfunny clip from the forthcoming Simpsons movie which the boys got to see on their day off. And Idol’s own Comic Book Guy, chubby Chris Sligh, is about to hear his fate. Chris also sang the Bryan Adams song for his final audition and all I can think is that the generation after me had some really sucky music that was iconic for them. Chris does sing it well, though and it’s the first time I even raise an eyebrow toward him. Simon tells Chris he has a great personality, but wasn’t one of the better singers, however, they put him through, giving us the first official reminder that this isn’t really a singing competition.

Beat-box Blake is next. Maybe we’ll get to actually hear him sing before he gets voted off. For the time being, he’s through. Thomas Lowe is not so fortunate. The final member of the ersatz BeeGees act, Rudy Cardenas, is up next. I’ve also not been impressed with Rudy and his final audition, a screechy version of “Georgia on My Mind,” is rotten, but enough to get him through.

Paul Kim, someone with little talent, but the all important PC factor, promises that if he goes through, he will always be barefoot. Big deal. Now pregnant, that would be impressive. Paul sings a ridiculous version of “How Deep is Your Love,” for his final audition. The judges have their poker face schtick down so well, there’s little to no suspense left while they minstrel it up trying to fool the contestants. Paula apologizes to Paul that he’ll have to come back and I can’t help feeling she’s actually talking to me. This guy is the male Gina Glocksen for me, or more to the point, he’s this year’s Sway Penala. I hope he flames out as quickly.

Jordin Sparks is also through, which is a good thing. Olivia Quibo-Hurst did not. Hell, I didn’t even know she’d tried out! Same with Monique Vieras. Tatiana McConnico is not going through. I remember her name, which puts her over the previous two, but not if I liked her.

A.J. Tabaldo has auditioned five times before. Apparently, persistence wins out over talent, because he’s though. Stephanie Edwards is next. And if you’re hearing a lot of names for the first time, it’s not your failing memory. Many of these people have never been seen nor heard of before this evening, because, well, Idol being Idol, we had to watch people like Ian Benardo and Jasmine Camel Foot. Stephanie is through. Leslie Hunt is up next and Ryan claims her best performance was her final Hollywood week audition. Yikes. I nodded of twice listening to 15 seconds of her somnambulant version of “Until You Come Back to Me.” Leslie makes it through. Man, this is gonna be one fucking dull season.

Nick Pedro, the quitter from last year, sings a flat version of the Bryan Adams song and is put through, which says more about the judges’ love for that song than this year’s talent pool.

Alaina Alexander, someone I do remember as not liking, is talking about blubbering. Randy tries bullshitting her before we’re tortured by her rotten version of “Without You.” Make it stop. Alaina is on the verge of tears before being told she is through. Now I’m on the verge of tears.

Chris Richardson, the unimpressive Timberlake wannabe is also through. Sabrina Sloan is also through. Meh. Jerome Chism (?) not through. Joelle James (?) not through. Matthew Buckstein, Princess Johnson, both cut. How Buckstein got this far, no idea.

Lakeisha Jones, who I really liked and still like is through. I’m very happy for her and for me, since there are two or three people who will be bearable to listen to.

Nicole Tranquillo, who is a complete snore, goes through. Jared Cotter, another complete fucking dullard, is also through. Amy Krebs, totally beige, is through.

Final judgments. One spot left for each sex, four people wait to hear. Marisa and Antonella go up first. If it’s not Antonella, the show has officially jumped the shark, though Marisa is better than many that made it through. Antonella fucks up her last audition, but she makes it through. I would have chosen Marisa over the last two women.

Now it’s between Thomas Daniels and Jason Head. Tommy is a great singer, Jason is not. So of course, the judges choose Jason. And I think that basically sums up the coming episodes, folks. I wouldn’t swim out too far for fear of shark bites.

Before we go, I thought I would make up a list of people who got cut in favor of Jason Head, Paul Kim, Alaina Alexander and Gina Glocksen.

Thomas Daniels: Jason’s seat mate who outsang him 10 to 1.
Kia Thornton: The last auditioner on the first day of NYC who we never saw again.
Jenry Bejerano: In my opinion, the best male singer of this season. This guy was the complete package and to have let him go was a major blunder.
Jory Steinberg: Excellent voice. Was made an example of for no good reason at the very beginning of Hollywood week.
Bernard Williams: The guy Paula said was off-key at his first audition.
Nichole Glatzman: Never even made it to Hollywood. Shot down my Randy & Simon. Was told by her mother that she had no talent.
Ebonie: I can’t remember her last name, but she was the black Frisco’s car hop and had a fantastic voice. We never heard her sing again and saw her get cut during the group rounds.

My first mission is to vote for anyone else so that Jason Head is among the first of the guys to be cut. Who’s with me?

Seagulls out.

Uncle Sam Doesn't Want You. AI Re-cap 2/13/07

2007-02-14T08:49:00.001-08:00

Finally, the day has arrived. We are in the thick of Hollywood Week on Idol. Now someone correct me if I’m wrong, but are the producers skimping this year on this particular phase of the show? One hour for the Hollywood rounds, then one hour to choose the Top 24 seems like very little time, especially when you consider we had eight, count ‘em, EIGHT audition shows that netted us next to nothing in televised talent. Maybe next season we can spend a little more time watching this endlessly more fascinating phase of the competition than watching some rotund, fifty year old black broad in a chicken costume show off her ample belly fat.

So McPhee’s album dropped this past week. She debuted at #2 with sales of 119,000, about 35% of what Taylor Hicks moved in his first week and we all know what happened to that CD. Can you feel my pleasure from where you’re sitting, because I want you to.

Five days of Hollywood week are condensed down to two hours as we meet some of the 172 hopefuls chosen to proceed to the second round. God help them if they waste precious footage showing us the slutty bumpkin whose daddy shot her stepmomma frolicking on the beach or being arrested for bad taste on Holywood Boulevard. No one wants to see the Idols sightsee. I’m putting that out there right now. Stop the sightseeing.

This season, they are splitting the initial audition phase into male vs. female. The first day it’s the girls singing. On the bus to the Orpheum Theatre, some snotty girl with big hoop earrings is deriding any peace and love vibe her fellow contestants might be trying to spread. Egging her on is seat-mate Gina Glocksen, who, being a two-time loser already, has no room to talk and ought to be thanking everyone in sight and handing out gifts for the fact that they even let her through again. I’m gonna take extra pleasure when she gets cut.

This year, there are almost twice as many girls as there are boys, so the competition among the femmes is fierce. This is where I would come in handy. I could think of a couple dozen that ought to go home right now. For the first round, there will be groups of six, each singing 30 seconds of a song. First up is Jory Steinberg, who I recently found out was a teen pop star in Canada for five minutes who never got a chance to break over here. I know that’s a technicality, but I feel like it ought to disqualify her, however, she’s one of the few girls I can stand, so I’ll let it slide. She’s singing “I’m Outta Love,” by Anastacia. Good job. I wish I could say the same for her five group mates, but we’re only given three second glimpses of them singing their songs. I did like a girl named Jeromisha. I think. Also, there’s some girl in a really tacky leopard print dress with enormous fake tits. She had the worst voice of the six, but perhaps her rack will float her. No, Simon cut the entire line. I’m shocked about Jory. She has a really nice voice and I wouldn’t have sacrificed her just to set a precedent and strike fear in the hearts of the viewers, I mean contestants. If daddy shooter gets through, I’m really gonna be pissed.

We’re back and getting stuck watching footage of Perla. You remember her from the first night of auditions. She was the latin spitfire with a thimbleful of talent who was forced to sing a Shakira song, but was then put through because of it. Now she’s being filmed exiting the plane to Hollywood (probably for the fourth time, it looks so fake.) Perla seems to think she’s this season’s Brenna Gethers, someone we never need a clone of. Perla sings the same Shakira song, and if possible, does an even worse job with it. Plus, I can’t understand a word she says. Next up is Rachel the army reservist who milked her and her husband’s military status to cover a middling talent. Also four others whose names and performances we’re not privy to. Rachel gets cut, but Perla is through, even though Simon chastises her for being personality over talent. Perla swears she is ready to work, and to prove her point, she immediately goes backstage and frys up a hamburger with the grease from her forehead. Hey, it’ll be good practice for her. Out in the lobby, Rachel is still flashing her husband’s army photo as though it’s going to help. Sister, that teat is dry.

Baylie Brown is up next. She was the country gal who was afraid of horses and feels she’s too big-city for her rural roots. That explains the dye-job. Baylie’s performance is flat and rushed, but the judges like her for some inexplicable reason. Not going through are Ashlyn Carr, who has been to Hollywood before, Porcelana Patino, the female Rocky, and Sarah Burgess, an early thorn in my side who fabricated a huge bullshit story about how her father didn’t support her choices, which came as a huge surprise to him when she ambushed him on the phone after finding out she was going to Hollywood. Nicole Turner is the last hopeful of the day, arguing with her mother about which song to sing, and then capitulating to mom’s choice, an old Aretha song called “Ain’t No Way.” Nicole gets cut, but I thought she did well and should have gotten through. Oh, but it’s not over. Nicole makes her mother feel so guilty about haranguing her into singing the wrong song, that mama hobbles onto the stage, walking stick in hand, to plead her daughter’s case. Then Nicole gets into the act, even though all the judges tell her it wasn’t the song that didn’t get her through. Simon gets so fed up, he shouts at her and walks off. But this is not to be a Brittenum Twins redux, thank goodness. Fifty six of the 114 girls are through to the next round, including delightful early favorite Melinda Doolittle, hateful no-talent Gina Glocksen and retarded sob story milking whore, Jamie Lynn Daddy-Shooter.

Day two and the boys are next. Jason Head thinks the fewer number of guys will work in his favor, though no one wants to mention he takes up the space of three, not including the midget hippie we could cobble together from his excess chest hair. Brian Miller is in Hollywood for the second time and he looks like he’s dressed for Sunday School. He does decently, but next up is Jarrod Fowler, the navy man who had much too much time wasted on him and his shipmates during his audition and who you know is going to go through on pure Executive order. Jarrod tells us he was dressed in his navy whites due to an order from his superiors and thanks the navy for allowing him to be there. Hell, son, they put you there. He’s got an okay voice, but a dull delivery.

Next is one of my early favorites, Matt Sato. Matt, if you remember, was the guy whose parents really didn’t support his career path, unlike Sarah Burgess, who lied through her teeth. Matt’s skin has cleared up considerably, though he is still plucking his eyebrows thin enough to make Eydie Gorme proud. Matt picks a really shitty song, but manages to squeak by, as does Chris, the fat, curly haired guy from a couple weeks ago. Not as fortunate is Jarrod Fowler. I guess Randy and Paula are democrats. Brian Miller’s fate has been completely dropped, as he isn’t even part of this group. Matt calls his mom and cries on the phone to her again. One time is sweet, kid. Keep it up and you’re gonna verge into Picklerville, though it’s hard to be cynical after she tells Matt she loves him and he reveals to the camera that his mother never tells him that.

And apparently, that’s all of the guys we get to see for the first round. Thirty four have made it through, including Blake Lewis, the human beat boxer, Nick Pedro, who took himself out of Hollywood last year, Phil Stacy, the tool who ditched his wife in the delivery room and Sean Michel, the freak who has birds living in his Rumplestilskin beard. Oh, and Jason Head and his “Cousin Itt” chest-wig are through, too.

Time for the group round and hopefully, this will be more exciting than the previous half hour, which was dullsville. This year, the kids get to choose the groups, themselves, and can gather in groups of any number they choose. Matt Sato can’t find a group, neither can some girl who wears a post-modern pukka shell necklace and cries like she’s been last chosen for kickball, until she finally gets a pity invite.

Matt Buckstein, one of the “Brokenote Mountain” cowboys from last year, is back and sounding as bad as before. Jersey girls and best friends Antonella and Amanda team with Baylie, but fight over which song to choose, leaving the country girl as spooked by Jersey chicks as she is by horses, though one can see where she’d find resemblances. None of the girls can remember the lyrics to their song and while Antonella and Baylie go off to bed, Amanda, Jersey bred, goes in search of some Idol contestant dick.

Gina Glocksen and Perla are in the same group together and clash immediately. Gina claims Perla cannot harmonize, which I’m sure is accurate, but people in glass houses… Perla keeps singing off-key, which makes her no new friends.

During the group performances, the judges seem to be cutting anyone who can’t remember their lyrics. Matt Sato gets cut. So now, not only are we not being introduced to a lot of people who are going to make it through the next few rounds, the ones that we have gotten a lot of backstory on are being cut. Matt is dumped with not so much as a handshake. While on the one hand, I applaud the ability to shake things up and not foist on us only the people deemed worthy of backstories, my next question is- why have them at all? If you’re not priming the pump by getting us used to these people, then why show their sob stories at all? Why not focus on showing more contestants making it through to Hollywood?

Glocksen’s group performs and everyone goes through except Perla. So far, all my nemeses are falling by the wayside. I’m not holding out hope that the judges will get smart and cut Pickler-lite, though. Okay, I miss Matt Sato. I’ll get over it.

Blake, Chris, Rudy Cardenas and some other guy do a rousing version of the Bee Gees “How Deep is Your Love,” that gets the crowd going, however at some point, Blake is gonna have to step up to the plate and sing something instead of being the show’s own Michael Winslow. They all go through.

Jason Head is singing with two girls, one of whom, L’Paige, doesn’t remember one word of lyrics to “A Night to Remember,” and is going home. Jason also forgets his lyrics and just starts making shit up, as well as performing them wildly off-key, yet he gets put through. That shit is whacked. Even Jason acknowledges he shouldn’t have made it.

Baylie and the Jersey twins are up now. Antonella rocks her part, but Baylie forgets pretty much every word and Amanda has to prompt her. However, when it’s Amanda’s turn, she flubs her lines, which prompts an evil grin from Baylie. Antonella is the only one of the three who should go through, yet they keep Amanda. Baylie is sent home and rightly so. She didn’t even sing more than two words of her solo. Good riddance. Baylie completely shows her true colors and harshes all over Amanda, accusing her of flirting with boys instead of rehearsing. As true as that may have been, Baylie was responsible for learning her lyrics on her own and has no one to blame for that but herself.

Both of the roller skating Frisco’s waitresses get cut, which is surprising, since the black chick had an amazing voice in the first round. However, we don’t get to hear their group song. Fifty six people have lasted through this round.

The finalists are split into three groups. Group One goes through. That includes chubby Chris, Gina Glocksen, Rudy Cardenas and the Asian guy who sounded way too boy-band breathy. This is already telling me that the talent pool this year was incredibly shallow.

Group two goes through. This room includes Jason Head, Antonella, Sanjaya the Bolywood Donny (but not his sister), and the lesbian with dirty hair who sang the Lynard Skynard song. Somehow, Matthew Buckstein got through, as well, which REALLY tells you how shallow the talent pool is.

And if anything else happened after that, I missed it, sicne my tivo cut the rest of the episode off. I nominate this for the worst Hollywood week episode ever and my worst re-cap. Please see the manager for refunds on your way out.

The One Where Jack Tripper Gets Amnesia. AI Re-cap 2/7/07

2007-02-08T01:02:00.000-08:00

As part of their commitment to Fox to provide 45 programming hours of American Idol this season, Freemantle Media and 19 Entertainment have packaged tonight’s episode as “The Best and the Worst of What We Didn’t Have Time to Show You.” The reason they didn’t have time is because they were too busy wasting it on of lame skits, sob stories and some moron dressed as a banana, singing “Peanut Butter Jelly Time.” So now we all have to spend an hour in hopes we may glean something useful for the coming season. We Idol fans are hardcore. Yet this is how they reward us. A clip show.

Seacrest claims they had so much good stuff from the road this year, that they couldn’t fit it all in. I know about 34 million people who would beg to differ, Short Round. They are breaking the show down into lessons on how to try out for Idol. I wonder if I shot an episode on how to produce Idol, I could force them to watch it. But before we do that, I’m making some room for Hedwig, who had to make a trip to the vet today after deciding to play with my disposable razor. Luckily, she only suffered a minor cut on her paw pad. I’m hoping it’s not a cry for help and I’m going to have to start locking up my xanax.

While my very own Sylvia Plath settles in next to me, Idol starts with Lesson One: The Look. Christa is dressed like an extra from a Motels video. She thinks it looks fashionable. I think she should be deported. She’s wearing a hat with a veil, which will come in handy for the mourning period after she tanks her audition. She’s predictably horrible and bursts into tears, prompting Paula to change her vote, though Randy and Simon stick to their guns. Thank God, because if this bitch had gotten through to Hollywood after Nichole Glatzman from Birmingham did not, I would have thrown a brick at Paula the next time I saw her at my connection’s house. Christa sobs on the way out, fitting since she’s dressed for a funeral from the waist up.

Tami Gosnell is a pedi-cab driver from Colorado who has a butch demeanor and a lip ring. Wonder how many labia she’s snagged on that thing while having sex? She’ll be singing “Whipping Post.” She has a good voice, but there’s nothing dynamic about her and nothing original, though Simon, in his very narrow world view, says he likes her because she’s different. Does Simon get out much? I mean, I’d put this girl through to the next round for sure, but I wouldn’t be doing backflips over it. All I thought while watching her was- she’s no Bo Bice. And that’s what I fear this show has become, pale imitations of previous Idols coming in and doing weak impersonations of the ones who have been successful. Let’s face it, there’s very little if any true originality to be found these days. Everything has been done under the sun. And that’s okay if a person is derivative if they have a quality that sets them above the pack, either with look or personality or charisma, to go along with a good voice. But almost all of the people we’ve seen that have made it through thus far this season are severely lacking any of that and this gal is smack dab in the middle of the pile. My advice for Idol- raise the age limit again. Make it 35 just as an experiment one year and see if it nets anyone a little more seasoned and professional. Anyway, the lesbian gets through.

Lesson Two: Seek Inspiration. While most hopefuls cite singers ranging from Mariah, Celine, Xtina and Alicia all the way down to David Hasselhoff and Taylor Hicks, Paul Kim says his inspiration came in none other than the form of Season 2 Idol punch line and borderline mongoloid William Hung. Paul feels William gives Asian people a bad name as far as singers go, obviously forgetting such past luminaries as Yma Sumac, Kissy Suzuki, Shonen Knife and Mei and Kei from Pink Lady & Jeff. He has a decent voice with a nice tone, but he’s got so many boyband bad habits going on that for me, it ruins the audition. He’s much too breathy, he thumps his chest, he melismas and juts out his hand several times for emphasis. I mean it’s nice to see Chris Kirkpatrick has landed on his feet as a vocal coach since NSYNC broke up, but come on; Paul is so stuck in 1999 that he ought to have the Prince symbol tattooed on his ass. I’d pass on him, but he goes through.

Jack Odanovich has chosen another former Idol for inspiration. He covers “Inside a Dream,” the song Bo Bice so memorably covered in Season 4. To quote Dolly Parton from 9 to 5, after what Jack does to the song, I think we ought to “hire a couple of wranglers to beat the shit out of him.”

Lesson Three: Never Give Up. We see a montage of repeat auditioners, including one from last season, Gina Glocksen. I remember Gina very well; I remember not understanding what anyone saw in her and was thrilled when she was cut in Hollywood. She sings a thoroughly unmemorable “Black Velvet,” and kisses Simon’s ass just enough to get put through to Hollywood, where she’ll likely tank again. But hey Gina, thanks for taking someone else’s slot who was probably more deserving.

Edward Sanchez is next and they are showing him dancing, so you all know what that means. Edward is a huge Paula Abdul fan and is basically here to see her. Great, that means I don’t have to waste time watching his terrible audition.

Three bim car hops that probably have joint custody of one brain cell between them are here to audition. Josie, Valerie and Melody (or whatever the fuck their names are, does it matter?) are roller skating waitresses at a place called Frisco’s and all are here to try their luck. Does that mean that if I wanted a tuna melt that particular day at Frisco’s, I would have had to strap on a pair of rollerblades and serve myself?

This brings us to Lesson 4: Always Audition on Your Own. The Frisco’s chicks come in to audition together. First up is Heather, who is just okay. Then comes Ashley, who sings Sarah Maclachlan’s “Angel,” and does a way better job with it than I would have given her credit for; it’s a tough song to sing well. Lastly, there’s Ebony, who has the best voice of the three. Heather is shot down and Ashley almost blows her chance after Paula tells her not to wear so much make-up and she thanks the singer for her “motherly” advice. However, she and Ebony make it through to Hollywood, then guest judge Olivia Newton-John straps on a pair of roller skates and shows those kids how it’s really done. (I wish!)

We’re back with a mini-montage of bad singers who chose to perform their own compositions. I rather liked Brandon Reid’s beat box number, though it wasn’t right for this competition. He’s actually been more entertaining than half the folks who made it through. Wes Samland is going to be our next time waster as the gag writers from Dick Clark’s “Foul-Ups, Bleeps & Blunders,” construct another tightly hilarious comedy bit. Wes could be cute, except he has terrible taste in clothes and some fugly ass chicklets for teeth.

Lesson 5: Shake Your Moneymaker. The less said about this, the better.

Alexander Nazario is a big queen from Nashville by way of Puerto Rico. He’s a dancer AND a singer with an accent as thick as Nana Mouskouri’s pubic bush. While we wait for Simon to tell him he should put on a dress and stilettos, Alex entertains us with his rendition of Air Supply’s “Making Love out of Nothing at All.” He tanks, though Simon wisely restrains himself.

Lesson 6: Clarity. Another bit, called “Name That Song.” However lame, there is more than a grain of truth to this. A lot of these people are mushmouthed. While we’re on the topic, I was so happy to see that so many people remembered The Ellen James Society. Believe me, it was not from any position of superiority that I assumed no one would remember, just that I’ve found pop culture history these days extends no further than the early-middle career of Madonna.

Okay, so far, I’ve had no trouble figuring out the first two people’s songs. Here’s a tip, joke writers. If you’re going to play a gag like this, make sure you have enough material to fill the bit.

Lakeesha Jones is a sweetheart and is dressed in my favorite color (no, NOT the zebra print, thank you very much.) She is singing “Think,” by Aretha Franklin. For those of you with short memories, that was the song that Katharine McPhee squeezed every drop of soul, funk and all-around personality from before spreading it thick with mayonnaise, slapping it between two slices of Wonder Bread and then performing it on last year’s show. Lakeesha mops the floor with the song and uses the new bad perm of McPhee to do it with. She’s amazing and sails through, deservedly.

And that does it for the audition phase. Join me next week when I dismantle the dual episodes of Hollywood Week and we finally get this season cooking.

Seagulls out.

Forget the Alamo. AI Re-cap 2/6/07

2007-02-07T01:47:00.000-08:00

We’re in San Antonio tonight and since they grow ‘em bigger in Texas, they ought to ride Seacrest out of town on a rail. This is the last week of audition shows and I can’t tell you all how grateful I am for that. Except that I’ve been bitching about them since Day One, so even Jonathan Jayne pretty much figured that one out. San Antonio must be near Houston, because everyone on line to get in is extremely fat. I know zip about Texas geography, so correct me if I’m wrong. Actually, don’t because I’m not all that interested. One thing I forgot to point out about last week’s shows is that we were mercifully spared those painful montages where everyone sings the same song badly. However, Cecile Frot-Coutaz has the whole United Airlines Rodeo and Slave Auction Arena, or whatever the hell the cattle call holding pen is named, singing the Theme to Rawhide. My guess is that’s what we’ll be treated to, ad nauseum, this evening.

Simon is whining about jet lag while Paula, dressed in a Bed, Bath & Beyond shower curtain, spins around in her chair making bubble sounds with her lips. Wonder if she’ll use jet lag as an excuse, too? Perpetuating the habit of starting out each show with a joke audition, we’re introduced to Bryan Kyrish, who mumbles something about the judges putting one leg inside their pants. He looks vaguely like a date rapist, so you know this won’t sound good. Bryan is comparing himself to Billy Idol and Ozzy Osbourne. As Simon would say, “Whoopee.” Bryan claims to have won a local “Mock Idol” contest, which somehow gives Simon false hope that he won’t suck. That hope is quickly dashed and the only thing fun about Bryan’s audition is when he drops to his knees and slams the left one hard on the wooden floor. I once banged my knee against a weight bench at the gym and it swelled up like a baseball, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed that Bryan gets what’s coming to him. The expression on Simon’s face when Bryan finishes his song is stunned boredom. Apparently, the judges at the Mock Idol contest were three sheets to the wind when they crowned Bryan their winner. Hey, if Paula can judge the real show… Bryan is gone and I don’t care.

Hayley Scarnato is up next. She has the bim factor that Simon so highly values, though her time spent as a wedding band singer may provide him with some easy snark. Hedwig has joined me, looking for some rubbing and is shooting dirty looks at my laptop, of which she is hugely jealous. Hayley sounds down to earth about her prospects, but I’ve found more times than not, when they film a contestant dancing in front of the camera, that’s shorthand for “Don’t take this idiot seriously.” We shall see. Simon bites his pen lustfully as Hayley enters in a black Scassi-esque pajama ensemble. Paula compliments Hayley on her outfit and when she turns around, it’s all Cowell can do not to take a huge bite out of the poor girl’s left ass cheek. Haley has a pleasant voice, but it’s really nothing special. A total wedding singer. She’ll get through on the ass factor.

Okay, we need to speed this up, because the klonopin I took is kicking in and I need to lie down. I’ve had my ass julienned and handed to me in strips this past week on a job I’ve been doing and the only way I am getting through tonight’s re-cap is by being medicated. Any typos must be excused.

Some border Mexicans have crossed over and decided to hold a hootenanny in the green room, but hey, wherever there’s an accordion- instant party! In addition to Stevie Wonder, Bonnie Raitt and Alicia Keys songs, can we please place a moratorium on fat black chicks sporting enormous cameltoes in their auditions? If I hadn’t already been born a pansy, I’d have surely turned by now and blamed these broads. Rocking said cameltoe, our next contestant, Jasmine Holland, is stopping in to sing a song for the judges before carrying the three wise men to Bethlehem to visit the baby Jesus. Jasmine looks about as pleased to be auditioning as I am to be watching her. Then again, her whole bottom half could be strangling for oxygen. They don’t call them tights for nothing. Do camels go “Hee-Haw?” No, that’s a donkey, sorry. Unfortunately, it’s also Jasmine. After an ear splitting audition, Jasmine has the temerity to complain to the judges that they are being unfair. She seems awfully upset for someone who looks like she’d be having more fun at a root canal. The good news is she ought to be able to pack the gold, frankincense and myrrh in her ample caboose. Watch out for sand storms, honey.

Oh wait, it’s not over. Post audition, Jasmine is bad-mouthing the judges. Her mother chimes in, saying Simon ought to go back to France. Seacrest corrects her and says that Simon is British, prompting momma to snap back, “Fine, he needs to go back to British, then.” Jasmine, momentarily forgetting the two prizewinning squash shoved into the back of her tights, begins to make fun of Randy’s weight. Pure trash, the whole family.

Tonight’s southern blonde bim hick is named Bailey Brown. She’s from a small town called Krum and has a barn with horses. I so want Bailey’s sob story to be about their young ranch hand who broke into the barn one night and blinded all the horses after fucking her in the hay, but is now in the care of an English psychiatrist, just to see if Paula falls for it. Bailey looks like Tara Reid and fashions herself as a big city girl trapped in a small town. She’s also afraid the horses will eat her. I wouldn’t apply for a Barney’s charge account just yet, honey. Bailey is full of naked ambition and isn’t trying to mask it in a pity me story, so for that, I like her. She also seems dumb as a bag of rocks, so don’t expect us to be BFFs for longer than the end of this paragraph. Her singing voice is fair, but lazy. In fact, she actually has to wobble her head to employ her vibrato. She also can’t be bothered to say the full words, pronouncing “stronger” without the T multiple times. It sounds like “saronger.” Simon wants to bang her from behind and she quickly goes through.

Because we have been spared most of this season from the unfunny comedy bits, you knew one was just festering like a boil looking for the surface. Tonight’s humdinger is about the locked left exit door and how stupid everyone is who tries to open it on their way out. What a laff riot. Stop, my sides. It’s nothing that a small sign wouldn’t fix on the correct door, but why fuck with comedy gold in the interest of logic. My guess is just as many people would go through the wrong door even if there was a sign, which might actually generate one or two laughs, but hey, what do I know? I’m not the one who came up with “Brokenote Mountain.”

A pair of moron cousins make up the next contestants. The producers decided to try something new, something fresh, something cutting edge. Hey, let’s have another pair of clueless nerds who are friends, but this time, and here’s the wacky part, let’s make them BLACK! It’s genius! The French should be honoring the writers of this show any day now. Cousin Dumb & Dumber are unemployed, so everything they have is riding on this audition. That is brilliant. Next time I don’t feel like taking a job, I’m gonna just say “fuck it,” and put all my hopes on winning American Idol. Car insurance? Don’t need it, I’m gonna win Idol. Child support? Fuck that noise, baby, I’m gonna win Idol. Mama needs a new kidney? Hell with that, I’ll sing the bitch back to health.

The first one up, William Green, does a borderline retarded version of “Amazing Grace,” and it’s tough to believe he’s one bit serious about this. He dos elicit some laughs when, after cheerfully accepting the judges dismissal, he warns them he’s gonna have to front on the way out, opening the door and yelling back into the room some idle threats, making his cousin think he’s seriously upset. That was funny. Next up, cousin Akron has a much better voice, which isn’t too difficult. Again, not amazing, but decent. Simon tells Akron he has a good voice, but he was bored watching him. Paula gets snarky when Akron genuinely expresses concern over Simon’s comment and then bursts into a Marvin Gaye song that’s in a much too high key for him, doing nothing but erasing any glimmer of talent he might have been thought to previously have. Strangely enough, he gets through. I have to say that I haven’t seen one really good person in Texas thus far. Let me amend that- I haven’t seen one person I’ll even remember after tomorrow.

Sandie Chavez is singing “Black Velvet.” She cups her hand to one ear and I can’t help thinking it’s so she can block out the sound of her own voice. She enunciates worse than Marlee Matlin. In fact, if she hadn’t spoken clearly to Seacrest before the audition, I’d think she was a member of the Ellen James Society ($10 for anyone who gets THAT reference. Folks, sometimes the jokes are just for me, sorry.) Simon delicately asks her if the audition was serious, which is a lot nicer than I would have been. She’d have been pelted by unopened Coke cans if I was on the panel. Sandie begins to cry, at which point I’d switch to 2-liter bottles.

Ashlyn Carr is up next. She is a veritable Christina Christian clone in looks. Ashlyn was once beaten up in high school for singing, an experience I’ll bet she shares with Sandie Chavez. Ashlyn is singing “Feelin’ Good,” which, thankfully, she credits to Nina Simone, but say she’s singing the Michael Buble version, which I haven’t heard and now know I never want to. Ashlyn has a nice tone to her voice, but she has weird affectations, both vocally and facially, when she sings. I’d still put her through because I like her look, I like her presence and her focus and I think the affectations can be worked out. The judges pass on her and I think they made a mistake, especially when we see how graciously Ashlyn takes it, even through her tears, which she apologizes for. No need, dear, you deserve to be upset.

To their credit, the judges realize they may have made a mistake, though how much of this is pre-planned and staged for the camera is debatable. Ashlyn is asked to re-enter the audition room to sing again. Simon gets the other two judges to do an about face and they send Ashlyn to Hollywood. She then proceeds to strut out of the room with attitude and I wish the judges would have rescinded the invitation immediately. What they were saying was not without merit. She scrunches her face up much too much when she sings and her head movements dictate her tone. A terrible habit.

Jacob Tutor is dancing in front of the camera, so you know he’s going to be a complete mess and possibly a plant. After all, we have to end the audition rounds with a doozy. I don’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. He sings poorly and doesn’t take it well. Jacob curses and beeps and curses and beeps, but isn’t the doozy I was led to believe he’d be. Have they run out of freak shows? Maybe Ian Benardo can be flown in from NYC.

Jimmy McNeal is our final audition of the night and he’s singing “Cupid.” Or at least that’s what he claims, since he then proceeds to break out into “Another Saturday Night.” Ohhh, there’s Cupid. He’s good, but again, underwhelming. San Antonio should be stricken from the tour.

Tomorrow night, we’ll be treated to an hour of the people whose auditions they couldn’t squeeze in during the past six weeks.

Marlee Matlin never had it so good.

Seagulls out.

Better Late Than...Aww Fuck It. AI Re-caps 1/30-31/07

2007-02-06T00:45:00.000-08:00

This week’s edition of American Idol takes us to Birmingham, Alabama, home to past Idol famers Ruben Studdard, Bo Bice and Taylor Hicks, which is somewhat fitting considering my re-cap is so late this week, it’s about as relevant as their careers. But, I figure better late than never, even though with the poor quality of this season’s episodes thus far, I will probably be eating those words in a few paragraphs. I will be combining both of last week’s episodes into one medium sized re-cap. My apologies for being so behind, but I can’t exactly say I was motivated to rush to the computer after four less than stellar episodes and re-caps. If I come back for a third season of this, I’m telling everyone right now, Flock is flying south for the winter until Hollywood week.
I’m paused on a particularly fugly girl in hair rollers and sporting a wall-eye. Sounds like a good place to begin Birmingham.

I’ve actually waited to watch these and I haven’t read or seen anything about the episodes so what’s stale to you is going to be fresh to me. Up first is Erica Skye, a native Alabamian. She attends Auburn University on their newly initiated “tramp” scholarship. Erica has long curly dyed blonde hair, wears a late 70s Chrissie Snow halter top and sports a set of false eyelashes that would turn any droog green with envy. Erica is studying Biological Sciences and my guess is she uses biology to help her skate through the program. She wants to do something in the dental field if her singing career doesn’t work out. Do you need to go to college for that? I thought you only had to go someplace like Apex Tech or Vryman or one of those places you see advertised during the day while watching “I Love Lucy” reruns. Erica will be singing “Unchained Melody,” (you know, by LeAnn Rimes!). No word yet if she’s going to be accompanying herself by scraping her eyelashes along a washtub board.

Okay, yes, Erica is bad. Mostly she’s flat (or her notes are) but the judges are mugging worse than Jim Carrey on the Oscars, pulling faces worthy of the chick who did The Cowardly Lion schtick a couple weeks back. There’s so much ham going on at the judges table, the whole room ought to be declared Treyf. Once Erica finishes, Simon lights into her, but she insists she was just nervous and tries launching into a Dixie Chicks song amid Simon’s vigorous protests. I think it’s all much ado about stuffing. The judges have come loaded for bear and are playing straight to the camera. I could understand where Erica might think she had a better voice than she does and I could also see where relatives and friends who no little to nothing about music would encourage her without being completely off their rockers. I have a good friend who honestly can’t hear when someone is flat or even wildly off key. He just doesn’t have the ear for it. Erica should not be sent through, but neither should she be treated like the chick who could only sing “Women not girls rule my world,” over and over.

Erica will not take no for an answer and Paula walks out as she sings her second song, which is a little of the pot calling the kettle off-key, if you ask me. She actually sounds a tiny bit better on the second song. They toss her out and she says afterwards that she wishes they had been a little nicer. I concur. Simon must not be in the mood for breasts today.

Katie Bernard is up next. She’s from Orlando and has a really irritating speaking voice. Basically, she’s gonna have to sing like an angel in order to quell my desire to smash her in the face already. Oh my god, speaking of wanting to smash someone in the face, did anyone see Katharine McPhee’s appearance on “Ugly Betty,” this past week? Painful. She couldn’t even play herself convincingly. And she wants to have an acting career?? The only performance less believable was poor America Ferrera who had to pretend that Betty had the “McPheever.” It’s a good thing the Hollywood Foreign press didn’t see that clip or Felicity Huffman would have wound up with the Golden Globe. Howard Stern was playing some of McPhee’s tracks off her new CD this week and cracking on them. I have to say, for someone who’s supposed to have this big, powerful voice, they hid it under all of this production fluff and crap. They even employ a vocoder. I never thought McPhee had a bad voice, she just oversang everything and had a LOT of bad habits, but she has natural abilities that aren’t being taken advantage of. My prediction is it will be shipped gold and returned platinum and by Flag Day, you’ll be able to pick it up in the cut out bin next to Taylor Hicks’ CD.

Okay, back to Katie Bernard. Holy shit, she sounds like Lily Tomlin doing Edith Ann. All this bitch needs is a gigantic rocking chair. Katie swears to the judges that her singing voice is completely different than her speaking voice. She’s right. When she speaks, she doesn’t sound like she has Tourette’s Syndrome. Katie’s vocalizing is akin to riding The Tower of Terror. It’s up, it drops, it’s upnoitdrops… and so on. Her tone is decent when she manages to hold it for more than one note. Randy wants to put her through, Simon unequivocally says no and Paula is on the fence, leaning toward no. Katie begs Paula to send her to Hollywood, at one point sounding like the baby vulture from the old Bugs Bunny cartoon. I swear she actually says “Uhhhhnopenopenopenopenope.” Katie brings in her new husband, a lumpen, popped collar Izod wearing slab of back fat. Katie begs and pleads and you can just see it on her husband’s face- Please take her to Hollywood so I can have a few days peace! She NEVER shuts up. Paula, if only to spite Simon, sends her through to Hollywood. I fucking hate when she does that.

Tatiana McConnico is wearing bedroom slippers to her audition. She’s 17 and this is the biggest thing she’s done in her life. Let’s hope she’s not conveniently leaving out that baby she had in the 8th grade. Tatiana has a really good, really solid voice, though like McPhee last year, has no idea how to act a song, singing an Aretha dirge as though she were selling spark plugs on an infomercial. Paula is very twitchy during the performance and she looks like she’s going through the DTs. McConnico goes through.

Jesus Christ, Ryan Seacrest is just a tiny, tiny man.

Diana Walker is from Georgia and works in child care. My guess is she incubates them because she’s the size of an industrial oven. Diana sings some Whitney and her voice is the only flat thing about her. Diana gets a quick hook and the expression on Simon’s face when he gets a gander at the size of her ass on the way out is priceless.

Bernard Williams is next. He’s a very cute local boy with a good voice. He’s singing “Rock With You,” by Michael Jackson. Usually when people announce they’re singing Michael, it’s a primer for a really joke bad audition. But Bernard does a very good job. I like him, I like his voice, his personality and his looks. He goes through, even though Paula, who definitely got a shot of morphine during the last break, claims he was completely off-key through the whole song? This from the woman who put Katie Bernard through. This guy was one of the best men we’ve seen so far this season. Seriously, let’s drop the Isaiah Washington flap; I’m all for starting a petition to get this broad fired once and for all.

Time for our first staged joke audition of the day. Margaret Fowler is dressed in a huge canary yellow feather dress and sports a gap between her teeth big enough to hide Anne Frank and her entire family, including the VanDaans. Because we’re wasting time with Margaret, someone more deserving doesn’t get to be seen by the judges. Margaret claims to be 26, though Seacrest calls her on it. When is someone gonna call him on claiming to only be 32? Margaret has a habit of revealing her tremendous fat pouch stomach and unless a kangaroo pops out of it, there’s no point in continuing with her. I think Randy said it best when he asked, “What is going on with this show?” P.S., Margaret owns up to being 50.

Jamie Lynn Accent-so-thick-I-couldn’t-understand-her-last-name is from North Carolina. She wears a t-shirt that reads “Blue Eyed Bombshell.” It ought to just say “Stick it in.” Jamie lives with her grandma and her daddy and daddy is paralyzed. Oh, this one studied Kellie Pickler’s game plan very carefully. This is like a clone made from a clone made from a clone. Kellie studied Carrie, Jamie studied Kellie. Will next year’s model just be a blob of southern fried protoplasm that they harvest for stem cells and then give a tit each to Simon and Randy?

Simon asks Jamie to tell him something interesting about her and she says, well-rehearsed, “My daddy’s paralyzed.” Hey, my father was a drunk, but it certainly wasn’t anything that made me interesting. Jesus, honey, you can deviate from the script without completely blowing your sob story. It gets worse. Daddy “shot hisself.” Actually, he shot his cheating wife, Jamie Lynn’s step-momma (and apparent role model) then shot hisself. But according to Jamie Lynn, “It’s okay.” So can you just picture Jamie Lynn circa early 2006, sitting around the house watching Kellie Pickler on the teevee, thinking to herself, “Hey, my father is a way bigger scumbag than this gal’s. If she can get famous on no talent, a Chickasaw accent and a sob story, then Hollywood, here I come!” Oh yeah, her voice. Passable, but much more of-key than Bernard Williams was accused of being, so of course, Paula loves her. She goes through, earning the hatred of millions of viewers and staving off the stripper pole for at least another six months. P.S., she’s either got on a thong or is going commando, because there’s a huge rip in the hip of her jeans and no VPL and the minute she gets her golden ticket, she completely forgets to be sad about her paralyzed daddy. Seacrest pretends to lust after her.

Chris Sligh packed his ego in his triple chin. Let’s hope he has the chops to back it up, cause he certainly ain’t got the looks. After making an enjoyably snarky Hasselhoff joke, Chris has a slight lisp when he sings and isn’t half as good as Paula is acting like he is, but he has a pleasant tone, even if he’s too breathy. I’m gonna give him the benefit of the doubt, because he sounded nervous, but that ego better get in check real soon if he hopes to make it very far.

Second day in Birmingham and Paula Abdul is strangely absent, hopefully getting a much needed ear candeling. First up:

Victoria Watson has hair long enough to make Crystal Gayle look like Persis Khambatta. She’s 18 and her mane is six feet long. Her mother, decidedly older, has been growing her own hair since she was 29. Let’s hope she’s had the good sense to at least get a wax now and then. Ryan greets Victoria and asks her, “What brings you hair?” I already love Victoria because she totally ignores the lame joke and makes Seacrest look even more the anus. Then he makes it again and she has to pretend to think it’s funny just so he won’t try it a third time. Randy and Simon can’t quite believe Victoria’s hair so they bring in her mother. And thus, another freak show is on the table. Victoria doesn’t have a bad voice, but it’s more suited to a choir than as a solo singer. Of course, having a sparrow land on her head and start building a nest in the middle of her performance certainly didn’t help. Next.

Nichole Glatzman’s mother has told her daughter that she has no talent. But that was before the pre-school talent show. Now her mother is a convert and has started “Team Nichole,” a support group to further the career of her daughter. Nichole looks like a young Eva Longoria and has an amazingly rich voice for a sixteen year old but is surprisingly shot down by both Randy and Simon. I cannot believe they wouldn’t put her through after some of the disasters that are going to Hollywood. The worst part is that now Nichole’s mother will probably start in again telling her daughter that she has no talent.

Oh god, another joke to end the episode. Brandy Patterson claims she has an “Excrodiary voice.” Let’s get it over with. Brandy sings “Like a Virgin.” Thank you for wasting my time, though this I the first time I’ve ever heard anyone blame the floor for a bad audition.

Our next episode takes us to Los Angeles, as we’re reminded of last year’s hometown champion, Katharine McPhee and her caterwauling version of SOTR. However, all is not lost. The lovely and talented Olivia Newton-John is guest judging. I’m a HUGE ONJ fan, so perhaps this episode will be less insufferable than all the rest.

Oh great, our first audition of the day is a joke. Martik Manoukian, or “Eccentric,” as he likes to call himself, says he will be a singer, a model, an actor, an author, rapper, dancer, choeographer and composer… maybe he’d like to open a hair weave shop while he’s at it or at least put BooBerry back on the shelves. Eccentric prowls the floors, doing a panther impersonation no one really asked for, then enters the audition room, throws a few props around the room, strips to the waist, prowls the floor and growls before Simon tells him to get the hell on with it. Martik sings (?) an original composition holding a prop microphone that falls out of his pants. Simon is aghast and even Eccentric himself is giggling. Way to start the show off, folks. I’m going to be nice and not even mention the poor boy’s goatee, which was half shaved of and filled in with a red sharpie.

And that brings us to another joke. Sholandric Stallworth loves love songs and the lovers who sing them, especially…. Julio Iglesias??? Ok, Sholandric? What consumer product did his momma crib THAT name from? Waste of time.

Grace Pugal actually has a lovely voice and would have immediately been put through, except for the fact that she’s dressed like a rodeo clown and straddling an inflatable bull. No, I’m not shitting you. Why would someone do this, especially with a decent voice? Why must I keep asking the same questions every week?

Marianna Riccio has a showbiz background and from the look of it, a history with Bell’s Palsy. Marianna’s mother was a Golddigger from the old Dean Martin Show. That’s some pedigree. It’s like saying I’m a shoo-in to win a Best Actor Oscar because my grandmother was the “Where’s The Beef” lady. Marianna gives a wretched audition and sings a badly off-key Clash song, the right side of her mouth completely paralyzed. Simon excoriates her and she drop to her knees. Well, perhaps mom can teach Marianna to be a real golddigger and land a rich husband, because the chick sure isn’t gonna make her own money by singing. Marianna begs some more and makes a complete anus out of herself, then leaves and drags the professional Golddigger back into the audition room for another bout of self-flaggelation. Mercifully, Mom is able to get her daughter out of the room before she chains herself to a beam.

Lots of no’s follow. No, a LOT of no’s. And some pretty desperate characters. Alaina Alexander was at the singing game for six years until she’d had enough and decided to leave the biz and try to go to school. From the way she laughs when she says it, my guess is that didn’t work out so well for her and here she is, back in the game. For some reason, they are filming her in a gym. There are a few racks of kickballs in back of her and my hope is the judges will use them to lob at the contestants before the show is over. Alaina is crying and then she’s singing “Feelin’ Good,” by Michael Buble. I wish to fuck these kids would learn who the original artists of the songs were. Michael Buble may win a turkey for being the millionth singer to cover this song, but it sure isn’t “his.” Alaina murders the song in its sleep and can’t sing a straight tone to save her life. I think she ought to re-take the SATs and go back to school, ANY school. Unfathomably, Simon thought it was great. I’m stunned. It must be the smog.

Phuong Fan is up next. She claims to have a lot in common with Taylor Hicks, but if I had to compare her to anyone, vocally, it would be Miss Hathaway from “The Beverly Hillbillies.” Phuong’s mother, preparing her for the inevitable, tried to warn her daughter that auditioning for Idol might not be the best idea. However, her mother criticized her looks, which is kind of mean. She’s different looking, but she isn’t ugly. Her mother says Phuong is no Katharine McPhee, yet why on earth would that be considered a bad thing? Ok, then Phuong (who Simon keeps calling “Pong,” and I can’t tell if he’s doing I deliberately) begins to sing. Actually, she has a complete grand mal on stage and I have to wonder if this whole thing is a complete set-up. She’s horrendous. Back to the laundry for Phuong. Mama looks delighted.

Brandon Rogers is a professional back-up singer, having recorded and toured with the likes of Anastacia and Christina Aguilera. I’m sure he’s going to be good, but you’d think being around those heavy hitters, he’d have amassed some sort of connections to not have to go through this bullshit. He’s very charming, though, and has a nice look. He has a really good voice. So nice to hear some good people in and among the jokes.

Sherman Pore is a hundred and sixty years old, but he has a petition of three hundred signatures, so he feels that entitles him to get on the show. No, Sherman, what ensures you’ll get on the show is the fact that you’ll be a prodigious time waster. But before we get to the rest of his story, we’re going to see Brian Miller, who was cut last year during Hollywood Week. I remember Brian well and he was completely cut unjustly. He has a really good voice, though he picked the wrong song for his talent (A Change is Gonna Come). He goes through to Hollywood, though Simon says he doesn’t recall him at all.

Okay, back to Sherman. Sherman recently lost his wife to cancer and this was their dream to get Sherman on the show. Shouldn’t their dream been to get her cancer-free? You know, this is delightful and all, but it hasn’t got a fucking thing to do with what’s going on here. I don’t mean to be heartless, but who cares? This is a human interest story for the Springfield Shopper or some other grocery store circular. Paula is in puddles and the judges are very sweet to him. To his credit, Sherm does have a nice voice and his story is sweet, but again, what show am I watching here?

Day two begins with a Compton couple who are both trying out. They met at a bus stop. Obviously, they need a gag writer, because the obvious response is “We met at a drive-by.” I didn’t catch their names, but she weighs in excess of four hundred pounds and he has a complete silver grille up top. Klassy.

Ryan has some fat thighs for such a little man.

Okay, the woman’s name is Cavett (as in Dick?), but she likes to go by the name of “Sparkles.” Her pants are so tight, she’s sporting an entire camel’s foot. And the other foot must be in her throat. Awful. Darold is next and he doesn’t so much sing the song as narrate it. It’s a good thing these two found each other.

Eric Mueller is next (and last) and is a complete geek, so it looks like we’re ending the way we began. And I was right. Completely ridiculous. So we pretty much wasted an hour.

Well, I did it. I didn’t enjoy it, but I did it. Why am I reminded of eating spinach?

Seagulls out.

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

2007-01-25T02:29:00.000-08:00

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.

A Hunka Hunka Flaming Pie. AI Re-cap 1/23/07

2007-01-23T23:45:00.000-08:00

Welcome back, friends and readers to the first installment of this week’s American Idol re-caps. Since the show is mercifully only one hour this week, I thought I would chime in on the recent announcement of the Oscar nominations. Some of my following observations…

I can't believe they nominated that fat toad, Abagail Breslin, for giving one of the worst child actor performances, ever. Dakota Fanning must be seething.

Alan Arkin gets nominated for giving the same performance he’s been handing out for the past 20 years, the irascible and/or lovable loser who speaks very quietly. Seriously, the man has a patent on this performance. Rumor has it, they first offered the role to Danny Aiello, but Arkin’s lawyers interceded and claimed all roles of this nature must be played by Alan Arkin and Alan Arkin, only. True story. And for this, the Academy passed up Michael Sheen’s incredible performance in “The Queen.”

Sasha Baron Cohen gets passed over for best actor over Ryan Gosling, yet to throw him a bone, they nominate him and four other writers for Best Adapted Screenplay for a script that was largely improvised. Nice job, AMPAS.

Three, count 'em, three songs were nominated from “Dreamgirls” and I bet not one person could tell you which were the new ones and which were the ones from the original Broadway score.

Jennifer Hudson is about to become this century’s first “Dr. Haing S. Ngor,” winning an Academy Award she doesn’t really deserve and then becoming a trivia question and nothing more.

Phillip Glass gets nominated for his score for “Notes on a Scandal,” quite possibly the worst score of the year, and that includes adult films.

Leonardo DeCaprio gets nominated for the worst accent heard in a film this year (fake) and Mark Wahlberg gets nominated for the worst accent heard in a film this year (real)

Al Gore gets nominated for talking in front of a screen for 90 minutes with no discernible filmmaking skills on display (however interesting the subject matter was), yet "Who Killed the Electric Car," which was about the same general subject matter but managed to feel and play like a real film with plot, suspense, drama and tension, gets ignored. At least we're spared any Holocaust films this year, though that was probably on purpose to assure An Inconvenient Truth would win.

Martin Scorcese is finally going to get an Oscar. Not for directing such masterpieces as “Taxi Driver,” “Raging Bull,” or “Goodfellas,” but for directing a film whose last moment is a two minute shot of a rat on a window ledge so the viewer really gets the symbolism. They used to do things like that in my first year film school classes.

Diane Lane for “Hollywoodland” and Phyllis Somerville for “Little Children,” the two very best supporting actress performances this year, both get passed over for that fat little monster, Abagail Breslin. (It bears repeating.)

But you came here to listen to me bitch about Idol and bitch about Idol, I shall. Proving once again, we have our fingers on the pulse when it comes to AI, did I not call it last week when I said that viewers would not stand for the fake bad auditions and the abject cruelty of the real bad ones? Idol fans are in an uproar with the show, producers and judges for doling out such harsh criticism to the little auditioning lambs. Though ratings were at an all-time high for the beginning of the season, many critics and viewers complained long and loud, calling the first two episodes the worst ever of Idol. Keep it up, folks. I think you will see a change, if not this season, then definitely in seasons to come. Keep letting your frustration be heard.

Tonight, we’re in Memphis, Tennessee, because apparently the producers figured if we weren’t scared off last year by the sight of Priscilla Presley’s living Michael Myers mask, then nothing could keep us from tuning in. Ryan Seacrest is yammering on about the sights, sounds and smells of Memphis. I’m waiting for the shot of Marc Cohn with a gaping head wound to pique my interest. Did anyone happen to catch Howard Stern this past week completely ripping Seacrest a new anus? Stern was vicious and merciless, mocking Ryan’s obsequious interviewing style on the red carpet at the Golden Globes, one of the several thousand reasons I switched from XM to Sirius, and no, I’m not being paid to say that, though I happily would shill if someone wants to offer me an endorsement agreement.

First up in the human interest story queue is 21 year old Frank Byers, a young black college student with unfortunate pit stains who is also a cheerleader. Frank (or the producers) has brought his cheer squad down to do a couple splits, yells and shake some tit for Old Rydell (whoops, wrong reality show, sorry.) The segment is a little silly, but Frank actually comes across as a nice, humble guy, so my guess is this was not his idea. Still, I can’t tell if he’s going to do well or not. This is what these shows have come down to, trying to figure out if the person with a “segment” is going to fail or proceed. Simon reveals that Frank’s nickname is “Franks & Beans,” though to his credit, Frank rolls his eyes when he says it. I’m gonna predict he does not get through for nothing else than a gut feeling. He’s singing some Marvin Gaye and he’s not so great, but he’s not embarrassing. Simon hated it, calling it “cabaret” for the first time this season. Interrupting Simon, Frank Launches into “Unchain My Heart.” The kid is dead meat. Simon tries to stop him, but Frank persists. Dead meat. Outside the audition room, Frank’s cheer squad rallies into action, picking up all 5’2” of Ryan (who is like a pig in shit) and the marching band goes into overtime, while back in the audition room, Simon is already in a bad mood, wondering aloud if Frank realizes he’s not going through.

Back from the break and somewhere in the crowd of hopefuls, I see Fab Moran from Milli Vanilli is hoping to stage his comeback. But in the audition room, Tamika Simms, today’s first punching bag, is about ready to go audition. Let’s hope for Rosie O’Donnell’s sake, Simon doesn’t compare her to a Bush Baby, even though her freaky eyes are just about as bugged out as last week’s schmuck. Tamika speaks as though she’s found Paula’s secret stash of muscle relaxers, which, let’s face it, are probably taped to the bottom of every toilet tank lid in every ladies room in the building. Ryan peppers Tamika with the same hard hitting questions he used on Angelina Jolie on the red carpet. Tamika could care less about him, or maybe she just can’t see him, as her eyes are still dilated from her trip to the Optometrist. Once in the room, Simon asks if Tamika feels she can be the next American Idol. Tamika responds (however mumbly) that she thinks she could be the next Mya and she and Simon go round a few times with him asking, “The next Mayor??” and her replying, “Mya,” until Randy finally clears it up. Apparently, Simon thought she was speaking in a cockney accent. Maybe he forgot he wasn’t auditioning kids for the new West End production of “Oliver,” on that new BBC show “Consider Yourself!- The Search for the New Oliver Twist.” Tamika sings an Ashanti song and from her nasal delivery, it’s clear her eyes are so bulgy because her sinuses are pushing them through the sockets. All three judges basically tell her that no only can he not sing, but they couldn’t understand a word she said. Simon wants to know who Tamika think she sounds like. Instead of clearly answering “Eddie Murphy doing “Buckwheat,” she responds “Ashanti.” Tamika asks to sing another song, is told no, then charges right into “Secret Lovers.” I was really hoping it was going to be “Wookin Pa Nub.”

Christopher Rivera performs a really bad version of “Supersition,” though it doesn’t compare to the poor fashion choice of those jeans he’s wearing. However he’s just an appetizer for the next contestant, Alexis, who seems to be wearing the good luck bridge she got from her dead grandmother’s mouth. Alexis is accompanied by jangling bracelets, is rejected, then slips on the pile of apple cores she’d been snacking on before her audition.

Sundance is up next. Sundance is a cute, hairy little bear cub who is self-effacing about his hippie name, even though he suffers some very unfortunate chin pubes. Sundance’s dad is ‘60s singer Roy Head who had a #1 pop hit back in the day that’s so obscure, I’ve never even heard of him. Sundance looks older than the requisite cut off of 29, but at this point, the producers are probably happy to fudge for someone with talent. Sundance enters the room and Simon, seeing 300 lbs of unmarketability, is immediately rude to the man, slagging off his recent marriage and impending baby. Paula shakes her head in disbelief right along with me. On the chyron, we see “Sundance” is actually a nickname and the man is named Jason. So he really does have no excuse. Fantastic. I now can refrain from ever having to type the word again and will refer to him as Jason. Jason is singing “Stormy Monday.” He does, as Simon later says, “blow Taylor out of the park,” though for my money, Bo Bice had a richer, fuller, more accomplished voice without having to resort to so many melismas. They love him and Simon says he’ll be shocked if Jason doesn’t make it to the finals. I won’t. Top 12, probably, but they won’t put this kind of voice in the finals three years in a row.

Wandera Hitchye, (who would actually benefit by taking the name “Sundance”) stopped off at RuPaul’s mother’s salon and got her hair did before coming in to audition. She sings “A Change Gon’ Come,” and has a good, solid voice. Surprisingly, she is told by all three judges that her voice is nothing special and she sounds like a million other singers out there. And their point is??? Shit, if originality was a criterion for going to Hollywood, then the show would be off the air in two weeks. They shamefully reject this girl while taking so many other worse singers, and though yes, she probably would not have gone too far on the show, she had enough promise to get further than she did. Wandera is understandably upset, but my computer is heaving a sigh of relief as her name almost short circuited the spelling program.

Unfunny montage of rejections before Seacrest segues into another one of his annoyingly faux sincere voiceovers. You know, the ones he does when he’s about to introduce some buffoon. That buffoon is named Travis McKinney, who brought his very own shovel and pickaxe to dig his grave. Travis is quite obviously one of those idiots we’ve been complaining about this season and he minute he starts doing his “thing,” I check out. Sorry, won’t cover any more plants.

This week’s slutty chick is named Danielle McCullouch. She’s much worse than Wandera Hitchye, but she’s pretty, peroxided and wearing a low cut top, so she’s gonna make it. Randy calls it and says no, claiming Danielle will be gone immediately if she gets put through to Hollywood, but Paula and Simon say yes. I’m not sure who is the dumber whore, Danielle or Simon.

We’re at the halfway mark and my kitten is looking at me very impatiently, waiting for me to hurry up and finish so she can get access to my lap. This past year, I adopted a second cat, a little blue manx I named Hedwig, because she has a little nub for a tail that she wags when she gets mad, which I dubbed her “angry inch.” Hedwig was in the shelter with pneumonia, malnourished and dehydrated and about to be put to sleep. Now she’s happy and healthy and about to turn 8 months old. I’m very big on adoption of pets from the public shelters in favor of buying from a pet store or a mill, so if anyone is considering a new pet, please visit the shelter first. Okay, off my soapbox and back to the show.

Paula has a superfan and he’s not dressed as a Beefeater, though he looks like he’s eaten a few cattle in his lifetime. His name is Topher McCain and he thinks Paula is way hot. Topher (Ugh, I hate this recent modernization of Christopher. It’s like the Kwanzaa of nicknames.) reveals to us that his wife has recently left him. He found out she was sleeping with another guy, but can you blame her? The poor woman had fractures on both sides of her hipbones from Topher being on top. Topher thinks that when he reaches the top (of Idol) that his wife will come crawling back, but he won’t be having any of it. Topher, that gal is gonna be harder to find than Ameila Earhart.

While Topher is saying his goodbyes, the hooker Randy ordered has arrived at the convention center. My mistake, it’s just the next Idol hopeful, Janita Burks. Janita says her style is very important. It works in with her “confidentiality.” Well, it’s nice to know she can be discreet about her johns. That’s always a good quality in a lady of the evening. Style “boostes” Janita’s confidence, but she believes in dressing sexy, but not too over the top. Because everyone knows, if you want to see pink, you have to come up with the green. Janita is singing “Disco Inferno,” in her sexy, yet conservative way and her breasts almost set off another fire. Janita does not impress the judges but asks if she can sing another song. What is it with the people of Memphis that they just can’t take no for an answer? Janita is turned down again, but she shouldn’t feel too bad. Outside the audition room is a line of Shriners waiting to sample Janita’s other talents.

Some asshole is dressed like Fidel Castro and trying to pretend he’s actually being serious, so I’m gonna go use the bathroom while he wastes everyone else’s time.
Unortunately, no one gets the joke and he is put through to Hollywood, so I have to rewind and watch. His name is Sean Michel and he has a decent, if unspectacular voice. Expect a freakout along the lines of that moron from last year who sang the Meatloaf song during Hollywood week.

Melinda Doolittle, however, is a professional background singer and looks like a cross between Vonzell Solomon (remember her?) and a young Gladys Knight. She’s excited and very nervous. She’s adorable and articulate and has a lovely, rich voice. She’s humble and cute and is singing the shit out of a Stevie Wonder song. I love her and so do the judges. Let’s hope she doesn’t squander our good graces. I remember I loved Paris Bennett’s audition, too.

Robert Lee Holmes thinks he sounds just like Elvis. I’d say he sounded more like Weird Harold from the Fat Albert cartoons, but hey, what do I know? Fantasia built a middling career convincing five people she was the next Aretha Franklin. I think the real story in this segment is the pink gingham western shirt Seacrest is sporting. Yee-ikes! Meanwhile, Stepin Fetchitt is claiming he has an “outstanding voice and an outstanding vocal.” From the looks of his teeth, I’d bet he probably has an outstanding warrant, as well. Robert is wearing a brown suit he borrowed from Fred Sanford’s friend Grady, sings horrendously and may be a bit teched. ‘Nuff said.

Oh goody, another montage of the same song. I wish I had to pee again.

Last scene. It’s Phil Stacy, who is here to audition, and missed the birth of his first child to do so. Hey, way to make memories, Phil. Can’t wait until the kid is old enough to hear that one. Start saving for therapy now. Phil is kind of a moron. He claims the baby is more important to him than getting through to Hollywood, yet here he stands. Actions speak louder, my friend. Phil sings “My Girl,” by The Temptations. He’ll go through, but he’s not going to make it too much further than that. I’d say he made the wrong choice. Twenty two contestants get through but instead of seeing more than a handful of them, we get to go home and see Phil and his new baby, whom he named Mikala.

And with that, is there anything else to say? Seagulls out.

I Can't Stand the Rain. AI Re-cap 1/17/07

2007-01-18T02:01:00.000-08:00

Evening two of Idol auditions kicks off tonight in Seattle and after what happened last night in Minneapolis and with all the negative buzz surrounding the Pacific Northwest, this broadcast figures to be as craptacular as the previous one. Surfing around on the net last night and this morning after posting my re-cap, I kept noticing the same thing everywhere I went; Idol fans have had enough of the lousy audition shows. We’re one episode in and already the complaints have been registered loud and long- no one buys the fake bad auditions, no one cares about the goofballs; start hooking the viewers with the people we’re going to follow, at least through Hollywood. People want to be invested in this show from the beginning, but I know of a large number of them who refuse to watch until the Top 24 because of all the dull shenanigans the producers play. Last night, seventeen people made it through to Hollywood. Of that number, we only met seven of them, yet we were treated to extended scenes of people we’ll never see again, making complete assholes out of themselves. There was no reason to show Jessica Rhode cry and cry and cry like she was at an Irish wake. And the lesbian with the tie who couldn’t remember the words to “Kiss,” clocked in 50% more screen time than if she had sung the entire song. Producers- listen to what your fan base is saying and I guarantee, you’ll pull in even more viewers than you could even imagine. Okay, soapbox begone.

Back to Seattle and, well, it’s raining. Let me just say that I adore Seattle. It’s one of my favorite cities, I’m a huge Mariners fan, I’ve visited multiple times during every different season and not once while I was there has it ever rained. Personally, I think it’s a myth. I think Nigel had to go out of pocket for rain machines to perpetuate the cliché. Honestly, if you ever want to go to Seattle and have guaranteed good weather, bring me along. And if there’s a Mariners game happening, I might even put out. However, on this day, I wasn’t around to sprinkle some mojo, so it is quite wet. In the middle of Key Arena and 9000 Idol hopefuls sits Brandon Groves from Wheeling, West Virginia. Apparently, Brandon ran into Monroe Moody from Minneapolis, who sold him his Apollo Creed outfit and probably some magic beans to go with it. Brandon, you may remember (for those of you who haven’t given you brain a thorough Silkwood scrubbing of last year’s auditions), auditioned last season dressed in his police uniform singing “I Shot the Sheriff.” No, not the song, just that line, over and over and over. Perhaps some industrious DJ could sample him doing Clapton, as well as Tashawn singing “Women not girls rule my world,” set them to a 4/4 beat and come up with a hot club hit. They are actually letting this buffoon sing again.

Next up is Jennifer Chapton, AKA “The Hotness.” Whether that’s her term or the show’s is yet to be determined, but I can solemnly swear it did not come from me. Jennifer is wearing what looks to be an Old Navy one piece from their Waikiki collection of 1998, amply harnessing her lumpen, half baked breasts, sports a chin mole with a hair growing out of it long enough to be spit curled and borrowed at least one chin from Taylor Hicks. Jennifer discusses the origins of “The Hotness,” so she has no one to blame for that but herself. She claims to not have a style like anyone else (don’t they all?) but when pressed, shyly admits she’s most like Mariah. Is that singing or bad taste in clothes? Jennifer enters the room and immediately, Paula busts her for chewing gum. This can only mean one thing- there’s still Coca-Cola in her cup. Jennifer will be singing “Tenderoni.” The Hotness is a hot mess and is finally stopped by the judges. She immediately gets defensive in that way when you’ve been totally humiliated, but you don’t have the verbal skills to fight back, so you start babbling and flop sweating and compounding the humiliation tenfold. Just shoot your mole hair across the room like Spidey’s web and get the hell out of the room. Instead, Jennifer blusters her way into doing another song that no one has given her permission for before shuffling off to curse into the camera and declare her hotness was just too hot for Simon. I’m actually disappointed she didn’t make it through because I just noticed another hideous defect; girlfriend has a tri-fold earlobe. Imagine, week after week, getting to play “Spot the Deformity,” with Jennifer Chapton. Alas, it’s not to be.

Commercial break and we’re back with a slew of rejections before being introduced to Amy Salgado, who is a 23 year old stay at home mom with a 6 year old son. From the looks of Amy, I’d say she was the luckiest person alive to even get the babydaddy to marry her, let alone not require her to work. Why is she trying to tempt fate? Amy says her husband feels she’s wasting her time. Amy thinks he just doesn’t want her to go to Hollywood and leave him with the kid. She enters the audition and says to the panel that she is going to “try and sing” Christina Aguilera. I give the gal props for honesty, but when Paula presses her on the statement, she says she has had a cold for a week and a half. I believe it’s that no-talent bug that’s been going around. Nasty stuff. Amy tanks, then pulls the old water trick from last night. I swear, if someone comes in and starts juggling sticks, I’m out of here. They let her sip if only to prove she could be blessed by holy water and it still isn’t going to improve her voice. Amy tanks again and still won’t take no for an answer. She launches into a third try amid cries of “tone deaf,” from Simon and Randy. After being shouted at to stop and a few more pleadings, Amy finally figures out she’s not going to Hollywood unless it’s as a prize pig in the L.A. County Fair. Of course, she starts crying to the camera and still maintaining that if it wasn’t for the fact that she was sick (of which she displays not one whit of symptoms), she would have made it. Sweetheart, your kind of sickness can’t be cured with NyQuill.

Perhaps Darwin Reedy is the panacea we’ve been looking for. Darwin, who claims people call her Mischa and looks like Janeane Garofalo if she had been born as a crack baby, is here with her mother. Both of them have enormously pendulous breasts and apparently only one brassiere between the two. Mischa’s mom must have called “heads” this morning, because she’s got the major support, while Mischa looks like she’s about to audition for the musical version of “Bend it Like Beckham.” Mischa claims she’s sexy and to illustrate this, does a little techno-shimmy while banking her breasts off her belly to score simultaneous goals for Brazil and Manchester United. Once inside, Simon’s eyes do a double take while following the bouncing balls. Randy peppers Mischa with all sorts of questions, trying to figure out if she’s from our planet. Mischa will be singing “Don’tcha,” by the Pussycat Dolls and the judges burst into laughter. Mischa giggles right along. Pumpkin, (and I mean that literally) they’re laughing at you, not with you. Randy is nursing an evil streak today as he invites Mischa to bring her mother in to witness the bloodbath. Mom is earnest and really believes in her daughter and I have to admit, once Darwin starts singing and sounding like a cow being milked (as you knew she would) this borders on cruel and embarrassing. No parent wants to have to witness their child be humiliated. It’s agonizing for both of them and really, it’s no fun to watch. Darwin offers to sing “Sweet Home Alabama,” and Simon, in order to prevent Bo Bice from getting yet another intestinal blockage, stops her before she can get very far. They invite mom to critique and it’s dueling Elsies front and center giving multiple excuses.

Back from the break with another huge montage of rejections before we reach Thomas Daniels. Tommy works as a gas attendant and has plenty of gas on his own as he discusses his master plan of hopping on the Idol elevator to success so he doesn’t have to bust his butt. Maybe he’s hiding his humility in that mid-sized sedan afro he’s sporting. Thomas actually has a really lovely voice and is put through to Hollywood. This is Thomas’ third time auditioning for Idol, and I’m guessing he’s never been put in front of the judges before, which tells you how screwed up the pre-audition selection process is if a person with this good a voice is passed up in favor of making the quota of freaks and trash talkers the producers think we’d rather see.

Melissa Carleen Stavros is next and she’s brought her rat dog Tika with her. She’s jammed her ample cankles and grandma flabby arms into pink fishnet tights that look like sausage casings. Melissa sings Xtina and actually starts out pretty well. I’m surprised she’s as good as she is. She hits a couple of off-notes and you can actually see relief spread across all three judges’ faces that they have a legitimate reason for not putting her through and not because she looks like she needs a couple more hours in the oven before the indicator pops. She takes it in stride and she’s got a decent voice so I hope it doesn’t discourage her.

Blake Lewis is a beatboxer and claims to be the best in the west, a claim Randy can’t help but want to stick a pin through. Blake acquits himself well, though Simon isn’t impressed and neither am I, but you can hear Blake has a good voice, so I hope it hasn’t unfairly swayed crabby Cowell. Blake sings Crazy by Seal and it’s an unfortunate choice, but he still makes some talent shine through. Simon gives him a reluctant yes, Paula and Randy more enthusiastic ones. I like him and concur.

If it’s possible, tonight is going even more slowly than last night. We’re only 47 minutes into another 2-hour episode. After yet another montage of bad singers (we get it, Seattle was a bust. Move on.), we’re introduced to Bangalor’s own Donny and Marie, sister and brother Shyamali & Sanjaya Malakar. Shyamali is adorable and so is her brother, but he’s very obviously gay so let’s hope proud papa hovering in the background is going to be able to face that fact should his son make it through. Shyamali has a pretty, if thin voice, but she knows her keys and her rendition of “Summertime,” is, as Paula says, nicely subtle. Randy likes her, as well, with Simon the only holdout. She’s through. Sanjaya is up next and we get our first Stevie Wonder song of the season. The judges think Sanjaya has a better voice than his sister, though I think they are comparably good. Donny & Marie 2.0 are going to Hollywood.

Rounding into the 2nd hour and we’re treated to another obvious plant. Nick Zitzmann is 27 and an uber-nerd looking for his 15 seconds in the spotlight. He sings “Unchained Melody,” (the entire fucking song) as though he’s in a trance. Waste of time, all around, though I don’t believe I have ever seen such lengthy bottom teeth in all my life. Rudy Cardenas is the last person on Day One. He’s handsome and humble and when he walks into the room, Paula eyes him like an endless bottle of Vicodin. Rudy sings “Open Arms,” by Journey and, with the exception of some inexcusable melismas, has a pretty voice. Simon is completely unimpressed, but Paula and Randy trump him and Rudy is on his way to Hollywood. Where he lives.

Day Two begins with the tired old standard of buddying up two hopelessly inept geeks. These guys probably scoped each other out on line, knew they had no chance but figured if they could get to be pals and flaunt it, they could possibly wrangle a free trip out for the finale. One of them looks like Steve Buscemi if he were a crack baby (hey, why shouldn’t I be as shameless in using the crack baby line as the chick who auditioned with it?) and the other kid has the appearance of a retarded heffalump, lisps and drools. First up is Buscemi, AKA Kenneth Briggs who compares himself to Justin Timberlake, Lance and all the other N’sync people; you know, Sneezy, Dopey, Doc… Kenneth is singing “Tearing Up My Heart,” replete with choreography that is so ludicrous, even Paula has to turn her chair around, laughing. As someone who has acted professionally for many years, I can tell you that if I ever went on an audition and the people I was reading for started laughing derisively during it, I would probably stop, if not at least be visibly thrown off. The fact that so many of these people blunder on without the least bit change in demeanor tells me they know they suck, they just want to make fools of themselves. They aren’t so much delusional as trying to create something in their sad lives they can consider a high point. I say let them go to a hooker and spare us the misery!

Kenneth’s new BFF, Fatty Arbuckle, I mean Jonathan Jayne, is up next. Simon manages to insult him and Randy at the same time with a trousers joke before Jonathan segues into “God Bless America.” He does remind me of Kate Smith, but only visually. He tanks, but they are kind to him. Simon tells him to hit the right door, though Jonathan could actually use both.

Half hour left, baby and Eric Chapman is here to tell us he’s Taylor Hicks’ long lost brother and they “gots to meet.” Eric is sporting a salt & pepper caesar/comb-over hair-do and that’s where the comparisons end. Eric is a hairdresser and clearly insane. After he bombs in his audition, he moves toward Simon with a jar of molding paste and the security team hustle him out of the room. 6’4” Amazon Anna Kearns was in the air force academy but was kicked out when it was found she had a weak heart. Despite that, she’s taking on Aretha’s “Respect,” for the judges. She’s got a middling voice. She could stay or leave and she’s going to Hollywood.

Jordin Sparks, a 16 year old America Ferrera look-alike sings a Celine Dion song pretty well. A bit vibrato-ish and medium on the melismas. She deserves to be put through and she is. We then find out that Jordin’s dad was a professional football player. Simon calls it when he tells Jordin she has a good voice, but is over the top sugary. Unfortunately, we’re treated to the now nauseating montage of the bad singers all performing the same song. Tonight’s unlucky selection is “Don’tcha.” Thanks guys, I don’t.

We finish up with Steven Thone. However, I don’t think anyone wishes they were a freak like him. He’s got red frizzy hair, a lisp and one snaggle tooth that is about as tall as Anna Kearns while its mouth mate seems to be missing or hiding or just plain embarrassed. Steven likes to do karaoke, or as he pronounces it, “kurokey.” Steven admits to not really watching the show or liking it, but the lure of infamy is too much for him to resist. Hey, guess what? I am gonna resist this douchebag. Idol, quit wasting our time. Seriously. Until next Tuesday, Seagulls out.

Minneapolis- Home to Prince. And Appollonia. And Vanity. AI Re-cap 1/16/07

2007-01-17T02:09:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone. Welcome back to “Pray For the Soul of Kieran,” my weekly re-cap blog of yours and my favorite show, American Idol. First off, I want to thank everyone who e-mailed me over the past month to ask if I’d be returning to re-cap. I’m happy to say that, though this January finds me much busier than last year, I assure you, I’m in it for the long haul and we’re gonna deconstruct our little hearts out until May, just you and me. I got some snazzy new toys in the past year, including a widescreen large format HDTV and a new high speed laptop, so I will be able to count the rings under Paula’s eyes, smell the whiskey in her cup and bring it to you even faster. What say, shall we get started?

So last year, I didn’t begin re-capping until we hit Hollywood week. I’m someone who has little to no patience for the audition episodes. We Idolfans know the show doesn’t really get started until those Hollywood group numbers. The rest is all fodder for the hinterlands and someone’s bad idea of a sense of humor, showing obvious plants of people who can’t sing. And I see they’re starting it already! Oh, no, sorry, that’s just a replay of Taylor Hicks winning from last year. Taylor’s new CD recently debuted at #2 on the Billboard charts and has sunk like a stone. So has Kellie Pickler’s (didn’t need to know what calamari was to have figured that one out) as well as sophomore outings from Clay Aiken, Ruben Studdard and Fantasia Barrino. In fact, the only new Idol CD that seems to have any juice is Chris Daughtry’s which is currently #3 on the chart and has already gone platinum. It’s not much to listen to, but good for you, Chris. I certainly never thought you’d do as well as you have. But I sure did get the others’ failures right, so fuck yeah for me! Schadenfreude is lovely this time of the year.

After much self congratulation of the past Idol “successes,” many of which are out and out lies or wishful thinking, the show does a montage to “Teenage Wasteland.” Someone tell “Rock Star,” their song is being usurped. And of course, it wouldn’t be Idol if the numbers didn’t get bigger every year. Apparently more people came out to audition this year than ever. My question is- “Who the hell are these people?” Are we that starved for a tiny handful of reality television recognition that we’re willing to go make idiots out of ourselves on Natio- yeah, okay, I knew I couldn’t finish that one with a straight face. See, this I why I hate blogging this part; because it’s such obvious bullshit. These bad singers can’t possibly be this delusional. But then, Paula Abdul built an entire career on that delusion, so what do I know?

The show kicks off in Minneapolis this year. Home of Prince, but something tells me we’ll be seeing more Appollonias. Everyone in Minneapolis is really fat. If Rhoda Morgenstern still lived there, she’d be considered anorexic. An entire stadium of losers sings along to 1999, ¾ of them not even born when the song was released. God, that’s depressing. And to make things worse, Jewel is going to be a guest judge. First “Men in Trees,” and now this. Can “The Surreal Life,” be too far down the pike? Let me just say I can’t stand Jewel, never have, never will. Ever since the whole story about living in her car when she moved to LA. I didn’t buy it from Hilary Swank and I sure don’t buy it from Jewel. Anyone who wears halter tops knows how to charm some asshole into letting her stay rent free. Trust me, it doesn’t make the yodeling any more authentic.

Simon pretends not to be pissed that he has to share the stage with a special guest star, Randy is just biding his time til the first “dawg,” and Paula looks coherent, so you know this was taped months ago. The first contestant is Jewel’s biggest fan, Jessica Rhode. Jessica works at the Mall of America doing makeovers. Physician, heal thyself.

Jessica starts blubbering as soon as she is told (for the second time so the cameras can pick it up) that she will be singing for Jewel. I had vaguely the same reaction the last time I realized I was listening to Jewel, so I get it. Jessica has made the unfortunate choice to actually sing a Jewel song and from the looks of it, Miss Kilcher is NOT having it. Apparently at the Mall of America, you can get you a makeover, but there’s no one there to tell you to never audition for someone by singing one of their songs unless they request it. She’s pretty awful, though Jewel is diplomatic. Upon hearing her rejection in quadraphonic sound, Jessica squats to the ground in her American Eagle prairie skirt, starts crying again and begs for another chance, but like Elizabeth Taylor scrawled on the mirror in “Butterfield 8,” NO SALE! Out the door, Jessica’s mom embraces her and I’ll be willing to bet she could cheer her daughter up by letting Jessica do a makeover on her, because she needs it. Jessica is now bawling like someone shot Old Yeller and her brother or boyfriend rolls his eyes like, “Can we finally get the hell out of here before I turn gay!”

Back from the break and we’re only 16 minutes in. I’m sure Jessica is out there somewhere, still crying and I’m about to join her. Next we get some freak named Troy who claims to never have seen the show or know of any of the judges because he doesn’t have a “broadcast television” hooked up in his home (which begs the question of whether there is some closed circuit action going on there). I don’t believe a word that’s coming out of Troy’s lying little mouth, firstly because he’s dressed like an attention seeking fool and secondly because he has an irritating little smirk as he speaks that I want to wipe right off with a slap, but he looks hygienically challenged. Of course, he sucks and he’s singing what sounds like his own composition so now we know that motivation. Montage of bad singers and now we’re on to Jesse Holloway, who we know will suck because the ads told us so. I need a snack break, however, I have nothing in the cupboard but a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream, which I think I’ll freshen up with some more whiskey. Jesse is barely articulate, a fact that Simon audibly backs up. Jesse claims to have a range akin to Mariah Carey. Perhaps he meant Mary Carey, the porn star Mariah is suing for having a sound alike name. However, in the middle of butchering “My Heart Will Go On,” Jesse stops, asks if he can get some water because he’s nervous, and walks out the door. You better believe Mary Carey never pulled that shit in the middle of getting tit-fucked. Jesse is back after imbibing, but apparently, someone fixed him a Pink Squirrel because he’s now an octave higher and doing little RuPaul head movements. Simon wants him to leave, but Jesse asks to sing another song and Paula and Jewel egg him on. Jewel’s been sort of evil and I love it. Jesse sucks hard and then tries to argue with Simon. 23 minutes in and we have our first “Dawg” from Randy.

Now we have some asshole named Monroe Moody who’s dressed as Apollo Creed, replete with boxing gloves and you know what? I’m not talking about his stupid ass. I think anyone who comes dressed like they expect to get a mini-snickers dropped in their candy sack ought to not even be seen by the judges. Okay, wait, I do have to comment because Monroe didn’t have a terrible voice. I’ve seen the judges put through worse. But they were never going to put anyone through who was dressed like such an asshole, which begs another why question- Why, when you’ve seen people with gimmicks fail season after season to get past round one, would you resort to something that all but guarantees failure when you have a passable voice?

A half hour in and we have our first sob story. Denise Jackson is a 16 year old student from Madison, WI. Denise was born a crack baby and her mother still struggles with drugs. Now unlike Jamie Foxx, who you know just from looking at that there’s a chromosome missing, Denise looks fairly healthy, so there was no immediate need to share her story. I mean, she doesn’t have water on the brain or a baby arm or anything. So that tells me she’s looking for sympathy, which means I hate her already. It’s the Kellie Pickler syndrome, which funny enough, is very much the same as being a crack baby. Denise says she is lucky that she has had no disabilities or defects from being a crack baby. Ryan asks why she is wearing sunglasses indoors and instead of something cool, like being one of those albino vampires from The Omega Man, Denise says she is presenting her “starism.” Apparently, being a crack baby has taken some sort of toll.

Denise enters the room all strutty and slutty so we can add “phony” to that list. She sings “And I am Telling You, I’m Not Going,” or as she calls it- You’re Gonna Love Me. Not so fast, honey. She actually manages to put the correct emotion and feeling into the song, unlike a certain recent Golden Globe Winner. She has a good voice, but she is going to have to do some serious penance for the sob story before I can forgive her. She’ll have plenty of more chances to do that or fail, cause Crack Baby is going to Hollywood.

The subpar Idol writers deliver an unfunny comedy bit about people forgetting their words. It’s about as big a yuk-fest as Brokenote Mountain was last year. Tashawn Moore is singing “Kiss” wearing a jaunty tie that she should have written crib notes on. She can’t remember more than two words without stopping. She keeps repeating the phrase “I want women, not no girls,” and I can’t tell if she’s singing or, along with the tie, trying to come out as a lesbian. She’s actually so bad and so determined that they allow her to go on far longer than even the Marquis De Sade would with her self torture.

Some clueless chick is flirting and asking Ryan if he has a girlfriend. Boy, is she barking up the wrong tree. Didn’t she see the Teri Hatcher photos? Ryan tells her he has a girlfriend but neglects to mention his name is Ace. The girl then calls Ryan short. She says her name with one of those exaggerated accents that makes it unintelligible for no reason other than to show off. She came to this country from Colombia with two backpacks and her guitar and found herself homeless, living out of her car. Liar. She says hers is not a sob story, it’s a survival story. She’s the American Dream. But whoops, she’s not American. At this point, I’m wondering if I’m even allowed to have an American Dream or have they all been taken by illegal aliens? Charo says that she knows Simon is going to love her, but just for safety’s sake, she makes sure to push out her tits before she walks into the room. You can practically see Simon’s eyes pop out of his head like he’s in a Looney Tunes cartoon. Okay, now I can see her name and it’s Perla Meneses. I’m already telling you that if she gets through, I can’t promise to refrain from making some cheap menstrual joke in the future. You have been warned. Perla calls Mr. Cowell “Simone” and then begins singing “Call Me,” by Blondie by way of a Cher impersonation. She’s underwhelmed Randy and he makes her sing some Shakira, which changes his mind. She’s put through. I guess it was her time of the month.

People, we’re not even an hour in yet. Lots of girls are getting through, but no men. Matt aims to change that. He’s wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat with a chin strap big enough to accommodate Mandisa. He’s a complete dork and way too cocky, so I’m gonna guess he sucks and they are setting him up for a fall. Yep, he sucks. Jewel actually asks him if he’s doing this as a joke.

Next up is a navy man, Jarrod, who is stationed on the S.S. Ronald Reagan, yet he’s been allowed to come audition for Idol. And the show has gone to the considerable time and expense of shooting him on the aircraft carrier, so you know he’s getting put through before he even sings a note. Who wants to wager that the USAF is doing this for a little positive publicity since Bush wants to increase the number of troops overseas? And now we hear that the aircraft carrier actually sponsored a competition to send someone from the troops stationed there to audition for the show. Jarrod says it brings a sense of pride knowing he can represent all of the fine people who are defending our freedom. This guy is already on my bad side, as are the producers for pulling this manipulative crap. I’ll vote for the crack baby before I support this jingoistic asshole. He’s got a barely passable voice, but they’ve already been told to put him through.

Hour two. A very hairy girl shakes her non-existent maracas during a dreadful version of “Fever,” and some poor, clueless girl named Trista who has a homemade sign and I think may actually think she’s going on The Price is Right, does impressions of the Cowardly Lion from “The Wizard of Oz,” before making a complete horses ass out of herself in front of the judges. They won’t even take her poster after she offers it to them. Stephen Horst is up next, a cute vocal teacher from NYC. He’s singing “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing.” He starts out decently, but a few badly placed high notes blow his chances. Randy totally rips him a new asshole and Simon eggs him on. Too bad, he was kind of adorable.

Michelle Steingass is next and she’s singing a really bad song I’ve never heard before and because it’s so bad in a peppy kind of way, I’m assuming it’s a country song. She’s got a decent voice but she waaaay oversells the song. She’s cute, but the audition sucked. They’re putting her through. I would say she probably deserves a second chance, though they should have called her on her presentation. She’s going to quit her job. Bad move. Dayna Dooley auditioned in Pasadena and didn’t make the cut. She told her boss, who offered to fly her and her sister to Minnesota so Dayna could be rejected again. Dayna doesn’t get that her greaseball boss wants to lay some pipe, so it’s no wonder she’s delusional enough to think she can make the cut this time around. She does not. Simon feels like I do, so he wants to meet Dayna’s boss. Dayna very saucily sings “Fever,” to her boss, but it doesn’t sway the judges.

Sixteen year old Matt Sato, who suffers from overly plucked eyebrows and a zit the size of a small planet on his nose, is here by himself because his parents don’t support his dream of becoming a singer. My guess is they recently caught him in bed with his school choir boyfriend. Matt has a very interesting voice. There’s a cool rough quality to it, but he definitely lacks training. I see him going part-way, but I can’t see him making the Top 24 unless he takes some quick vocal training, stat. But I’m rooting for him. For now. He makes it through and calls his mom, who can’t quite believe the news, but is happy. Matt breaks down crying that his mom is proud of him. In my book, that beats a crack baby any day.

Back from the break and we have a half hour left. Rachel Jenkins is trying to work the military angle, as well, since her husband is in the Army. She’s even wearing his fatigues to garner sympathy. Rachel is an auto mechanic and the show wastes no opportunity filming her working on a Ford. I guess that’s truth in advertising, since Fords are such pieces of shit that they would be in the auto shop. Oh, I stand corrected; the uniform is Rachel’s. She joined the army reserves after 9/11. I’ll bet she’s kicking herself after tonight for not thinking to add “crack baby,” to her resume’. Rachel enters the audition room and milks the whole shebang. She finally gets down to singing and performs “His Eye is on the Spa-aa-aa-aa-row.” She’s going through. She’d actually be kind of funny if she wasn’t so transparent.

Sarah Krueger is up next and singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” She melismas the shit out of it. You can see the Wizard sending her to Hollywood just to shut her the hell up. Simon says the funniest line of the evening when he tells Sarah she has a lot of control over her voice. If she had control over it, she wouldn’t need to melisma. She’s through.

Next two people. The first is Jason Anderson, who juggles sticks while he sings, so you know he’s shit out of luck. Thankfully, he can’t sing, so they aren’t passing up someone good. Jason comes roaring out of the audition room and immediately makes his waiting mother proud by unleashing a string of curses to the camera. The camera pans to the next contestant, a heavily kohl eyed heifer named Brenna who considers herself the World’s Biggest Idol Fan. Widest, maybe. She’s clearly insane and Simon asks her if she actually thinks she can win. She’s singing “Under Pressure,” by Queen, or so she claims. Of course she sucks and of course, she’s only here to say she was on the show. Simon has told her no, but she’s trying to milk her time. Brenna claims she has a degree in vocal performance and I’m guessing it was obtained online.

We are in the home stretch. The show does the one thing I hate more than anything; a montage of bad singers doing one particular song, including people who have already been rejected. Jason the juggler just went out crying, but it didn’t stop the show from including him in this mess singing “Kiss,” by Prince.

Josh Flom is our final contestant of the night. His dad really would have preferred he become a goalie an sign an NHL contract, but since Josh wants to sing (translation- do something girlie) he’s still going to support him. Josh was inspired by Chris Daughtry last year and that motivated him to audition. So much so, that Josh is singing a song by Fuel. Josh is really really terrible. He’s doing a dreadful impersonation of what he thinks a rock singer should sound like. Simon challenges Josh to come back in 15 minutes with an Abba song and the poor, clueless kid actually accepts. Josh races around the halls searching for the lyrics to an Abba song. He’s singing “Dancing Queen,” in the same style he did the Fuel song. And a Barry Manilow song. Josh begs and begs, but it falls on deaf ears. Josh cries and that ends our first episode. Seventeen people made it through to Hollywood.

Okay, that wasn’t as painful as I expected it to be. However, that could be due to the fact that I have had two Bailey's with extra whiskey over ice and I'm a little tipsy. Who knew an Archie & Jughead jelly jar glass full of liquor could pack such a punch? Maybe I actually can get through this. Join me tomorrow night as American Idol travels to Seattle. It’s good to be back. Seagulls out.

Early Review of Season 5 Idols CD

2006-05-23T13:45:00.000-07:00

As you all know, the Season Five Idols Compilation Album was released today and I had the chance to hear an early copy of it. Here's my review, song by song and Idol by Idol. Enjoy, if that's possible. The tracks are in order of the CD.

What About Love by Melissa McGhee- Several mini-melismas dot this rendition which shows more the limitations of McGhee's voice than any kind of embellishments. Dull rendition shows she never deserved to make it into the Top 12 over a superior singer such as Ayla Brown. However, it reminded me that Heart had some great songs that have gone forgotten. C-

Superstition by Bucky Covington- Wow, we get to hear Bucky's voice without it being drowned out by the band and backup singers. It's not bad. Of course, I can't compare it to his live performances since I could barely hear those, but Bucky definitely mumbles less and he has a pleasant growl to his voice. I don't know if it's enough to get him a recording contract, but with the right material, he could make a splash. Unfortunately, singing a Stevie Wonder song in rock style does little to showcase any potential country roots and Bucky might have done better singing something like "Oh Boy." Still, it was enjoyable. B-

I'm Every Woman by Mandisa- This is suprisingly bland and dull with a dreadful backing track that sounds terribly manufactured. Mandisa is no stranger to wailing, but plays it very vocally docile here, letting the back-up singers do most of the heavy lifting. She doesn't approach Martha Wash territory until the end of the song and she doesn't hold up well in comparison. The live version was much better. Doesn't bode well for a future recording contract. C

Wanted Dead or Alive by Chris Daughtry- I didn't expect to like this as much as I did, as this is not a favorite song of mine to begin with. Chris keeps both the shouting and the shaky vibrato calmed (though you can really hear the vibrato at some places and it could spell trouble down the road) Daughtry also does his own backing vocals and when they're multi-tracked together, they sound really great. This makes me almost want to hear what he could do with Fuel and a great songwriter like Carl Bell. Way to go, Chris. B+

Father Figure by Ace Young- I'm surprised Ace didn't insist on singing "Butterflies" for this compilation since he was so enamored of his own performance of it. You can tell this voice was worked on in the studio, but Ace's nasal quality still manages to shine through. If you really want to be entertained, get to the middle of the first chorus where Ace "improvises" over the backup singers. I promise you, it's a good laugh. Plus, Ace telling anyone he'll be their daddy is good enough to split a seam. He gets in some trademarked falsetto, but the song goes on much too long for someone like Ace and I found my mind wandering during it. C

Takin' It to the Streets by Taylor Hicks- Well, I finally got the benefit of hearing Taylor without the disturbance of polyester rubbing together and the verdict is.... Simon & Clive have their work cut out for them. Perhaps because this is a Doobies song that the Michael McDonald comparison would rear its ugly head more urgently, but the song is such a copy of that version that you may as well just seek out the original, as it's miles better. Taylor does this awful, growly thing with his vocals that I've noticed Katharine does, too. I'm guessing it's because they can't hit the note and to me, it really sounds like he can't sing and is trying to cover that fact. It pops up in spades on this song. Terrible saxophone interlude on the song, also. 19E and J Records are gonna have to buy up a lot of copies of Taylor's CD to fudge the numbers based on this. D

Signed, Sealed, Delivered by Lisa Tucker- Yikes. I imagine this is what those Kidz Bop CDs must sound like. Tucker is so multi-tracked and buried under back-up singers, but when her vocal stands on its own, it's really amateurish. She'd have been a great guest vocalist on "Saved by the Bell." Let's hope for her sake that lioness costume still fits. F

Walkin' After Midnight by Kellie Pickler- I would have preferred "Fancy" but, oh well. Oh wow, this is already a mess and Pickler hasn't even started singing. They've turned the song into a bluesy, slutty, strippery honky tonk number that should probably be sung while dancing on a pole. Pickler doesn't stand a chance with this arrangement. I hate the way she pronounces the word "searching." It sounds like See-iiirching. It's bad Tanya Tucker and multi-tracked to the teeth. I hope the tour figures in a pasties budget. D

Moody's Mood For Love by Elliott Yamin- Wow. I knew this would be great, but it's wonderful to hear the full version. Yamin is in fine vocal form, sounding just as amazing as he did live. My one complaint is this version is too R&B. Elliott has the chops to be a terrific jazz vocalist but I know he has stated that if he gets to make an album, he wants it to be in the R&B vein. The problem is that no one buys or plays or listens to that style of music these days. R&B has morphed into hip-hop and rap and I fear Elliott would get lost in the shuffle. Still, anyone hearing this track would have to agree who the best singer this season is by a wide mile. A

Think by Katharine McPhee- Or should I call it "Thank," since that's how McPhee is pronouncing it. I feel the same way about this as I did the first time I heard her sing it on the show. She's a milky white girl trying to be funky and fails miserably at it. Her vocals are decent and she keeps the melisma on a short leash until the end but if I wanted to hear Doris Day sing Lady Marmalade, then I'd have pulled her ass out of retirement and paid her to record it. You can hear the backup singers snickering "phony white bitch" as they outsing McPhee. Katharine is not every woman, so she needs to stop singing like she is. C

Midnight Train to Georgia by Paris Bennett- Why they wouldn't have Paris sing "These Foolish Things," is a mystery, since this was a dreadful performance live and it's even worse on record. Paris sounds like she's not so much singing than voicing a cartoon cow for a Disney movie. She also has no clue as to what she's singing about here, just oversinging, shrieking and dirtying up the melody with melismas and shouting. Paris is no Gladys Knight, but she could have a great career in a few years as a jazz singer. Let's hope she realizes her potential and doesn't subject us to the many wigs of Paris Bennett. D

When I Fall in Love by Kevin Covais- There isn't quite the disconnect here as there is in other songs by the younger contestants, but it has a slight high school production of Grease quality to it. That being said, Covais acquits himself nicely on this song, outdoing many of the contestants that outlasted him on the show. I don't know that he's ever going to do anything in the business with his poindexter looks, but he's got a good voice for stage and I could see him carving out a nice musical theatre career with some vocal training. This was a great way for him to go out of the show and hearing this, I'm sorry he won't be getting to go on the tour. He'd be a much more welcome addition than Lisa Tucker. B

So there you have it. Is the disc worth purchasing? Not really, but in this day and age when you can buy individual tracks, digitally, why not choose your favorite Idol and support them by purchasing their tracks singularly. That might send a message to the producers where the money really lies.

In order from 1-12 Best to Worst

1- Moody's Mood for Love by Elliott Yamin
2- Wanted Dead or Alive by Chris Daughtry
3- When I Fall in Love by Kevin Covais
4- Superstition by Bucky Covington
5- What ABout Love by Melissa McGhee
6- I'm Every Woman by Mandisa
7- Think by Katharine McPhee
8- Father Figure by Ace Young
9- Takin' It to the Streets by Taylor Hicks
10- Walkin' After Midnight by Kellie Pickler
11- Midnight Train to Georgia by Paris Bennett
12- Signed, Sealed, Delivered by Lisa Tucker

So Long. Farewell.

2006-05-17T15:26:00.000-07:00

I know, I’m late. Instead of watching last night, I spent two hours and 20 minutes voting non-stop for the only person in this competition who deserves to win. And I have this to say to any of you who didn’t vote for Elliott- shame on you. Shame on you for supporting a third rate wedding singer who, by the looks of it, should turn in his sobriety chip. Shame on you for panting over a bitchy, nasty oversinger who has stuck her tits out and would fake smile through the sinking of the Titanic, which is what most of her performances resemble, anyway. And shame on this bullshit show for not realizing that the most talented person should win, not the one they manipulate the voters into backing by giving extra time to, and publicly proclaiming as the final two. Yeah, I don’t know what has gotten into me, caring so much about someone I don’t even know, but without going into a whole psychoanalytical rant, I think I identify with Elliott. I get him. He’s a guy who comes out and does his best every time, no matter what is thrown at him. He rightly expects that his talent should be the only thing that matters. And even when he’s shown the cold hard truth, that in this business, talent has very little to do with anything, he keeps pushing on, determined to not be pulled under because of it.

I know Elliott will be going home tonight and that two less talented, less deserving singers will be continuing on, both of whom will be given recording contracts undeservedly. I can only hope that somehow Elliott will be given the opportunity to further share his gift with us. This week will be my last re-cap. I am going to combine Tuesday and Wednesday into one last hurrah. I have no intention of watching next week’s shows. I don’t care who wins. I can’t stand either of the final two and to watch either of them crowned the next Idol would make me sick to my stomach. And I guarantee you all would not want to hear what I had to say for those final two hours.

So thanks to all of you who have hung out with me this season and read my work. If I am in a position where I have the time to do this for Rock Star over the summer, then I will try to be there for that. I’ve appreciated all your great e-mails and posts and it’s been fun getting to know (most of) you.

Starting with Tuesday night- Ryan needs a shave once again. Thankfully I’ll be done with his boring, untalented ass after this week. And perhaps a speeding bus will take care of the rest for me. Seacrest starts off with a reminder that Chris has been voted off. Yes, we all know, we were there. And Chris has wasted no time on all the talk shows he’s been booked on telling anyone who will listen that yes, it was a shock, because everyone expected him to win. Sorry, everyone “told” him he was going to win. And supposedly Fuel offered him a job as their new lead singer. Excellent. I’ll be sure and go see them the next time the county fair rolls into town.

Clive Davis is in the audience tonight, but not, as in years past, judging along with RPS. The producers do a little history/tribute to Clive, mentioning his starting out at Columbia Records, then starting his own label, Arista, in 1975. What they left out in between that was Clive was let go from Columbia after they found out he was mismanaging and embezzling funds from the company. Yeah, somehow I didn’t expect that to make the tribute. He is described as the most influential recording executive of all time, yet he can’t seem to choose three appropriate songs for the contestants.
Elliott is up first because even though he hasn’t gone last in almost six weeks, TPTB aren’t about to give him a pimp spot when they can feature Taylor at the end. Clive has chosen the “rock song” Open Arms by Journey for Elliott. He says he wants to see Elliott try something different. Elliott is polite and gracious, even though he knows Clive has made sure he’s gonna tank on at least one performance. Elliott says it’s an honor to meet Clive and looks forward to working with him on future projects. Clive shakes his head no as he thanks Elliott.

Elliott sounds good, if a little unsure on the song. He reverses a lyric, but does it so seamlessly that it doesn’t look like a flub. Why is this song only 30 seconds long? He didn’t even get out a whole verse? What the fuck is THAT??? How can you criticize that? Randy and Paula give him decent but unspectacular criticism. Simon tells him to loosen up and believe he can make it into the finals. If only Simon wasn’t trying to sabotage him. I can’t even critique that performance because it was so fucking short.

Katharine is up next and Clive has assigned to her “I Believe I Can Fly,” by R. Kelly. Kee-rist, I hate that song. In a nutshell, Clive tells Katharine he wants to make it her own because basically, she imitates Whitney and Alicia too much. He says he wants her to find her own sound so when they record together she can show it. Notice he didn’t say anything about recording with Elliott. Another subtle pimp. And of course, Katharine is turned toward the camera with her legs in a mini skirt.

Okay, I can’t do this. I’m trying, but all it’s going to come out as is just bitter bitter bitter with no humor. I’m not particularly feeling very funny right now and why subject you to reading just me complaining with nothing to counter it? After watching McPhee smile and burp her way through that song and hear Simon blatantly ignore how bad it was and hearing Katharine talk back to the judges like she’s already entitled? No, can’t do it. I’m sorry.

Enjoy the rest of the season. Seagulls out.

Saved By the Bald. AI Re-cap 5/10

2006-05-11T20:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, let’s not beat around the bush. By this time, you know what’s happened and I know what’s happened so why put up the pretense that I’m actually watching this thing live? Well, because it wouldn’t be a re-cap if we didn’t each do our parts, however this week, I’m going to discuss the episode with hindsight. We’re gonna try and make sense out of this newest derailment. Folks, “Supertrain” wasn’t this unstable. This is- American Idol.

Pan across the final four. Taylor is smiling, Chris is smiling big, Elliott is smiling, Katharine has gas. Seacrest shambles out onstage and gives a conspiratorial wink and smile to Rebecca Romijn and her latest himbo, Jerry O’Connell. Apparently, John Stamos was too deep for Pepper Dennis and she had to go off and find someone who matched her vapidity level more closely. More from this cipher in a few.

Ryan introduces the players. All contestants are now smiling, including Kat. I’m gonna keep a running Puss-o-meter for Katharine throughout the evening. Whenever they cut to a shot of her, you’ll either see a : ) or a : (, followed by a number. So far we’re : )-1 : (-1.

Ryan says hello to the judges and calls Paula the “dancing Paula Abdul,” still trying to make last night’s joke funny. We see a re-cap of last night’s performances and after a one day reprieve, Katharine medley looks even more like it wouldn’t pass muster on The Donny & Marie Show. If Marie is a little bit country and Donny’s a little bit Rock-n-Roll, then McPhee is a whole lotta Gong Show. Where the hell was Jaye P. Morgan last night to put that broad out of our misery?

The judges are having a good ol’ time. Paula is in Simon’s lap as Randy and Ryan watch them flail around. The contestants smile, except for Kat. : (-2

Worst. Pimp-o-mercial. Ever. And Jim Henson really should have taken a page from Wayland Flowers’ book. When Wayland died, he requested Madame be buried with him. This way, we wouldn’t have to listen to someone who sounded nothing like her doing her voice. The least they could have done was give Kermit a stoma and one of those electronic voice thingies. Anything would be better than the rube voicing him now.

Katharine : )-2, probably because she starred in the commercial. We see more footage of the idols at Graceland with Priscilla slapping on a little extra make-up before she gives them the tour so no one will notice she’s really one of the aliens from V. Presley looks about as excited to be giving it as I am to be watching it. The idols seem to be getting the exact same tour as anyone else who pays their money to go through Graceland, so I’m not quite sure what’s so special about it. Then she takes them outside and Taylor holds an umbrella over Priscilla so the paraffin covering 90% of her body doesn’t melt. Lisa Marie shows up, looking even more underwhelmed than her mother and takes the four on a golf cart ride, afterwards giving them all hugs and slipping paperback copies of Dianetics in their pockets.

Time for the group sing. Elliott starts out with “Don’t Be Cruel,” then they all go into “Blue Suede Shoes,” then Taylor twitches out onto the bridge and sings “Heartbreak Hotel.” I’m guessing there’s a Denny’s attached to that hotel because when Hicks hunches over, you can see his man-boobs. Memo to Taylor- jackets are slimming. Tight button down shirts, not so much. Katharine sings “Are You Lonesome Tonight,” Chris tackles “Love Me Tender.” They all do some horrid song where Randy Jackson tries to join in, then Chief Crazy Legs lumbers back onto the bridge to scream “Burnin’ Love.” Katharine joins him and the two dance together in the middle like two kids from the “special class,” one with water on the brain and the other with elephantitis, who were allowed to do a number in the elementary school talent show and chose to re-enact “You’re the One That I Want.” All four bring it home and then the Ice Fantasies skate out onstage with Harvey Korman and H.R. Pufnstuf. Confetti for all!!

Oh, here comes my favorite part. Ryan is in the audience and decides to randomly say hello to Rebecca Romijn and Jerry O’Connell. After making sure he pimps the new X-Men movie (Fox product) but not Pepper Dennis (non-Fox product), Ryan pretends to have a conversation with Romijn. The banter is so forced and Seacrest is so tense waiting for the inevitable punchline, that he keeps moving the microphone back under Romijn’s mouth, even when she isn’t talking, as though to subtly prompt her to get to the business at hand. That business at hand is Rebecca “requesting” to hear Taylor sing Jailhouse Rock again. Katharine : (-3, though this time I don’t blame her.

Okay, now for some strange reason, my satellite feed has just changed over to one of those nature shows, like they show on Animal Planet. I don’t know what’s going on but now I’m watching a water buffalo galloping down- oh, wait, sorry. It’s Taylor running up the stairs to start his song. Hey, look, there’s a pre-planted mic on the floor from his start position. Yeah, this was spontaneous. Taylor dances down the aisle, interacting with the crowd, at one point dancing near Elliott’s mom, who is a good sport and dances along. If it was my kid, I’d have kicked Taylor in the balls, give him a good reason to buckle those legs. Simon is turned around in his seat, not even watching. Melissa Rivers is in the audience and though she can’t be more than 40, she looks as though her face has been molded from the extra skin taken off Priscilla Presley.

Ryan thanks Taylor for agreeing to partake in the extra promotion, then invites the other Idols to come down to the stage. He places Elliott next to Taylor on his right, then Chris and Katharine together on his left. Ryan tells us one group is the top two, the other the bottom two. Katharine : (-4. Ryan says he will let us know…then pauses for effect as though he doesn’t do this every week and someone in the audience yells out “after the break!” which causes Katharine to : )-3 because Seacrest is such a hambone.

Back from the break and from here on in, Katharine is permanently : (. The pissed off puss on her face is stuck like glue. Only another’s misery will return the smile to her cherubic face. Ryan sends Taylor and Elliott back to the couch. Chris claps and smiles, Kat stands irritated with her hands at her sides. Such a sweetheart, such a good sport.

Ryan asks Simon who he thinks is leaving tonight and McPhee rolls her eyes because she knows he’s gonna say her. Hey, sweetheart, it’s not like you didn’t have explosive diarrhea all over the stage with those two songs on Tuesday. You have no one to blame but yourself. Simon says based on last night, Kat should go home. The audience boos, but Peisha just sits and watches. Even she knows her daughter blew chunks. Ryan tells Chris that a lot of people thought he had the potential to be the next American Idol. Chris smiles at the audience’s reaction and Ryan blurts out- you’re going home. Katharine looks genuinely shocked. I don’t have an emoticon for that so how’s this? >:o

Paula is devastated, Simon looks shocked, Peisha’s even sitting there going- But I beat her for two hours last night! I was sure she was going home!

Chris looks absolutely hammered in shock. Ryan asks him three times if he’s surprised. Elliott’s mom needs to get up there and kick Seacrest in the balls. We watch Chris’ journey. I half hoped for this they would have gotten the lead singer of System of a Down to record a special all-screamy version of Bad Day. As Daughtry watches, the news begins to sink in and he doesn’t once crack a smile, seething and simmering like a crock pot full of Chunky Beef Soup. It’s the soup that eats like a meal! (Hey, I have to pay the bills somehow.)

Okay, so what the fuck happened? Where was Chris’ huge fan base that everyone’s been buzzing about? He actually wasn’t terrible last night and Katharine was at her all-time worst. (and that’s a lot of worst to be stacking up against) Chris was the favorite. Now today there are rumors that Fuel is going to ask Chris to join their band as the new lead singer. So was this orchestrated, a way to inject a little drama into an otherwise dull season? There were also rumors that Chris was difficult to handle for the producers. Maybe they let him go so they wouldn’t be tied to him past the tour. Who knows?

All I can say is at this point, I’m for anything that helps Elliott and Daughtry’s departure helps him. If Chris would have been safe, he’d be the inevitable winner and Elliott would have been gone next week. But against Katharine, Elliott has a chance.

1)Because right about now, McPhee is the most hated woman on television by all those Chris fans who are pissed she’s there and he isn’t. Not that it was her doing, but try telling that to a fan scorned.

2)Katharine has a weak voice. She’ll never make it through three songs next week. Whereas Elliott can sustain multiple performances and Taylor will swirl his heft around on at least one, masking his need to barely muster a yodel.

3)After this week, Elliott has gained a lot of new fans. People are realizing he’s sincere, sweet and most of all talented as hell.

So in penance for this being late, I watched the American Idol Extra on Fox Reality tonight because it was sure to have much controversy. Here’s what I found out.

Anthony Federov is turning to Latin music.
Ty Treadway is the dullest man on the planet.
The idols were asked to choose their favorite performances. Chris said “Renegade,” Taylor said “Something,” Katharine said “I Have Nothing,” because she “felt she did a really good job and the judges had to apologize, so that was cool.” Elliott said “Moody’s Mood for Love,” because “it’s one of the best songs ever written and I felt honored to get to sing it.”

Okay, so Fox Reality is a little light with the controversy. What can I tell ya?

That’s gonna do it for me this week. From me, Donny, Marie, our special guests Betty White, Avery Schrieber, Witchiepoo and the Kroftette Dancers- Good Night, Everybody.

A Little Less Tommy Mottola. AI Re-cap 5/9

2006-05-09T23:09:00.000-07:00

I do believe that the chair next to Ryan when he makes his introduction at the beginning of the show should be dubbed “The Elsie Seat,” the reason being that whoever inhabits it is usually some heifer with a bad mullet who’s craned around in her chair just enough to show every waddle and pinch. Ladies, if you see you’re close to the Seacrest at any time, someone may be trying to tell you something.

Tonight the word “is” drew the short straw and will be unnecessarily punched up by Ryan in the phrase “This is American Idol.” Two more weeks from Wednesday and I won’t have to look at his frog puss again until January 2007.

For those of you who have been under a rock the past week (or actually have lives) this week’s completely inappropriate theme is the music of Elvis. That’s right, our remaining four contestants will sing not one but two, count ‘em, two Elvis Presley songs. Or as Highlights magazine used to call him in their joke section, Elvis Parsley. I’ve never been a fan of Elvis, I was but a tot when he died on the toilet and I was blessed to have parents who didn’t torture me with his music. I think you can all see what sort of evening this is going to be for me. We see footage of Kat, Chris, Elliott and Hambone, err.. Taylor deplaning at Graceland where they will be meeting with professional widow and plastic surgery victim Priscilla Presley, her even creepier and crazier daughter, Mrs. DannyKeoughMichaelJacksonNickCageSomeOtherGuy. This would be a good time to jot down any questions you might have about Scientology, as both ladies Presley are active members. Does anyone know, have we gotten any confirmation on whether Katharine has sold her soul to the Klingons, as well?

And if that weren’t enough (and it’s more than plenty for me) former Sony Music chairman and Mr. Mariah Carey, Tommy Mottola will be joining us. My guess is because he and Elvis have matching waistlines. I wonder if he and Taylor will have a fried chicken eating contest? Chris is shown relaxing like the rock star he isn’t in the Idol private jet and oodles of fans (27) are at the gates of Graceland awaiting the final four. Taylor looks out the window at the house and erroneously calls it the birthplace of Rock & Roll. Since Elvis bought the house after he was a world famous star, I would say that would probably be inaccurate. But then again, Taylor has shown he knows as much about authentic rock & roll as he knows about Slim-Fast.

The idols are greeted at the door by Marilyn Manson, a surprise guest this week probably there to aid Chris with his screaming. What? No, that’s…. Really? My mistake folks, that’s actually Priscilla Presley. Apparently I wasn’t aware things had gone quite so awry with her reconstruction. Was she tragically burned in a fire somehow? I mean no one CHOOSES to look like that, do they? Priscilla takes them on a tour of Graceland and they run smack dab into Vincent Price. Awww, come on! That’s Tommy Mottola? What the hell is wrong with everyone this week?? Between Presley and Mottola, I’d swear someone was filming a remake of “House of Wax” at Elvis’ old abode. Tommy is introduced as the mastermind behind Jennifer Lopez, Destiny’s Child and Shakira, so you know this guy hasn’t got a fucking clue about great singing.

Priscilla lies and says if Elvis were alive, he’d love the show and cheer everyone on. Let’s face it, if Elvis were still alive, he’d either be batshit crazy or on about 1000 mg of Percodan a day. Or both. Mottola lies and says this is the greatest year of Idol yet because of how personal all the contestants have made each of the songs. And I’m lying when I say that neither of them has made me want to vomit a hairball.

Taylor is up first and he’s posed in front of an ugly Olan Mills backdrop that’s supposed to simulate the grounds of Graceland. I guess the fake library one was being used for the Glickstein’s bat-mitzvah shots. Taylor is excited it’s Elvis week and will be performing “Jailhouse Rock,” so he can incorporate dancing and singing. He works on his song with that renowned vocal coach, Tommy Mottola, whose only advice is to take Taylor up a half key because that’s how Elvis sang it. So much for the contestants making the songs their own, Tom.

Taylor’s song starts out with a guitarist on the lip of the stage who looks like a cross between Cheech and the cartoon character Russell from Fat Albert & The Cosby Kids. This is to distract us from Taylor lumbering down the stairs in the audience like a wounded buffalo who needs to find a bathroom. Old crazy legs can barely make it onstage before he yanks out his earphones and says “How” to the Lakota tribe with the smoke he’s generating from his thighs rubbing together. Vocally, the song is not bad. It sounds like karaoke Elvis, but good karaoke Elvis, which is about all one can hope for when singing that song.

Randy and Paula love the performance. Simon says it’s time to get into the real world and recognize the performance for bad karaoke. He can barely get through his next comments because Paula begins shouting him down, so much so he yells at her to shut up. Ryan comes to the rescue and belittles Simon’s critique even more. I hereby give Simon full permission to interrupt all three of those buffoons while they’re trying to do their jobs just like they do to him. Taylor whoos and “Soul Patrols” like a freakin’ monkey.

Back from the break and Chris is next. Ryan pimps him mightily and asks about his various fan clubs. Chris gives the names of them, all of which are too inane to give room for, and says they send him gifts. He also answers the burning question on all of these losers minds, he wears boxer briefs. Well, duh, all that screaming is bound to rip your nad sack if it isn’t fastened in securely. Ryan does a hysterically unfunny bit about being uncomfortable about Chris’ topic of underwear.

Has anyone ever noticed that when Chris talks for a period of time, he sounds exactly like Gary Cole’s character from “Office Space,” Bill Lumbergh?

Tommy Mottola offers his second horrible piece of advice of the evening, telling Chris he’s singing too softly and really needs to push it. Seriously, at this point, I think Lisa Marie is more qualified to dole out advice. It’s times like this I miss Pickler because you know she’d just come right out and ask Tommy about Mariah.

Chris is singing “Suspicious Minds,” and he walks out dressed like a Bo Bice wannabe with the sunglasses and the mic-stand poses, tossing in a little Bono march in place circa 1983 concert at Red Rocks. Does anything actually originate in that big bald dome of his or do they just show movies inside it? The vocals aren’t bad. No screaming, so that’s always a plus, but Chris killed any cred with that dumb assed outfit. If you’ve ever heard Candi Staton sing this song, you’d know it can be covered really well, and by a woman, which tosses out Kat’s whining about having to do men’s songs. Randy was just okay with it, Paula wet her seat and told Chris she’d see him in the finals and Simon said sunglasses notwithstanding, it was a good performance. Ryan says something about boxer briefs being called hybrids and I dunno, I wear them and I’ve never heard that, but then again, I’m not as completely and utterly cool as Ryan Seacrest.

Elliott is up next. I’ve already started voting for him and I got through the first few times, but now it’s completely busy. Tommy and the producers completely de-pimp Elliott. Mottola has nothing nice to say about him which, based on earlier advice, means nothing, but it still sucks. So of course, Elliott walks out and kicks Mottola’s teeth in with a slam-fucking-dunk performance of “If I Can Dream”. It was rousing and inspiring and a full on money in the bank show compared to the previous two nice karaoke joints done before him. I know a lot of people don’t like Elliott’s vibrato, and that’s just taster’s choice, but even with that vibrato, Elliott has, hands down, the best voice in this competition.

Randy says he was worried about Elliott doing Elvis, but that he made it his own and it was hot. Paula loved him like crazy and was a bit teary (or has pink eye, I couldn’t tell) and Simon says it’s the best of the evening so far.

Katharine is next and Mottola licks her out with the compliments, for sure wanting to get into her pants the way he did all the other amazing voices he’s signed, like J.Lo. Kat will be doing a medley of “Houng Dog” & “All Shook Up.” Paging the Sweeney Sisters. Your long lost triplet has been found. Seriously, this number would be right at home during a Branson, MO stage show performed by Vikki Carr. At one point, Kat runs out of breath from hopping around on the stage and has to put her back to the audience in order to gulp some sweet, precious air. Kellie Pickler would be embarrassed of this performance. Way to go, Mottola, you’re 0 for 4.

Randy says it looked like Katharine had fun, but she dropped one of the lyrics. Paula applauded her “choreography” to cover the slip, which consisted of her turning her back to the audience (I still think it was to catch her breath). Simon says it was like someone trying out for musical theatre to show they can do it all. It was screechy and terrible and he hops she has a better second song. Katharine shows what a good sport he is by making a face at him and then calling out for her McFans. I’m McOver this bitch.

Second round starts with Taylor singing “In the Ghetto.” Ryan asks some inane bullshit about Hicks asking out Lisa Marie because Ryan keeps up on the tabloids. That must explain his dropping Teri Hatcher like a hot potato when he read in the Enquirer that no one believed they were actually an item. Mottola pimps Taylor to the nines and advises him to sell the song with his voice and not his bullshit histrionics. Taylor actually manages this for the first half of the song by sitting down and for the first time sounds comfortable singing without the aid of his bodily distractions. Then he has to go and blow it by standing up and the vocal gets shrieky and oversung and ruined. The judges all overpraise the performance with Simon saying Taylor just sang his way into the semi-finals. Well, duh. Taylor yells out “Soul Patrol” another 300 times while Ryan gives the numbers. There’s a guy who works out at my gym who is on the Idol crew and he says all the backstage people can’t stand Taylor because he’s a complete asshole and curses at them and treats them like shit. I’m sure the ego has definitely taken flight with this fathead and Elliott is probably the only one left that anyone can stand to be around.

Chris is next. He’ll be singing “A Little Less Conversation,” which is one of the few Elvis songs I’d actually choose to listen to done by Elvis. I’m gonna do this real fast. Tommy pimps Chris without saying anything of value. Chris in the first ¾ of the song sounds like he’s reciting a grocery list in a monotone. Last part of the song is all screamy and gargly.

Paula and Randy loved it, Simon thought up until the end it was flat. Chris says that that’s the way Elvis sang the song. No, Chris, it’s not. It’s the way you sang the song. Badly.

Elliott will be singing “Trouble,” which I think is an apt name for his doing this song. For those of you unfamiliar with this number, it sounds a lot like W-O-M-A-N, or as I remember it as a kid, the Enjoli Perfume jingle. I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan…. that song, which is all speaking during the verses and singing only on the chorus. Why anyone would choose to do a talk song, especially on a week they’re most vulnerable, is a mystery to me. Let’s see how he does.

I bow down and apologize for ever having doubted my little Yamin. To quote Randy, that was a HOT ONE! Holy shit. Quite amazing. Randy and Paula correct themselves from earlier in the show and say that THIS performance was Elliott’s best ever and Simon says Elliott has finally shown some personality, proved he deserves to be here and to advance to the next round. WOW! Did I hear that correctly? I’m in shock. Could we just stop now and skip McPhee’s caterwauling so I can leave with a warm glow? Yeah, I guess not. Ick.

Katharine is singing “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Here’s my assessment…

Melisma, melisma, wrong key, shriek, melisma, melisma, off key for a few bars, shrieky, shrieky, smile pretty, sell that fridge, YELL, Mel-eeeeee-E-E-ee-E-ss-Ma, shriek, big finish.

The judges weren’t thrilled. You know Paula didn’t like it when she spends her whole time re-critiquing the choreography of Katharine’s first performance without ever mentioning the one at hand. Simon says it was too much. He wanted apple pie, but he got apple pie with a gallon of ice cream on top. It was too much, too over the top. Amazing that in how many weeks we’ve been on the air and he’s just noticed this about McPhee? I mean the woman practically churns butter brickle out of her cooch every week, but he’s finally getting around to realizing it.

Okay, all in all not a bad week. I think we needed a little less Tommy Mottola and little more plastic surgery Scientologists. My rankings:

1- Elliott
(BIG gap)
2- Chris
(WAY BIG gap)
3- Taylor
4- Katharine

Who should go- Katharine. She’s been rancid for too long. That cream is no longer fresh.

Who will go- I gotta say, I actually have hope for my boy Elliott after those two phenomenal performances tonight, but I know the deck is stacked against him. If Katharine doesn’t pull an upset by leaving, look for my man Yamin to go out on one of the highest notes since La Toya London.

See you all tomorrow. Seagulls out.

Fire Sale on Wigs! Everything Must Go! AI Re-cap 5/3

2006-05-03T23:30:00.000-07:00

Good news, Good news. All of the unpleasantness from the past few days has cleared itself up (as of now) and we’ll go on hopefully with the promise that it won’t ever come back. I’m all for putting it behind me and moving on. Thanks to all those who e-mailed their support. But dammit, we got a show to do, baby!

I have to admit that I was so nervous for my boy Elliott that despite what Dialidol.com said about him coming in third, I cheated and checked to see if he was indeed going home. What, you think I’m gonna reveal it now when we have thirty awful minutes to get through? No, you don’t get off that easily. If I have to jump down the sewer, your asses are coming with me.

Ryan’s ass is 2 da back again, of the house that is, and he’s standing next to the body double for Martha Dumptruck of “Heathers.” The camera crane can’t rise fast enough to get away from her as it speeds toward the final five. We see their fake grins. Once again, Katharine wins the prize for fakest. Like a bad car accident, the camera can’t resist getting one more peek at Martha and jumps back to Seacrest. This. Is. American Idol.

Have you all heard Teri Hatcher blabbing her mouth on Oprah about the big fizzled romance between her and Seacrest? Turns out they went on one date, got their photo op and Ryan called her and told her he just couldn’t do this anymore, and she hasn’t seen him since.

Remember, I promised another contest for you all so here it is… just what is it Ryan couldn’t do anymore with Miss Hatcher? Send your excuses to flkofcguls@aol.com
And I’ll post the top five, winner gets a cool AI prize which is a secret, mostly because I’m gonna spend next week finding one. I’ll be taking entries through Monday, May 8th and I’ll post the top 5 in Tuesday’s re-cap. The last contest was such a success and I know you all can make this one even better. Hop to it!

Ryan tells us that almost 45 million votes were cast last night. Carmen Electra, who is in the audience, is trying to figure out how that stacks up against the number of cc’s of saline in her breast implants divided by the number of brain cells she’d need to acquire to read on a fourth grade level.

Randy boos Simon and Ryan turns his attention to the contestants. I wish for once Randy would have a brain fart and accidentally boo the idols, instead. Ryan asks Chris how they’re all holding up to the pressure. Chris nods and says fine, good. Uh oh, something must have popped upstairs last night during that screamfest. Now, I went and listened to the original versions of both “Home” by Michael Buble and “I Dare You” by Shinedown, neither of which I had heard before I saw Elliott and Chris, respectively, perform them. I thought Elliott actually improved a bit on the original. Chris, on the other hand killed a really good song by screaming it. Now, the vocalist for Shinedown, while not the most amazing singer, at least has some color and tone to his voice. Chris, on the other hand yelled so hard he nearly caused a brain hemorrhage worthy of the final scene from “The Fury.”

Taylor is asked if rivalries between the five have cropped up, now that it’s getting down to the wire. Taylor gallantly sidesteps the crass question. If it had been me, I would have asked Ryan if he’d hooked up with Ace after the show last night. Ryan asks Katharine what the most difficult thing about last night was. Instead of saying it was trying to walk while inside the body of an anaconda, Katharine mentions Against All Odds. Kat is wearing a spaghetti strap number tonight and I never realized that she has shoulder like a linebacker. I have very broad shoulders and Katharine looks like she could probably take me in a scrimmage. Paris is wearing rolled up clamdiggers and speaks in a frequency only dogs and Joni Mitchell can hear.

Ryan shills for the American Idol tour while Up With People gets ready to sing it’s group song, Together We Are One (Sha na na na na na nah na na). Chris starts with a solo and the furrows between his eyebrows are so deep from yell-singing that I hope he does make it to the finals, because the sorghum crop he planted in there will just be ready for harvesting around that time. Taylor is next and he does a little Bedrock Twitch. Uh-oh, someone had an extra helping of waffles for breakfast this morning. Katharine just can’t help melisma-ing during the group sing so she can stand out. In the audience, Peisha is giving her the “showgirls” signal so she can trip Paris on the way down the stairs. Elliott is dressed in a pin-stripe suit, t-shirt and sneakers and looks like Ryan Seacrest as Baretta. Paris takes the lead last and sounds great until she gets to the last note, clubbing it to death and throwing it backstage to be made into next week’s outfit. A choir of probably much better singers than our final five come out to gospel it up for them. I seriously hope this terrible song is the Idol single for 2006 and that Chris wins and is forced to record it. Big finish and the Idols all smile into a floor cam, Taylor giving Katharine a dirty look as she muscles into the front, blocking everyone else. I guess she’s been appointed camera hog now that Pickler is gone.

Pimp-o-mercial is on and the whitest people in the world (including Paris) are singing “Hollywood Swinging” by Kool & The Gang. I wonder what Tarantino thinks of his precious Idol now? I gotta say, Paris looks almost beautiful in the shots of her in the front seat of the car. Taylor is dressed for Birmingham’s first local cast of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Seacrest makes some joke about never wearing shoulder pads again. How about lifts and the crotch sock, too, you poseur?

Ryan says that the “buzz” around town (he probably means at his beauty parlor) is that Paula gave the best comments last night. Simon says the polls say he is trusted 78% of the three judges and they bicker amongst themselves. Behind Simon, a teenage girl watches with growing concern on her face, she thinks this, as well as everything else on Idol, is actually genuine. Silly cow.

Ryan tells the contestants that this week they will be whisked off in the company jet to Graceland to meet Priscilla Presley and Tommy Mottola. They will be singing the music of Elvis next week, and unfortunately, they don’t mean Costello. I suppose some would see this and say wow, they get to meet the wife of the King of Rock & Roll and one of the biggest music moguls ever. I look at it and I all I can think is- awesome, a treasure trove of plastic surgery, scientology and Mariah Carey jokes! Bring it on!!

Onward elimination. They are looking for the bottom two and Taylor is safe. Chris is dull and safe. Paris is in the bottom two and even she knows it before it’s said. Ann Nesby (or the corpse of June Pointer, I can’t be sure) nods disappointedly from the audience. Elliott tries to get some applause going for Paris while Ryan asks her to sing Kiss. Instead of breaking into some hot licks to “Rock & Roll All Night” or “Strutter,” it’s just that lousy old Prince song again. Princess Me deposits her gum into Seacrest’s palm and he does another of his corny Jerry Lewis double takes. Anyone who doesn’t think that whole move wasn’t choreographed to the nines, well, I’ve got some swamp land in Albermarle to sell you.

Paris is doing even more abysmally on this song than she did last night. This time, when she thinks she wants to dance, she shakes it so hard, her acceptance speech falls out of her Minnie Mouse blouse and on to the floor. Booo! Go home! And I don’t mean that in a Tracey Ullman sort of way. (Wait, have I made that joke before? God, am I recycling material? I can’t even remember.) Idol’s own Roberto Benigni struts behind Paris to grab her mic pack and Breakfast Clubs his way into her spotlight. If that was me he did that to, he’d have drawn back a stump. Ryan reminds us that either Elliott or Katharine will be joining Paris in the bottom two and we cut to a shot of E still standing and clapping for Paris, while Katharine is sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, looking the other way, filing her nails. She grudgingly rises to stand next to Elliott and we’ll find out who it is after the break. (Nyah, I already know.)

Kat looks like she’s getting a D&C while Ryan goes down her list of sins from the previous evening, but she needn’t panic, she’s safe. Cut to a shot of Peisha and the crying serial killer in the audience. Elliott comes over to sing “On Broadway,” not the song I would have chosen to possibly go out on. Elliott is singing the song EXACTLY the way he sang it last night which means I’m half and half on it. Paula is standing and dancing, clapping and grooving along, while Kat, safe in her own superiority, fakes clapping along with a shitty look on her face. This one couldn’t muster up sympathy for anyone in a children’s cancer ward. Elliott is pulling out all the stops for the end and Ken the director is feeling evil tonight as he keeps cutting back to Katharine, who can’t be bothered to do anything but look bored. America, I hope you remember this attitude when you vote next week. This much hubris and she isn’t even famous. Imagine how she’ll be if she manages to get a recording contract. It’ll be all Stop Katharine McPhee’s Head, I Wanna Get Off!

Well, Paris is being cut tonight. Another cut to Katharine, then Taylor and Chris, none of whom are showing much emotion. This must have been a reflex action of Ken’s part, since he’s so used to cutting to Paris for some crocodile tears, but oh no, who cries for Paris?? Apparently, no one.

We see Paris’ journey, but I’m going to give you Flock’s patented Paris Bennett Journey, since Idol is gonna skip all the good parts. We started with Paris who wowed us in the auditions with Take Five while her semi-famous grandmother basked in the credit. Then there was Hollywood Paris who never seemed to pick the right songs and whose star began to wane. Then there was Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Balloon Head Paris, who said that the one thing she’d lost during Hollywood week was part of her charisma. Then there was Paris Magdalene, certain she had favor and was God’s chosen one. Gotta give a shout out to all the crazy wigs and outfits, too, all of which are going back to Frederick’s of Hollywood and Laura San Giacomo’s character from “Pretty Woman.” Then there was 007’s newest assistant, TenQ. Ahh, the many moods of Paris when she fizzles.

Tune in with me next week for what’s sure to be the most upsetting Wednesday ever.

Seagulls out.

Something in the Way He Jiggles. AI Re-cap 5/2

2006-05-03T17:41:00.000-07:00

Reports of my premature demise have been greatly exaggerated.

As some of you may have heard in the past week, I have a stalker. He’s a freak that goes by the name of Locutus and for some reason, he hates me. Well, let’s not beat around the bush, I know why he hates me; I’m gay and I’m smarter than he is. This re-cap column, in addition to being published on my blog, goes out to several other Idol sites, some of whom copy and paste, others I send it to, myself. One of those sites is the AI Newsgroup on Usenet. In addition to posting re-caps there, I also post comments and responses to other threads in the group. For the past few weeks, ever since the whole Mandisa controversy, this so-called “Locutus” has been posting any number of anti-gay slurs about me, getting nastier and cruder as they go on. Now, that I can handle and it rolls off my back. I’m a big boy and it’s not the first time someone has attempted to shout me down because of who I am.

However, this past Friday, he decided to take it up a notch. I received an e-mail from this person stating he had done a search of some kind on me and found out my home address, telephone number and other private pieces of information about me that no one would want publicly floating around on the internet. No, I wasn’t arrested or anything, these are everyday pieces of information we all have, but should not be trumpeted to the world. Locutus just wanted to “clear them” with me to make sure they were correct before he posted them in public for all to see. I chose not to respond.

Today rolled around and I received another e-mail from him, saying that he must have the correct information and since he hadn’t heard from me, he was going to post it at the end of the day unless I never posted on Usenet again. Well, a quick phone call to my attorney and some help by a couple of people who know way more about tracking people via e-mail than I do led us to a path where we could find out who he is. I sent him an e-mail explaining to him that he had no permission to post such information about me and that if he did, he’d be subject to criminal and civil liability. All of this wasted a lot of time, and for what? So I wouldn’t post my opinion of American Idol like everyone else across the country has been doing? Because I’m gay and not ashamed of it, the way this creep thinks we all should be? I don’t respond well to threats and giving in to this ass would make me feel as though I can’t reveal that part of myself in future situations and I never want to feel that way. I never want anyone to feel that way about who they are.

So is it worth it? Is it worth the risk just to have my say and not be pushed around. Well, since we tracked him, the playing field has been leveled somewhat, but I won’t be able to really tell until I’ve watched tonight’s performance.

Seacrest is in the back of the house, standing next to a toothless little moppet who I’m praying he doesn’t turn into another sidekick for the evening. Ryan doesn’t work well with animals, small children, Paula Abdul or improvisation. Anthony Federov is in the audience looking as cute as can be. I just want to poke my finger in his trach-hole and see if he clutches his tummy and goes “hee-hee!” like the Pillsbury doughboy.

Ryan says the soap opera continues tonight. Funny, I thought it was a singing competition. He introduces the judges and there is no banter because we have 10 songs and only one hour. Not even a moment to snark on Paula’s Venus on the half-shell by way of seven cocktails hair-don’t. The contestants are each singing two songs. The first is from the year they were born and the second is any song from any of the Top 10 charts. Gosh, were these themes done maybe…just last year? Let’s think of some new themes, folks.

Elliott is up first and he was born in 1978. He tells us he had a bad habit of chewing on his nails when he was a baby that has only gotten worse since he’s been on the show. I want to make an obvious teeth joke here, but it’s Elliott and the guy is so talented and so damn cool and hasn’t made one major misstep in this whole competition as of yet, which is something you can’t say for any of the other Idols, so even though it’s in my nature, I have to take a pass. No harsh words for E other than if I don’t like his singing. Elliott will be performing “On Broadway,” by George Benson. Yeah, the one Scott Savol did last year in the same week and he was voted off. Harbinger, anyone?

Elliott comes down from the bridge that links LAX to the stages of Idol. He’s trying to catch a connecting flight to Brugge, but thought he’d stop off and sing us a little song first. The song starts out a little underwhelming, then Elliott does a sweet little mini-scat and after that it’s like he’s singing another song. His confidence is up and he’s not singing in a key that’s not right for him like he did the first part of the song. It was good, but not my favorite Elliott performance by far. But he looks good tonight and he’s sweet and he even waved to Ace who’s in the audience with a big ol’ fake smile plastered on his face while his agent fields offers from Rosie’s Cruise Lines.

Randy and Paula pretty much say what I did, but Simon, having thrown Elliott one bone per every seven weeks, is back to his old pisshead, anti-pimp self and says Elliott is lucky he has another song. So we’re at the point where Simon can expand his repertoire of tired old catch phrases. I’m surprised Federov didn’t get up and yell it along with him, since that was said to A-Fed many a time last season. I’ve been trying to call for E and only managed to get through once. The recordings have now changed and you get to hear the voice of the Idol you vote for. I’m tempted to call Katharine’s line just to see if she’s offering a free nipple peek with every vote. Uhh, did Ryan just call Elliott, Yamin the Machine???

Back from the break and Princess Plea is up next and she’s really been sucking the helium today. My guess is a German Shepard got a hold of the squeak toy in her voice box and chewed on it some. Make her stop talking. Shut up shut up shut up. Especially when she announces that, since she was born in 1988, she’s singing Kiss by Prince. But Flock, you say, that song came out in 1986. Indeed it did, children, but you see Paris is doing the Tom Jones version. Does this mean she’s going to be wearing a ruffled tuxedo shirt open halfway so we can see the hair on her chest? Paris tells us her mom used to dress her in ruffled dresses and we see a shot of the Baby Black Jesus dressed like the party hat Lolly Lollapalooza from “Lidsville.”

Paris starts singing and it’s like the old days of Lisa Tucker, shaky, a bit off key, tentative and much too unsophisticated to pull it off. Paris sings that you don’t have to be experienced to turn her out. No, you just have to have a swell collection of wigs and a box of animal crackers. Seriously, I don’t want to think of any underage girl who sounds like she’s seven singing about being turned out. Paris gets to the bridge and she thinks she wants to dance, which means jiggling up and down in her red pumps, trying to dislodge that piece of fruit rollup that’s blocking her larynx.

Randy Jackson likes it, Paula sidesteps actually criticizing the performance by saying Paris can sing her butt off (and after a few bad camera angles in those jeans, she ought to try harder) but that she likes when Paris sings the old songs. Simon says it was screechy and annoying and Ryan rushes to Paris’ defense the way he didn’t for Elliott.

Chris is up next. He was born in 1979, one of my favorite years as a child. We see pictures of Chris as a kid, including one of him on his first day at mime school. That explains the often blank look on his face and absence of personality. It cracks me up that people accuse Elliott of having no charisma, yet Chris is completely devoid of any human traits. I guess screaming and a laser light show help mask your personality flaws better than just singing amazingly.

Daughtry will be singing “Renegade” by Styx. Once again, Chris comes off with no colors to his voice. Everything is shouted and I found myself drifting off to tomorrow’s schedule while watching. It wasn’t a bad vocal, except for Chris’ attempt at a high note, but it was boring. Chris is back to being pimped again this week. All judges gave him a pass. I understand how one could be fooled by that performance, but again, I’ve seen worse from Chris and I won’t complain.

Speaking of worse, we’re up to Katharine, who’s in a slinky black dress. Let’s hope this one covers her dimpled thighs a bit better than last week’s. Ryan brings up the “wardrobe malfunction” (his words, not mine) from last week, and let me tell you, this household was definitely screaming “Put it back in! Put it back in!” Another such mishap should not occur tonight as Kat is crammed into that dress so tightly, it resembles a sausage casing. Katharine says that when she came out of the delivery room (is this a euphemism or does she really not know where babies come from?) she didn’t cry at all. Apparently her father has been making up for lost time. In every baby and toddler photo, little McPhee is wearing so much lip gloss, I’m surprised she didn’t choose to sing “Private Dancer.”

But now, Kat, who was born in 1984, is delighting us with the umpteenth rendition of Phil Collins’ “Against All Odds.” Just like last week when she chose to do the umpteenth rendition of “I Have Nothing.” Her song choices are about as original as her runs. Wait, didn’t Scott Savol butcher this song about three times last season? Oh my God, is this theme really The Music of Scott Savol? Will Taylor come out and sing Dance With My Father?

Kat starts out problematically with the low notes, then points on the line “with you” and it made me laugh out loud. The bottom of her dress is so tight, I don’t know how she’s even walking in it. God, that stunk out loud in so many small spots, they’re too numerous to mention. I’ll give you my top three.

1- Fa-AA-ayh-AYH-ah-OOH-aaa-ehayhayhay-aaa (at this point Ace stands up in the audience as yells out, “For chrissakes, it’s F-ACE!!!!!)
2- The one-two yodel-gasp on the word “look” at the end.
3- The fact that she had to walk around the stage like she was smuggling a T-bone steak out of the A&P between her legs.

And the judges say- Well, Randy & Paula start out with fashion, so neither of them like it. Then Simon says it was a mess and the song got away from her, but then says it was one of her best performances. Ryan asks Katharine what the problem was and Katharine looked like she was about to say “the judges had shit in their ears, I’m always flawless,” but instead Simon interrupts to say he meant it wasn’t one of her best performances after it’s already been forgotten, making an even more awkward moment out of it. Now let’s get on to Taylor so the jaws of life can come in backstage and get Kat out of that dress.

Taylor was born in 1976 and I really think I need to see documented proof of this. I swear I’m older than this guy, but I could pass for his son. We see the many changes of Taylor Hicks’ hair. One thing that remained constant was the Tupperware bowl cut. Taylor is singing “Play That Funky Music,” by Wild Cherry, which means I have to change the ring tone on my cell phone to anything else immediately, lest I be taken for one of the Soul Patrol.

Taylor is dressed in one of the ugliest shirts I have ever seen and he should never wear jeans unless each thigh is prepared to carry an apple behind the kneecap. Yee-ikes. This is all regular horrible Taylor dancing. The guy can’t move for shit and was so exhausted, he collapsed onstage at the end. That, my friends, is what’s known as a karaoke performance. The vocals weren’t as bad as last week, but they were all shouting, so how could you tell? Randy didn’t like it, Paula refrained and Simon said it was a horrible, horrible wedding performance and it’s true. Ryan comes out and asks Taylor to show him the last move where he falls on the floor because you know, Ryan’s feet don’t actually touch the floor, so it’s a place he’s unfamiliar with. Seacrest actually flops down on the ground and the team of groomers with lint rollers, blow dryers, and perfume bottles is already assembling right off-camera. Ryan gives the phone numbers while Taylor whoos and soul patrols into the camera, which keeps trying for a wide shot, but pulls up every time they get a glimpse of Taylor’s belly hanging out of his shirt.

Time for the second go-round. I’ve been voting for Elliott all this time and am sad to say I haven’t been having much trouble getting through. And he’s up first with his second song, Michael Buble’s “Home.” I don’t know this song, but I do know Buble and I find him kind of dull. But first, we get a tribute to Billboard magazine and it’s current six hundred weekly charts. This is the magazine equivalent to the Grammy Awards. All these charts so that record companies can claim their artists had a number one song or album. It’s all bullshit. The show takes the opportunity to faux pimp its past Idols successes and they show Kelly Clarkson singing “A Moment Like This” on the 1st season finale and when I hear her, all I can think is how everyone this season and last couldn’t and can’t hold a candle to her, vocally.

Ryan and Randy pimp the Season 5 Idols CD and Ryan tries out the gang signs move that Randy is always doing and looks like a complete tool. Get me to Elliott fast. Okay, the song is nice. It’s a little like “Get Here,” only not awful. Elliott sings it quietly and straight out, no Melisma McPhee is he. I liked it, but this is not the type of performance that keeps you on Idol. Unfortunately, the stupid assed Taylor Hicks crap we saw previously is the kind of performance that keeps you on Idol. Elliott gets his cues missed and starts to run back to Ryan before getting his comments from the judges. Ryan, always looking to be this generation’s Jerry Lewis, mock races him back to center stage. Randy and Paula both loved the performance, Simon says he was a little bit concerned about the performance and wouldn’t have chosen a song with the lyric “I want to go home,” in it. Hopefully, that did the trick and people will vote for Elliott, but still, I have been dialing endlessly and have been getting nary a busy signal.

Paris is next and singing Mary J. Blige’s “Be Without You.” This is not my taste in music. All these songs sound the same to me and I can never tell the singer or the song apart, though I did love Mary’s first CD “What’s the 411.” Before I talk about Paris’ singing, I need to mention the outfit. Oh lord in heaven up to Jebus the outfit. A sleeveless camouflage top, a wide red sash-belt and silver lame Capri pants that look like they’re sewn out of the material they make those reducing fat suits from. Paris sounded okay on the song until the end where she blew out some of the notes. Yelling “Come on!” to the crowd during a ballad doesn’t really make much sense, either. I hope she’s going home tomorrow. This one is like a cockroach, though. We can’t seem to kill her.
The judges all compared her to Mary J. and said she pulled it off. I wonder if the Katharine huggers from last week are going to complain because a contestant was compared favorably to the original artist instead of negatively the way McPhee’s not so hot rendition of Whitney went. Uh, did Seacrest actually say “Friends, if you’d like to vote for Paris…” Is he selling Vitameatavegamin?

Chris is singing a song called “I Dare You,” by Shinedown, which I don’t know, but since it’s from the modern rock chart, that means it’ll be screamy. What am I talking about? Even if it were from the klezmer charts it’d be screamy. We see a shot of the audience and two people have gotten up from their seats and left. If only I was that lucky. Chris is getting another big stage pimp. Red lights and all the video screens awash in flames. You know what would make this song tolerable? If a line of dancing heat misers kick lined across the stage singing “He’s Mr. Green Christmas, He’s Mr. Sun. He’s Mr. Heat Blister, He’s Mr. 101.”

Before the screaming gets intolerable, the song (and the singer) sound like late Gin Blossoms “’Til I Hear it From You.” It’s nice to know Chris won’t be stuck only being able to do a Live tribute band. He can sound like other faded away ‘90s rockers. Hey Daughtry, how’s your Scott Weiland? The judges give Chris a pass, though Simon says he thought Chris’ voice was ready to give way. Chris complains that he has sung the song five times today and his voice is tired. Well, a trained singer would know how to protect from that. You wanna end up sounding like Stevie Nicks, shredding her voice to shit by the time 1980 rolled around because she didn’t know how to protect it? Wait, what am I saying? Shred, baby, shred.

Katharine is up next doing the worst song of 2006, “The Horse Cart and Cherry Tree” or whatever the fuck this thing is called, by KT Tunstall, who could probably go on tour with Daniel Powter and James Blunt as the One Hit Wonder-Palooza of 2006. This is the whoo-hoo song I so despise, especially since they started using it on all the commercials for that soon to be cancelled show Pepper Dennis starring Rebecca Romijn. Rebecca suffers from what I call the Jenny McCarthy syndrome. That is- beautiful woman, usually a model or game show hostess or something involving her body and not talking, decides she’s an actress. Not only an actress, but a comedienne. The next Lucy! So these airheads take on roles that let them be silly and klutzy and messy so that you won’t notice how pretty they are and they can make fun of themselves. Only none of them have talent and they all bomb. What’s wrong with just standing there and looking pretty? Hell, if I could do it and get paid for it, I’d need no other ambition.

Back to Katharine and her cherry tree. She’s kneeling on the floor in one of the preggo shirts, probably because she’s swollen from squeezing into the earlier dress and the body just went phoooooooooo and that’s all that would fit. There are two men next to her playing what look like disconnected kitchen sinks. Apropos since McPhee is shoving everything but the kitchen sink into this performance. She’s pointing again on the word “you” and smiling her blank smile and I can’t if it’s inappropriate because I have no idea what this song is about besides Taylor Hicks’ mating call. Kat is scuffling on her knees toward the sink players, away from them. Toward them, away from them. This performance is a hot mess. Kat pops up off her knees with a self satisfied smirk and cut to a shot of papa Richard Jewell, his cheeks wet with tears. I suppose if Peisha had my balls in a vice, I’d be always crying, too. Katharine does her superior hop while the judges lavish praise on her and we learn that Cisco and Fats were playing box drums, not kitchen sinks.

Speaking of Cisco and Fats, Taylor Hicks is bringing up the rear with his song. He’s doing a bit of a cheat this week, singing “Something” by the Beatles because their #1s album is in the top 10 somewhere. This is what I mean. This album is not on the Top 200. It’s on the Top Pop Catalogue chart which is a new chart invented a few years ago to give classic artists one more place to hit #1 and no one to ever have the opportunity to chart longer than Tapestry or Dark Side of the Moon. Why? Because once Billboard decides you’ve had your time in the sun, they move you off the main chart, whether you deserve it or not. This defeats the purpose of the idols singing current hits, but since it’s Taylor and he couldn’t handle a ballad with oven mitts, what does it matter?

Oof, the beginning was rather terrible and as for the end, well, I never heard The Beatles use melisma once on any of their songs and I don’t believe Something ends with George Harrison singing do do de doodleooh hmm hmmm hmmmmmm. Maybe Ned Flanders’ version, but not George Harrison’s. Randy wasn’t thrilled and he tried to get Paula on board with no luck. Simon says he doesn’t know how Taylor managed to get a 30 year old song (36, actually) passed as a hit of today. He says that he sometimes forgets for all of Taylor’s barminess that he has a very good voice. That elicits said barminess in the guise of a double whoo!

Because we have an extra three minutes, Ryan asks the judges to vamp and say how they thought the evening went, as though their ten sets of comments hadn’t already done that. Instead of recapping the re-cap, I’ll give you my picks, broken down into three categories; first set of songs, second set and overall.

Year They Were Born

1- Elliott
2- Chris
3- Katharine
4- Taylor
5- Paris
Though none of them were smashing.

Today’s Hits

1- Elliot
2- Paris
3- Taylor
4- Chris
5- Katharine

Overall

1- Elliott
2- Chris
3- Taylor
4- Paris
5- Katharine

Who should go- Katharine, though I wouldn’t mind if Paris flew.
Who will go- I’m worried for Elliott, but I’ll say Paris.

Remember, I’ll be bringing you re-caps til the end of the season. No matter what.

Seagulls out.

Star 81. AI Re-cap 4/26

2006-04-26T22:59:00.000-07:00

Yikes, those naps can be a killer. Now I’ll never get to sleep tonight. Maybe if I re-cap the results show, it will properly enervate me and I can belly flop right back under the comforter. Let’s bulldoze, shall we?

Paula Abdul is working the crane camera tonight as it hovers somewhere over Seacrest’s manscape and then cuts out in mid-pitch, only to speed dizzyingly toward the remaining six idols. Taylor has a sickening look on his face, as though he’s worried he may go home tonight, but if anyone is coated with more Teflon that Pickler, it’s our Mr. Hicks. Or maybe he had one too many Fatburgers before the show; we can really only speculate.

Ryan walks out to thunderous applause and the smirk on his face makes me realize he really does think it’s all for him. He says we broke a record and I’m assuming he’s going to say biggest viewer drop during Pickler’s song last night, but no, he means votes. 47 million votes were cast. Well, yeah, you basically doubled the number of phone lines. What did you expect, douchebag?

The contestants are all squeezed onto one single couch this week. I’m guessing the other is being strapped onto the roof of Seacrest’s Miata to help fill that new house of his. Ryan intros the judges and says that a bunch of whiny, pissy little Fox viewers called last night and complained that Simon was too harsh on the contestants.

Huh???

Let’s for the moment try and put together a composite sketch of the sort of person who might take the time to call a network and complain about an Idol judge’s criticism.

Virgin
Lives with his mother
Backne
Possibly born with one testicle
mid 30s to late 40s
No friends
Growing up, had a poster of Tony Randall on his bedroom wall
Aspires to be more like his hero, Ryan Seacrest, but still shops at Chess King.

To make matters worse, Simon actually says he was wrong about Katharine and wants to apologize. But Simon, here’s the thing- YOU WEREN’T. Of all the things he ought to be apologizing for, like calling Taylor drunk or his six week long continual diss of Elliott or any sweater that shows off his high beams and THIS is what he fesses up to? If you’re going to recant what you said, then how do you expect to be taken seriously? Here’s my theory- Pickler is quickly tanking, which they weren’t expecting to happen last night, and now Katharine has to be the pimped female of the bunch, so Simon was probably ordered to say what he said.

This means two things- 1) Katharine is not going home tonight. 2) She’s going to be even more egotistical than ever.

Ryan then tries to get into some banter with the judges and Simon brings up the feud between him and Paula and since that wasn’t on the cue card, Seacrest is at a loss and sputters a couple lame ad-libs until Randy swoops in on a heavy duty vine and begs to get on with the show. We see clips from last night and watching back, I’m also convinced that Bocelli has a hygiene problem. Like being a native Italian couldn’t tell you that off the bat, I think it probably goes beyond that, like water hitting him in the dark freaks him out and he probably just takes a wash cloth to the dainty parts every now and then. I bet Foster would spill the beans if you got him drunk enough. We see McPhee sing again and after that stomp-vamp ridiculousness, I still think the judges should stand by their original assessment.

The pimp-o-mercial features “Call Me,” sung by the Doodletown Pipers and a dog that was more photogenic than all the Idols combined. I’m sure when Kellie looked in the box of newborn puppies, it made her misty for her own son back home. In any case, I still wouldn’t buy a Ford.

Ryan introduces Andrea Bocelli and David Foster and the audience rises as though they have any idea who these two are. Ryan asks Bocelli how it was working with the Idols and Andrea may possibly have a hearing problem, as well, as there’s about a ten second delay between Ryan’s question and his answer. Maybe someone is feeding him lines in Italian, probably telling him jokes about Kellie and how short Ryan is. Bocelli will be singing something called “Because We Believe,” which sounds like a reject title for one of the American Idol singles. I’ve heard Bocelli sing in English and it’s not pretty. Rather it sounds like Annie Sullivan is on the sidelines, finger spelling the lyrics into his palm and hoping he makes the connection. Bocelli is singing about closing our eyes and I wish he’d take his own advice. I mean, yes, the man certainly has a beautiful voice and amazing gift, but since I don’t wear adult diapers and watch re-runs of Matlock, this really isn’t my kind of muzak. I’m bored. As bored as I was last week during Rod Stewart’s song, and during Kenny Rogers’ song and Barry Manilow’s song and Stevie Wonder’s song. (I was merely aghast at Shakira’s song, since there was so much to snark on that I was anything but bored.) AARP ought to consider advertising during the results show. Bocelli finishes and the Idols rush the stage. Of course, Pickler is front and center, as usual, slack jawed and hoggy.

Back from the break and Lisa Tucker is in the audience. Since she’s not performing tonight, there’s no reason to take a hot comb to that mess of curls. Ryan pimps her appearance on tomorrow night’s episode of the OC and here’s a riddle- Which is more irrelevant? Lisa Tucker making an appearance on The OC or The OC itself?

Ryan is breaking the contestants into three groups of two. Katharine and Chris on the far side, Taylor and Elliott in the middle and Paris and Pickler on the near side. Seacrest says one group contains the top two, one group contains the bottom two and the last group is somewhere in the middle. (Somewhere? How about right in between, you dumb fuck?) Ryan sends Taylor and Elliott back to the couches, they are safe. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have been wrong about Elliott going tonight. I’m not the least bit bugged for not guessing right. Elliott hugs Paris and Taylor hugs Kellie, then sneaks back off to the couch to dip into his stash of panic M&Ms, which will tide him over until the buffet backstage and then the send off dinner. Plus, he’s got Dominos on speed dial, just in case.

Back from the break and Ryan says that Katharine and Chris received the highest number of votes last night. Katharine does her little superiority dance. All she needs is a bun and some smart shoes and she could rival The Church Lady. This is why Simon needn’t have apologized. The judges comments polarized the audience to pity vote for Kat. Taylor doesn’t look pleased to not be in the group with the highest votes and he tears into the side of a roast suckling pig. So that leaves Paris and Kellie. Ryan asks Kellie if this is the first time she’s been in the bottom three and Kellie says yes. Ryan asks Paris how many times this makes for her, since she practically has tape marks onstage with her name on them and she says, it’s my first time- being in the bottom two. Don’t be so sure, sister. Kellie says, unmiked (after how many weeks, the sound crew finally figured out to shut off her mic when she babbles???) that she was pretty sure she was in the bottom after last night’s performance.

Folks, it’s another 6th place controversial elimination. Kellie Pickler is going home.

YEAH!!!!!!!

The remaining Pointer Sisters wail, gnash and give it up to Jebus in the audience that their precious Princess Piss is safe. And this means that if Elliott knocks it out of the park again next week, he might actually make the final four.

We see Kellie’s journey that consists more of malapropisms than actual performances. Katharine wipes away a tear, or is it a sneer. Paris fakes wiping away a tear and Elliott is choked up, because as I just did, he realizes he has a shot at the Top Four. Ryan cues Kellie to thank her fans and that unleashes a torrent. Maybe she’ll talk long enough that we’ll be spared her song. And that’s exactly what happened. Thank you, Tivo.

Well, let this be a lesson to you, American Idol. You can shove someone down our throats and manipulate us into voting for them for only so long, but if they haven’t at least got some of the goods, they aren’t going to last. Kellie, I won’t miss you. I won’t even miss bashing you. I never for a moment liked you or bought your schtick and I still grieve for all the more talented people who could have had your spot and would have benefited from it more greatly. Now please go fade back into obscurity where you belong. Until next week…

Seagulls out.

Just Once Let Him Be in the Bottom Three. AI Re-cap 4/25

2006-04-25T23:58:00.000-07:00

Another stormy Tuesday. Where oh where does the time go? Before I begin the beguine I’d like to address last week’s re-cap for the moment and my mini hiss-fit. While I’m not for a moment taking it back, I’d like to give a shout out to all the people in all the different AI forums this column goes out to who wrote in or posted how much they enjoyed reading. Much to my surprise, I actually do have more than twelve readers and I’m glad you all took the time out to let me know, so thank you.

Seacrest is at the back of the house and wearing pink in mourning for Ace Young. Later, he’s going to tug on his inseam as a special signal. Dress left means I love you, dress right means come on over later for a Harvey’s Bristol Cream. It’s downright upright. Stevie Scott waves coquettishly into the camera. You all might remember her as the first girl to be voted out of the group of 24. I know, those halcyon days of two months ago when gas was under three dollars and Daniel Powter wasn’t yet a future one-hit-wonder. A little more coquette might have gotten you further, Stevie. Points for anyone who can remember the one song she sang. More points if you keep it to yourself.

Ryan is clean shaven and hair-cutted this week. He pays tribute to his fallen idol “heartthrob” Ace and introduces the other heartthrobs of the show, Randy and Simon, as well as the drunk, Paula. Scuttlebutt going around is that Paula and Ryan are in a feud, with Abdul not speaking to Seacrest. I suppose anyone who constantly ridicules her drinking on-air and steals her choice of conquest this season would incur her wrath. Hey, Cresty, let the pros take care of bashing Paula. You just stand back and look vapid.

Our theme this week is the greatest love songs of all time and special guests are creepy blind uber-vocalist Andrea Bocelli and failed reality show papa, uber-producer David Foster. I am so hoping Foster treats the idols like he did his step kids. How hot would that be watching him have an aneurysm at Pickler the minute she walks into the room? Celine Dion says if God had a singing voice, he’d sound like Andrea Bocelli. So God is a cheeseball vocalist who doesn’t have the decency to wear dark glasses so I don’t have to look at his creepy half closed eyes? I mean, for chrissakes, this guy must have done some awards shows. Don’t tell me in all those swag bags, he’s never gotten a free pair of Ray-Bans.

Bocelli is appearing this week to shill his new album “Amore” which is a set of duets produced by Foster and sung with the likes of Christina Aguilera and Stevie Wonder. Oh to be a fly on the wall on that day in the studio. It’s too bad they couldn’t get Jose Feliciano to join them. They could have sat in a circle by a fire and passed around the one pair of dark glasses like the witches in Perseus and Andromeda.

Is it me, or does Bocelli, when he sings, sound like John Denver with an Italian accent? Apparently Foster is running the show this week while rehearsing with the idols. He gives it to them straight as I hoped he would, while Bocelli sits in the back spouting sayings off the Gallo wine bottles like “Only can you be great if it is your destiny to be great.” Meanwhile, Foster is telling Chris he only sings from the neck up. Ok, now I wish Ace was here this week.

Katharine McPhee is first and she’ll be singing “I Have Nothing,” by Whitney Houston, which David Foster wrote. This is a perfect match for McPhlatulence, as Houston was the originator of modern melisma and we have her to thank for all the Mariah Careys and Celines and Alicia Keys. No wonder she’s a crack whore. If that was my musical legacy, I’d be mainlining elephant tranqs. Foster works hard to get the ragtime stripper-ness out of McPhee’s voice, but is only partially successful. Put on the spot, Bocelli is forced to say Katharine could be an opera singer and they do a duet together. McPhee does everything but turn to the camera and scream “In your face, Pickler!”

Already, McPhee has a smile on her face while she’s singing. I have nothing, nothing, nothing, if I don’t have you. Oh wait, I have this big dopey fucking grin, too. She’s having trouble in her lower register, so what does she do? She smiles big and waves to the camera. Do you think Katharine has been having one long hallucination during this whole process and while we all see her on a stage, competing for the Idol crown, she sees herself riding down Pasadena Boulevard on a float in the Tournament of Roses parade? Kat preens and struts, pow, cut it out, no taking and no giving. She completely blows the advice Foster gave her in the key change and does the “shimmy like my sister Kate” vocal growl one does when they can’t quite hit the note. John Wayne Gacy is again crying in the audience. Do you think that when he had to change Kat’s diapers he used to boo-hoo over her boom-booms? Pesiha, come here! Look what our angel created!!

Now I see why McPhee smiles all the time. Toward the end of the song, she tries to go all Diary of Mad Black Woman on our asses and the effect is ludicrous. She quickly goes from stomp to smile for the big finish. Ok, so what did I think of the vocal? Well, it’s the kind of song that always gets votes and is easy to make sound good, unless you’re Lisa Tucker. Katharine will prove this week that being first doesn’t automatically land you in the bottom three. Katharine didn’t suck, but she didn’t do anything interesting with the song. What can you really do with a Whitney song? You can slavishly imitate it or you can try to slavishly imitate it and suck. Either way, you don’t come up a winner. Katharine fell somewhere in between.

The judges are not pleased. Randy says the song was too big for McPhee. I don’t agree. Kat has never met a melisma she couldn’t jab with a dull butter knife until it cried uncle and surrendered. Paula says Katharine looks gorgeous, which is the beginning of a diss, and says Katharine wasn’t in her natural zone and pushed the vocal. McPhee frowns at Paula, but tries to keep the faux smile in place. Simon says that by Katharine singing that song, she invited comparison with Whitney and lost. I actually think Paula’s comments were astute and well thought out for once and sounded better than either Randy’s or Simon’s. But this diss should rally the McPhee voters around her and keep her safe.

Okay, Ryan comes out and completely puts his size 5 Kenneth Cole into his mouth. He says to Katharine, “Well, I’m sure for those who had their volume turned down, you’re going to get votes,” complimenting Kat on her dress, but basically saying she sucked in performance. That’s our Ryan. Each Idoler has two numbers to call this week to get through. I wonder how that’s going to affect dialidol.com?

Elliott is up next and he is singing “A Song For You,” by Donny Hathaway. I don’t think I know this one, but, Bryan Adams notwithstanding, Elliott has great taste in choosing music. He says he wants to honor the memory of Hathaway’s music and bring it back to the forefront. Then how about helping to get the first season of “Maude” onto DVD?! One of Donny’s daughters, Kenya, is a back-up singer with the band. She looks all of 22 and I thought Donny died back in ’78. Once again in the clip, David Foster dominates, while Andrea dreams of cannoli and pinching Italian women’s asses. Foster rides Elliott hard and is kind of a dick to him, but for good cause. He really seems to improve Elliott’s vocal. Let’s see if Yamin implements it in the actual performance.

Hearing this song, I do know it, vaguely. I think The Carpenters covered it. Okay, the vocal was fucking shattering and I mean that in a good way, just simply, supremely beautiful and heartfelt. However- this is the first week where I can agree with comments in the past about Elliott’s personality while singing. The emotion in his voice was not coming through in body language or feeling. Perhaps it really has always been that way, though I don’t agree, but for this week and this song, he was lacking. I immediately had to rewind this and listen to it again without watching and it was even better the second time. A definite second “wow” moment of the season.

Randy did not like the arrangement, and I can’t comment since I am not familiar with the original, but he thought Elliott’s vocals were the bomb. Simon felt parts of it were like listening to a vocal master class and that it was superb, however he edited his previous comment of weeks ago when he called Elliott the best male singer in five seasons of the competition to now read “one of the best male singers”.

Paula had tears in her eyes and talked about how beautiful Elliott was and how he moved her and has done so from the beginning and she actually made me cry. Paula is on this week and I just want to hug her. And she’s right and Elliott is beautiful and as he progresses, he’s getting more so, because when someone has a gift like he does and feels it and connects with it the way he does, it radiates from within and lights up their whole being and it makes Elliott more handsome and better looking than if you were to just look at a photo of him. Whereas with someone like Ace, it’s the opposite. You look at a picture and you think, cute, hottie, whatever, but then he opens his mouth to sing and it’s false and forced and you start noticing his hair is stringy and his cheeks are a little too red. I just love Elliott so much and though I am prepared to say goodbye to him this week, it’s gonna be sad to go out on such an amazing performance.

And like the principal coming into the boys room to harsh my smoke buzz, here’s Kellie Pickler. Not only that, but now I’m running late because I took a phone call where I got offered a job to do a script analysis for a copyright infringement case. This is what professional writers do in between jobs, blogs, technical manuals and expert witness gigs.

Speaking of professionals, let’s see what the UPN’s answer to Reese Witherspoon has to say. Seems Pickler is bemoaning the fact that she doesn’t have a boyfriend. This leads into a painful, scripted piece of banter between her and Seacrest where she talks about the movie “Ghost,” the pottery wheel scene and the fact that she’ll be singing “Unchained Melody.” Thanks to residuals, I haven’t fallen so far that I’d be reduced to writing these little pieces in between the songs. When Kellie unleashes her Leann Rimes take of the song on David Foster and Bocelli, Foster stares at her, slack jawed, and the thought bubble over Andrea’s head likely says “Mamma Mia, this girl must have one a-smokin’ rack!” Foster tries to get Pickler to hit the high falsetto note at the end and she does a dreadful approximation of it, yet somehow satisfies him with it. Bocelli says she has a lovely personality, and correctly guesses that Kellie is a blonde. I wonder what gave it away?

Pickler already has two strikes against her at the beginning as the arrangement calls for her to start in the middle of the song. If you just came back from getting a baloney sandwich (forgetting you’re actually being served one via the television set at the same time) you might think you were joining the song already in progress. Kellie looks as though she’s in a trance and I’m guessing Chris took out a pocket watch and swung it in front of her eyes for ten seconds right before she went onstage. You know that only works in the movies and on Pickler. She hits a few raw notes here and there and it’s the only thing keeping me awake. I’ve never been a big fan of this song, but I acknowledge it’s a classic. And if you can’t put across the fact that it’s a classic, but instead while singing it make the entire audience wonder what it is they ever saw in the song, then you are a shitty singer. Kellie Pickler is a shitty singer. On her attempted falsetto at the end she manages to rally exactly one audience member to applaud. The rest of the crowd has otherwise been primed for Pat Collins, The Hip Hypnotist. I’m sorry, but this was way worse than last week.

Kellie already starts off with the scared little in-bred look on her face. Randy says she butchered it. Paula says she doesn’t see Kellie raising the bar and showing any greatness. Simon says it was monotonous and robotic and awful and then gets played off because of time constraints, but he got his point across and more importantly, they left little time for Kellie to make her retarded puppy face into the camera and beg for the country folk vote.

Paris is next, coming off last week’s amazing performance that somehow landed her in the bottom three, so one wonders what level the ego is going to be set tonight. Princess Urine will be singing “The Way We Were,” otherwise known as Ace and Ryan’s theme. Paris says this is the perfect song for her because at seventeen, she doesn’t have love thoughts, but she has memories. Okay, Macy Gray coming off a three week bender couldn’t have said something that stupid. We now have proof- Kellie is an infectious disease. Foster directs Paris to sing the first eight bars more softly and Bocelli says nothing of import while sounding like Luigi the pizza guy from The Simpsons. Why is he here besides to shill an album? Foster is doing all the heavy lifting.

Paris is dressed and wigged up like Carmela Soprano if she’d been played by Telma Hopkins, post-Bosom Buddies, pre-Gimme a Break. She’s channeling Fantasia mightily tonight and it doesn’t sound good. ¾ of the notes are there but I don’t think she has a clue as to what she’s singing and is bringing no emotion to it, just shouting. Randy says he liked it but wasn’t blown away, Paula says Paris oversang the song and Simon rushes through saying it sounded good, getting all snitty with Ryan. It wasn’t like Simon didn’t get anything out last time. What a little girl he can be sometimes. Paris burbles “Thank Yeww” three times before she disappears from my screen and I wonder if this was enough to get her to disappear from the show.

Back from the break and Taylor is up. He’ll be singing “Just Once,” which is obviously a new concept to him, especially when it comes to the buffet table. Andrea Bocelli flashes us his creepy, Masters of the Universe-looking eyeballs a couple times and says Taylor is “interesting.” Uh, is it too late to get my money back for the Learning Annex class I signed up for with this guy? Foster says Taylor has the most charisma of all the Idols and I suppose if tics and whoos translate to charisma, then yes, Taylor has it in spades.

I’m trying an experiment tonight. I decided to hold it until I really had to pee and then watch Taylor perform, so I could get an idea of what it is to be in his shoes. So here I go, dying to just hop up and head to the bathroom, but instead, I’m gonna watch Taylor sing.

Taylor is dressed like that proverbial drunk uncle at a wedding, in an undone tuxedo jacket and white button-down shirt. I’m now rocking back and forth in my chair as Taylor bombs on the first few low notes. Is it me or does it look like he’s reading the lyrics off the palm of his left hand? Taylor is really boring on this. Foster said Taylor should do well because the song itself is a star and yes, this is a great song to spotlight amazing vocals, so someone like Elliott, who has amazing vocals, should have sung it. What was said to Katharine about singing a Whitney Houston song should go double for singing a James Ingram song. Ingram has an incredible range and it’s terribly difficult to emulate him and if you can’t sing the song as well as he can, don’t even dare to attempt it. This was a shoddy job with a horrible anticlimactic ending and Taylor really should be in the bottom three this week, but he won’t. And except for some mild bouncing, I wasn’t sparked to run to the toilet, so that experiment was botched.

The judges, none of them, liked it and Paula interrupts Simon to yell at Taylor that we all love him, which is weird, since she didn’t particularly care for the performance herself. Goddamn it, you were doing so well tonight, giving really good, astute comments but you just couldn’t hold your shit together through two more songs before letting out the crazy, could you? I don’t ask for much from you, but this night was important!! Now no boy will ever want to take me to the dance and it’s all your fault, momma! I hate you!

Chris is bringing up the rear, which is a perfect dosage of televised ambien for me. In the excitement of watching Taylor get his head handed to him, I forgot to go pee. Ok, I’m back. Chris is going to be singing “Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman,” which is another song I really can’t stand, but Chris thinks it’s amazing. Foster blasts Chris for singing from his throat and gets him to lie on the floor and sing, forcing him to use his diaphragm. All it looks like to me is that Chris’s neck cords are straining even more and it doesn’t sound a bit different. Foster says that it could be the performance of a lifetime if Chris does it right. He starts to say “But…” and is cut off by the cameras. I’m sure I’ll be able to finish that sentence once I watch Chris.

Okay, I don’t know what key he’s singing in, but it doesn’t match the band. We now have two, count ‘em, two guitar players onstage with Daughtry. I can just see the negotiations that went on for this.

Ken, the director: Well, mate, I can’t give you a bloody mariachi band and a light show.

Chris: Okay, well, how about a three piece combo and I give up the smoke machine.

Ken: One guitar player and I’ll get an intern to flick the lightswitch on and off.

Chris: Two guitar players and my wife will sleep with you.

Ken: The one wif the bad teeth? She’s a right plum! It’s a deal.

I can’t understand a word Chris is saying. He’s mumbling into the mic and, oh here he goes, now he’s screaming and the words can be heard. Wouldn’t it just be the height of delight if Chris sang “One Trick Pony,” by Paul Simon? This is just screechy and tuneless and awful. The judges have to speed through their comments and they must have decided that after last week’s shocking placement of their boy in the bottom three that, not only would he get their pimp spot of going last, but that the judges would uniformly kiss his ass. This is exactly the kind of performance Simon railed at Chris for not two weeks ago.

Okay, my Top 6

1- Elliot
(HUGE SPACE)
2- Katharine
3- Chris
4- Paris
5- Kellie
6- Taylor

Who should go- Kellie
Who will go- Elliott, but if America comes out of their beef coma, then possibly Paris.

So there you have it- the greatest love songs of all time. Based on those selections I have one thing to say- Where the hell was Air Supply? Well, until tomorrow night when Elliott is probably once again undeservedly in the bottom three and Kellie is auditioning to be Bocelli’s personal seeing eye dog….

Seagulls out.

D'ya Think I'm Sucky? AI Re-cap 4/19

2006-04-19T23:17:00.000-07:00

Seagulls here, back in the ring to take another swing. I managed to get a few quick reads of other opinions on last night’s show and I find it very humorous, if not downright mindboggling, that the one week the general consensus about Kellie was that she tanked big time, I actually thought she wasn’t bad. I think I feel the same way about Kellie that I did about Bucky, except I actually liked Bucky, felt he was genuine and wanted to see him succeed. But like Bucky, Kellie’s performances were always so lackluster, that when she does something that sounds decent and clear, like she did last night, it’s a happy surprise. I also find it humorous that she basically broke water onstage last week doing Bohemian Rhapsody, yet there were many who thought she did a decent job. Just like Ace last week, who stunk out loud and everyone agreed. After Brian May spoke out against his portrayal on Idol, defending Ace, suddenly everyone had selective amnesia and decided it was one of Ace’s very best weeks. It’s all subjective and you can’t win for losing. Pickler, I still can’t stand you, but allow me to be the lone standing advocate for your performance last night.

Ryan sounds more pompous and pretentious tonight than usual, doing the announcer’s version of a McPhee, stretching each word to its maximum syllable capacity. We see a shot of Rod Stewart’s family and they should have phrased it “current” family, as neither Britt Ekland, Alana Hamilton-Stewart, Rachel Hunter nor any of their demon seed are in attendance. Rod’s had more spawn than all of the Camden clan on 7th Heaven put together. Thank god that show is finally going off the air. All those people do is preach and multiply. God forbid a woman in that town wanted to do something like live a life or go on the pill.

Ryan intros the judges and Paula’s snoobs are a bit more covered up tonight than on the previous show. We see a re-cap of last night’s show and Rod Stewart praises the contestants to the hilt. I have to say that Rod was actually really fun to watch. He seemed to genuinely enjoy working with the kids and I think they benefited from it. Even Kellie. But not Ace. Then we see snippets of the performances and Chris is even more dead-eyed than I remembered. I’d love to see the thought bubble go up while he’s singing. I’m imagining an old record player with the needle all the way at the end of the disc, just scraping against the label. Over and over, over and over.

Who was that old guy sitting in back of Simon last night? He looked like Jack Albertson. Where do they get these people to fill in the front row? Last week it was Fantasia, now this guy. We see Paris, then Kellie. I went back and listened to Kellie’s song twice and I still stand by my assessment. Maybe she can get Brian May to say she was portrayed incorrectly by the show and everyone will change their opinion. Then we see the two worst performances of the night, Taylor and Ace, and end it up with Katharine oversinging, as usual, while John Wayne Gacy sheds a tear in the audience.

I thought tonight’s commercial was somewhat cool, graphically speaking. I still think the kids sound like the 1910 Fruitgum Company when they group sing. Ryan tells us if we want fashion tips, to go to the Idol website. Yes, I’d love to find out how to get maternity outfits and wigs even Beyonce’ would reject as too ghetto. Ryan introduces Rod Stewart and is still over-enunciating his words as though he’s taken six no-doz. Ryan says Rod helped turn the show into what critics are calling the best American Idol show ever. Umm, from this season? No.

Rod comes out to the strains of “D’ya Think I’m Sexy,” and for a minute, I think he might actually sing it, but Ryan is going to interview him on the couch first, because Ryan is trying to show he can be the next Dick Clark, even if no one cares about that except for Ryan. But he has to figure out how to be able to write off the expense for that star on the walk of fame somehow. Rod says he’s working on an album of ‘70s rock classics and Rod, babe, your voice can’t handle the standards, it’s never gonna make it through Honky Tonk Woman or Blinded by the Light. And to prove that point, Rod gets up, metal hip clanking, and walks center stage to sing “The Way You Look Tonight.” He and the piano player take turns hitting the wrong notes. I don’t know who’s tinkling the ivories tonight, but Schroeder could have done a better job. We cut to a shot of Rod’s latest gold digger in the audience, swaying to the music, while a woman in back of her, who unfortunately bears more than a passing resemblance to Shelley Duvall, mouths along with the words. Again, where do they get these people? Rod finishes and the idols swarm him onstage, Pickler, in a tube-top, natch, getting right in his face and show her butt to the camera.

Back from commercial and it’s Ryan shines time. He breathlessly announces that next week, Andrea Bocelli will be the special guest star, coaching the contestants in the greatest love songs of all time. I’d love to see what the guidelines for that category are. I’ll be they’re a pip! Andrea is creepy looking. Why can’t he wear dark glasses like all the rest of the blind people?

Ryan is splitting the idols up again tonight into groups. The left side of the stage contains Elliott, Kellie and Katharine. The right side contains Chris, Paris and Ace. Now my money would be on the latter group, because it contains Ace. However it also contains Paris, who I think gave far and away the best performance of last night and if she is in the bottom three, then this really bears no resemblance to a singing contest. And with the other group, I could say the same thing about Elliott, except America doesn’t understand that he’s the best singer up there, plus America’s Sweet Tart, Pickler is there, after having given, arguably, her worst ever performance.

All that’s left is Taylor, who is safe. Ryan asks him to join whichever group he thinks is the safe one. Haven’t they put this old routine to bed yet? We did this last year and Bo pretty much had the final say on it when he refused to choose sides. After the commercial, Taylor is next to Seacrest and is forced to choose. Taylor walks over to Chris and extends his hand. Ryan jumps the gun and starts to say- I’m sorry, but- and Taylor walks over to the other side of the stage. He has picked the correct group and Kat, Kel and Elliott are safe. Paris, Ace and Chris are in the bottom three. Shocking about Paris, but I’d say Chris and Ace definitely belong there. The four jump for joy. Well, let me correct that; Kellie and Katharine jump for joy, Taylor and Elliott just stand still, kind of embarrassed and relieved. Katharine does the most irritating little cocky dance and I wish Paris would just tear off her wig right now and throw down on that white bitch’s ass!

Of the three left, Paris is safe and gets sent back to the couch. Goddamn right! Ryan asks Simon if he’s changed his mind after taking credit for Chris last night and Simon very snottily says, “I wasn’t the one up there singing.” But he also tells Ace point blank that he’s the one who will be going home. And sure enough, Ace has had a bad day.

Thus ends one of the most tortured, unconsummated romances in television history. The saga of Ace and Ryan, unfulfilled. Tomorrow at the airport, Ryan will see Ace off back to Colorado to lick his wounds, all the while checking out the other ‘mo in the family, Mark. He’ll put a hand on Ace’s cheek, whisper “Your brother is lovely, Hubble,” then turn and walk into the sunset where his limo is waiting.

And I’m sure whatever bowling alley Ace’s creepy brother hangs out in will be happy to get him back on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

We cut to a shot of Paris who managed one tear for Ace, probably with the help of a bar of soap or a drop of wig glue in the eye. We see a video montage of Ace, where the first thing he says is a very tentative, “Prepare yourself. I’m ready to entertain you,” as though the statement seems as unlikely to him as it does to all of us. I’m so happy this one is taking a mallet to his massive ego and I hope it hobbles him for a good long time. Ryan actually looks as though he’s aged ten years since the announcement and Ace takes the mic from him, mewls “It’s my time!” into it and begins to sing. I’m actually quite shocked when he doesn’t break into “One Night Only,” from Dreamgirls and instead does the wretched thing from last night. One last glance at Ace clutching the abs and he’s GONE.

Did you feel it, kids? That slight, almost imperceptible shift in the earth’s balance? Elliott not in the bottom three and Ace the hell off my tv screen for good? Sometimes, when you least expect it, there’s justice.

Until next week, of course.

Seagulls out.

Kellie Cracked Corn and I Don't Care. AI Re-cap 4/18

2006-04-19T17:05:00.000-07:00

I don’t care.

Yes, that’s right, I really don’t care. I sat down last night to watch Idol and do my re-cap and thought to myself, “I have better things to do, I’ll leave it till later.” Well, later came and I still didn’t care. The truth is, with one exception, this is by far the worst crop of Idols ever. You all know my choice, Elliott, is likely to get voted off within the next two weeks and without him, I wouldn’t give a nickel for all the other six combined. Last year, I had A-Fed, who, had I been a force of will, I would have gotten rid of very early on, but stuck around and actually improved every week. And of course, there was Bo, who I rooted for endlessly up to the very end. Season 3 had LaToya going to the Top 4. Seasons 1 & 2 were new and less pimping was going on, so it still felt like a competition rather than the greatest snow on earth. So I decided now, I just don’t care.

Then this morning, my friend Nic called me. Nic has warned me not to refer to him in my re-caps by his real name. He wants a pseudonym. I told him as soon as he does something worthy enough for a pseudonym, he’ll get one, but for the time being, he’s shit out of luck. Anyhow, Nic called me and said one word.

“Well?”

Nic loves Idol, but hates to talk about it. So for him to actually pick up a phone and elicit a response from me, while at work, I knew there was something unmissable about last night. So after I hung up on him and rolled back over to sleep, then got up, did my thing and returned home, I contemplated the re-cap. Then I sighed and realized again, I had better things to do. After all, it’s not as though I’m getting paid for this, like the TwoP guys. By the way, have you read their last few re-caps? Is Paula ghostwriting for them? Complete and utter unintelligible crap. Well, they can have it.

Signing online, I found messages from people-

Flock, where is your re-cap?

I got up this morning and there was nothing! What’s going on??

I didn’t watch the show last night. I need your re-cap to tell me what happened.

And so on and so forth….

Besides being a complete whore for positive feedback, I realized I had an obligation to the twelve or so people who read my re-caps every week. All season, I’ve led them on and I can’t possibly get up and walk away after only taking them to second base. We have to go all the way, kids, get to the top of the ship, ride the glass elevator down the burning high-rise, smack the shit out of Karen Black until her eyes uncross and she can land that fucking 747. So I’m here and I’m doing it for you.

And I’m a complete whore for positive feedback.
Crazy frog Seacrest is sporting his tribute to argyle socks by way of his tacky tie. There are way more signs in the audience tonight, so many that they almost completely cover Marilu Henner, who is in the audience with a very young boy who must be a child she had by surrogate, since that one’s womb dried up somewhere between “Perfect” and her flop talk show.

Seacrest smarms a bit, then introduces tonight’s theme, which is The Great American Songbook. This week’s past their glory guest is Rod Stewart, who has raped and pillaged this treasure trove of musical history, never underestimating the devotion of post-menopausal women who still remember when a mid ‘70s Rod made them as moist as a dish sponge. Rod’s voice is just gone. Alana Stewart Hamilton apparently got it in the divorce years ago and whatever was left, he gave over to Rachel Hunter.

We see Rod trying to justify why he took the snoozy way out and he talks about how these songs were the pre-cursors to Rock & Roll. Well, yes, Rod, in the same way that the Virginia Reel was the pre-cursor to the Charleston in that they came before each other. After speaking, Rod twists his mouth toward his mole and asks “S’alright?” To which the mole squeaks “S’alright, mate.”

We see a quick montage of everyone working with Rod and hear everyone sing except for Ace, who just gets a hug from Rod. Kellie is wearing a low cut top and her face, as well as her rack, falls when she sees Stewart has turned up at the rehearsal with his model girlfriend and their infant son. Kellie gets misty because it makes her think of her own son, I mean brother, back home in Albermarle.

We start the show off with Chris and ever since I saw the lobotomy victim that was his father last week, I can’t help but look at Chris in an even more negative light. All I hear is that droning monotone. Maybe John Peter Lewis needs help at the pen factory. Chris is singing “What a Wonderful World,” which is a song I despise. Chris is getting very breathy and waddles dangerously into Ace country while rehearsing with Rod. Chris says it’s harder for him to sing this sort of music because he’s used to belting out to the top of his lungs. Translation- I usually just scream and whatever sticks to the wall, well, that’s it.

Chris is dressed for that bartending gig he has to go to after the show is over. He starts out shaky, but it’s not bad, until he gets to the middle of the song and starts channeling Kowalczyk again. Not that Live covered this song, for all I know, but Chris just relies so heavily on emulating their lead singer, right down to the Parkinson’s disease vibrato, that all I can really do is just shrug.

Paula is smitten once again as she claps over her head, boobies a-heavin’. Simon looks so relieved that he doesn’t have to push Taylor as TCO and can get back to his original agenda. Randy says that Chris has proven that there is another side of him as a singer. I disagree. He sang it exactly the same way, he just quieted it down. Paula completely speaks for Simon and I just wish he would grab her by the extensions and slam her face down on the counter to shut her gaping maw up for good. Simon takes credit for Chris changing up his style and wildly overpraises him. Let me be clear, Chris wasn’t bad, he just wasn’t the second coming like the judges have all tried to foist upon him. But, let him win, it’s not going to do a thing for his career.

Paris is up next with a pimp-spot interview. She has her hair pulled back and a horsetail swiped from the Gene Autry museum attached to the back of her head with a clip. She also appears to have raided the wardrobe dept. at Fox and put on Sigourney Weaver’s costume from “Working Girl.” We get to hear all about what Paris did this weekend. She got an Easter basket and went roller skating and dancing with some friends (probably the Hugga Bunch pals).

Paris does sound good in the rehearsals with Rod and this may well be what everyone who was wowed by her initial audition has been waiting for, ever since. The problem is that we’ve gotten to know Paris since then and suffered through all her wigs and terrible performances and ego trips and once the damage is done, the damage is done. She may sing like an angel tonight, but I don’t think it’s going to change my impression of her.

Paris is singing “These Foolish Things,” and I’m closing my eyes so I don’t have to watch her stupid smile. I just want to be able to listen. What I’m hearing, besides singing well, is some weird, faux-french Eartha Kitt pronunciations. The vocals sound good, but affected. A slight bit of trouble on the lower register, but definitely a good performance. This is the thing for Paris, as well as Elliott. Pop music is not their forte. They are jazz vocalists and if either were to win, they would get packaged completely the wrong way. I would be happy to hear Paris sing like this the whole rest of the way, as long as I never had to hear her utter another word in her horrible speaking voice. And let’s see how big the ego gets next week since the judges are falling all over themselves, praising her.

We’re back with Taylor Hicks and instead of addressing the rumour that he’s a recovered alkie who was insulted by Simon’s proclamation that he was drunk last week while singing, Ryan brings up the desperately unfunny parody of Hicks done on Saturday Night Live this past week. They forgot to mention the one they did of Chris at the end of the broadcasting day when they showed the test pattern. Taylor of course loved it because it gives him an excuse to do his schtick. Ryan asks Taylor if he was offended and Taylor’s response- “No, flattery is a great form of humor.” Well, yes, when people flatter you, I tend to find it humorous, if a bit inexplicable.

Taylor is singing “You Send Me,” by Sam Cooke. Pardon me, but how is that a standard? I mean, I know it’s old, but wouldn’t that have been more at home during Barry Manilow week? Oh lord, Rod Stewart is encouraging Taylor to move around and dance onstage, so I’d better brace myself for Ticky McJumpy. Taylor comes out restrained and a bit dull. He’s technically proficient with the song, but he appears to be bored doing it. Then toward the end, his need for a Detrol LA kicks in and he starts squinching his crotch and shuddering like a fat Model T. His vocals completely go to shit as he has a premature orgasm in his pants and sacrifices voice for tics. The judges get it completely wrong by loving up that horrible ending. Even Simon proclaims it magic.

So far, I’m bored. My re-cap is boring, too.

Back from commercial and some brain-dead Von Trapp clone is holding up a sign in the audience that says “Ryan, will you be our brother?” I can’t fathom what that’s supposed to mean unless it’s in some sort of weird, demented, Flowers in the Attic scenario. Ryan is in the audience, surprise surprise, right in front of Ace’s creepy brother, probably asking what sort of chocolates Ace likes.

Elliott is with Rod Stewart and we’ve finally found someone since Stevie Wonder who Elliott is familiar with. He loves Rod and is honored to be in his presence. The feeling was mutual. Elliott is singing “It Had to Be You.” I’m going to make a prediction. He’s going to be awesome and Simon is going to dismiss the performance. Well, he was awesome and had good stage presence. His vocal was restrained, but not dull like Taylor’s was. Let’s go to the judges. Randy liked it, Paula loved it, Simon dissed Elliott’s personality and barely gave him props for the vocal. Gosh, I ought to open up a palm reading salon.

Kellie is next and in her rehearsal time with Rod, she tries out some new material on him. Byrd is there and even she looks embarrassed. Kellie is singing “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered,” three words I’m sure she’ll say she’s never heard of before. The vocal was decent. A couple of pitch problems, but I have to say, it’s the best she’s ever sounded and the clearest, also. This seems to be a good genre for the idols, but not such a hot one for re-cappers.

Surprisingly, the judges, after being handed a Pickler performance it wouldn’t be completely embarrassing to praise, botch it. Randy wasn’t impressed, Paula talks about the fashion and then says she can’t wait for Kellie’s acting career to begin. Sweetheart, it began the day she walked into that audition and mooed “Pick Pickler.” Simon also didn’t like it, but gave Kellie plenty of time to give her schtick and milk unnecessary sympathy from the audience. Okay, here’s where it becomes a problem for me. Kellie, with the exception of one or two bum notes, really didn’t do anything wrong, and in the whole pantheon of Kellie performances, this was the first one to show that she might actually have a voice under all her bullshit, yet she’s still forced to ladle on the cornpone and false humility. I’m seriously getting fed up with this show.

I’m counting on my man Ace to not let me down and to be a complete disaster. I need a disaster tonight and since McPhee was practically beaten with a wire hanger to learn this genre, it’s doubtful I’m gonna get it from her, so Ace is my go-to guy. Ace is singing “That’s All.” If anyone has ever heard Dianne Reeves version of this, then there’s no point in having to ever listen to fucking Ace Young butcher it.

Ace walks out in a suit and his hair slicked back in a Wall Street-Gordon Gekko late ‘80s ‘do that looks ridiculous. Within the first verse, Ace is singing through his nose, which proves you can dress the boy up, but you can’t take the boy band out of him. Ace is still clutching his abs, holding one hand out and bouncing, doing his dreadful falsetto. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t the disaster I wanted it to be. Randy says he’d rather hear Ace sing the whole song falsetto. Yeah, randy, that’s JUST want we need. Paula liked it and Simon even gave it some praise.

Katharine is last and I’m just looking to wrap this up. She’ll be singing “Someone to Watch Over Me,” which is much too low for her, at least in rehearsal. Katharine is sitting at the foot of the stage, dressed in one of Peisha’s old power suits. She’s smiling so genuinely into the camera, how can you not want to buy the cooking oil she’s selling? Oh, that’s right, she’s singing a song, not espousing the virtues of Wessonality. I got confused. This chick is the epitome of spokesmodel. The camera isn’t doing her any favors, giving her such extreme close-ups, that I’m about ready to suit up with Raquel Welch and take our ship into McPhee’s left nostril and sail around her bloodstream.

Someone who’ll watch over me-ee-ee-eeheehee-hee-ee-yeah-eh-ah. It was a dull performance with way too many beauty pageant smiles. Boooo-ring. The judges love it. Simon says Katharine made the others look like amateurs. Okay, sorry, I don’t get her appeal. I never have, I never will.

No one outright sucked tonight except for me. How can you be funny listening to elevator music? You can’t. No one stood out, no one pissed their pants, but I’ll give you 1-7, anyway.

1- Paris
2- Elliott
3- Kellie (god help me)
4- Chris
5- Taylor
6- Katharine
7- Ace

Who should go- Ace. Ace. Ace. Ace. Ace. Ace. Ace. Ace.
Who will go- Elliott, and then probably me.

See folks, you weren’t missing anything this week. I’m off to go hunt Nic down and kill him for getting my hopes up. By the way, the “well?” he was referring to was Kellie, who he thought was a disaster. I wish I could have shared his opinion.

Until next time, when my rage should be at it’s peak…

Seagulls out.

Ryan Seacrest- Center Square. AI Re-cap 4/12

2006-04-13T04:54:00.000-07:00

Fifteen seconds into the show and fucking Seacrest has already used the name I was planning to call this re-cap, Another One Bites the Dust, and I’m pissed. Not because he took it, but because I realize I’m no less lame than that fuck-tard or whoever writes his cue cards. Yeah, it’s Wednesday and I’m pissy because tonight’s show is a time wasting full hour and it’s 1AM and I’m just getting around to doing this now. I started reading a book around 8:00 and the next thing I knew, five hours had gone by. And I have a full day tomorrow so it’s now or never. And my next door neighbor who is my age and is at Dreamworks, so you’d figure she’d be at the fucking Mondrian trying to hit on Wilmer Valderama, goes to bed every night at 9:30 and throws shit fits if I so much as crack my knuckles, so I have to keep the TV low. But hey- On with the show!

Ryan didn’t shave today or moisturize. The frog eyes are particularly bulgy. Perhaps he was up crying all night because he realized this might be the last time he gets to see Ace and America will no longer be privy to watching them act out “The Way We Were,” all across the stages of Idol. Seacrest is dyslexic tonight as he says the good news is we have an hour, but the bad news is we have to let someone go.

Ryan calls the judges Queens in trying to make some lame ass joke that, surprise surprise, falls flat. For all those who wondered whatever happened to Rod Hull’s puppet Emu, look no further than Randy Jackson’s shirt. Paula’s in her cups already and Simon looks at Seacrest, thinking- we gave up Dunkleman for this? Ryan asks Paula if looking back at the tapes from last night, it was more apparent that the music of Queen might have been too difficult for the contestants to handle. Paula fumphs for a few seconds, because she can barely make it through the live show, let alone watch a tape and says nothing of consequence or import, with the exception of accusing Cowell of tickling her under the table. No dear, those are the beginnings of the DTs. Randy says that the girls have to sing better and show a little personality, which means more boobies (except for Paris, who needs to come out next week in roller skates, rainbow suspenders and deely-boppers attached to her wig.)

Now Seacrest gets into bullshit banter with Simon and this, this, THIS is why we have to have one hour shows, because Ryan can’t keep his fucking mouth shut. God, I’d love to see him get into a bar fight and get his ass kicked to hell. Even a sucker punch that sent the Pink Squirrel flying out of his hand and across the table. Something. Anything.

We see reruns of last night’s performances and in the calming serenity of 24 hours, they look even worse. I think we were all shell-shocked last night into expecting an eight body massacre and when we only got a minor disaster, we somehow convinced ourselves it wasn’t so bad. (Well, I knew it sucked shit, but I’m trying to give many of my friends the benefit of the doubt.) Looking at it again, it’s abundantly clear that a last days of Pompei-like phenomenon needs to come along and wash away this year’s crop so we can just start over. Hell, I’m getting misty for Brenna.

The Idols are doing a group sing, the first in many weeks, performing “A Kind of Magic.” Behind them, we see footage from the auditions. Let’s see how many people we can count that should be onstage in place of the remaining eight. It’ll be like punch buggy or car bingo or name that rash. I’m sorry, they’re doing a medley and tying the footage to it. How…clever? Ace takes the lead on Killer Queen to footage of Rhonetta. Paris is irresistibly drawn to the screen because she can’t take her eyes off Rhonetta’s wig and if you turn up the set, you can hear her mutter into the mic, “Mm, gonna get me one a those!” Ace is rocking the sleeveless t-shirt to see if he can cause Ryan to have an accident in his Hugo Boss. If only his falsetto was that solid. This split screen crap is annoying. I want to be able to make fun of the sub-par Debbie Allen choreography, but all I can see is the girl with the swiss miss braids and a big blue sticker over Rhonetta’s twat. The idol-ettes do Under Pressure, Don’t Stop Me Now, Another One Bites the Dust, You’re My Best Friend and if ever there was an act destined for Branson, Missouri, it’s these kids. The stage show I saw at the Disney theatre before “Finding Nemo,” rocked harder than this.

We see footage of Mandisa and Paris playing a game of bible-sanctioned pattycake, the winner of which got to go out and disparage the gays. And there’s Katharine getting a kiss on the lips from Simon, pretending he didn’t reek of hand rolled cigarettes, from Paula, pretending she didn’t reek of gin and vomit, and from Randy, pretending he didn’t reek of the last six meals he consumed the previous hour. The big finale is Taylor leading the kids in a chorus of “We Are the Champions,” and after hearing it, he made the right choice to swap out songs last night. Will Makar is in the audience with his $8 haircut and the same shirt he wore three times while on the show. Couldn’t they have given him a mercy makeover?

After the break, we see the latest Idol commercial. Nuff said. Ryan asks who picked out the wardrobe for the golf-themed spot and Ace fesses up to it. Ryan asks if he was blindfolded (Stop, my sides. Really, just toooo funny, Ryan. Larf.) and Ace lies through his teeth, saying it’s the first time he’s worn pink. Ryan says he’s worn it many times, probably on his toenails.

I can finally get a look at the outfit Katharine has on and I’m guessing after the taping tonight, she’s gonna go stomp grapes with Lucy Ricardo in Italy. Since we have 45 more minutes to kill, Ryan decides to ask the Idols if they’re homesick. He wants to know what Taylor misses the most and Hicks says the southern cooking, specifically barbecue and turnip greens. You’d never know it from his rapidly expanding waistline. Kellie misses fried okra. Actually what she missed was her cue to say “Whut’s a tur-nip greeeen?” Paris misses fried chicken with hot sauce. Now you can’t tell me anyone who has shopped for all the wigs she wears hasn’t passed a place that makes good fried chicken. Elliott misses his family and friends and his basketball. Ace misses things that he probably doesn’t even do, like football and hiking. Ryan practically channels the spirit of the late Paul Lynde as he simpers to Ace, “You clearly aren’t missing the gym,” while licking his chops at Ace’s biceps. Teri Hatcher is at home, smacking her forehead, going, “Shoulda stuck with Clooney.” We have no idea what Bucky misses, because we can’t understand a word he says, literally. Katharine misses her dog, because he’s the only one she can trust. Chris misses his wife and kids, which is a pretty dumb thing to say, considering they’ve been in the audience for the past two nights. But I’m guessing if I had that frump to go home to, I’d have the bodyguards ban her from the green room.
Oh look, there are taped hellos from the parents of all the Idols, as though most of them aren’t in Los Angeles with their kids, as we’re treated to shots of them every week. First up is the dragon lady, Peisha McPhee, who only lives ten fucking minutes away from where the kids are staying. She and her hubby have the McPheever.

Ace’s parents are named Jay and Kay. Really, they are. We see Elliott’s mom, Taylor’s mom, who has the gaudiest fucking lamp in her living room that’s pink and in the shape of a flamingo. And here’s Jamecia, the self-described “legend” saying hello to Paris and wishing her well, as though the poor girl can’t menstruate without momma and grandma coming in to check the color and consistency of the flow, then praising Paris for how well she bled on the cotton.

I dig Bucky’s mom. She just seems cool. If you want to see what Chris Daughtry is going to look like in 25 years, just take a look at his dad. They look like Millhouse and his father. I think both his parents were lobotomized before the last election. They speak in matching monotone drawls. And now we see Clyde Pickler, Kellie’s grandpa, along with a very small boy who is billed as Kellie’s brother, but I’ll be any amount of money it’s a creepy Chinatown situation with the kid being her brother, her son, her brother, her son, her brother….

After the montage, Ryan makes light of the fact that Elliott is tearing up, moved by the messages. Ryan espouses the importance of family, as if he hasn’t filed gag orders against everyone he was ever related to so they can’t spill the beans about things like his real age, sexuality, height, etc… Oh, thank god, it’s a sweet, blessed commercial.

Oh my god, that last segment was only three minutes long. We still have 38 minutes to go. Ryan introduces next week’s theme, telling us that the contestants are going to be coached by Rod Stewart and performing standards like the ones he’s mangled on his last four albums. So it shouldn’t be a train wreck for anyone by Kellie and Bucky. We see a minor career retrospective on Stewart, chock full of tons of close-ups. Do you think the mole on his cheek is any relation to that small planet over Aaron Neville’s eye?

Gaaaawwwd, more fucking footage of the Idols’ hometowns. Ryan’s going one by one and telling them who is in the bottom three. We’re stuck watching Taylor’s backing band play and talk about him. Good grief, I would not want to be around those three when a plate of nachos is put down in front of them. Apparently, they’re still playing without Taylor, but I’m sure they’ll be back with him in a couple months playing bars. Taylor is safe.

Then we see probably the only two people who can still stand being around Katharine, her parents. They show us footage of Katharine babbling into microphones at age two and carry on as though she’s performing an aria. Best in Show, anyone? Katharine is safe and she does a little self-satisfied head waggle.

We’re treated to footage of Chris Daughtry’s brother, who makes Bucky look and sound like Albert Schweitzer. Chris clearly got the looks and the brains in the family, and his brother says he also got his talent from mom and dad. Cut to the lobotomy folks, still in the same position they were in from the last time we saw them, still droning on. Yeah, I bet dad is a hoot at open mike night. Chris is safe, so there goes the accuracy of dialidol.com, who predicted Chris, Ace and Bucky in the bottom three. I wonder if Chris read the boards today, because he really looked as though he thought he might be in the bottom three.

Back from commercials (sweet, sweet commercials) and we’re up to Pickler. Ryan had earlier handed Katharine a handkerchief because she got misty watching footage of herself as a young girl, proud of how she sounded even then. Kellie, not wanting to be outdone, dug a Miss Lee press-on nail into her own thigh until she could squeeze out a few tears and then snatched the hankie away. Ryan, money-obsessed freak that he is, asked for the hankie back and Pickler said- “I’ve got the snot rag.”

Charmed.

We’re now going back to Albermarle to listen to Humbert Humbert, I mean Grandpa Pickler, talk about his pride and joy. All around the town, people have up signs of support for Kellie. I’m moving there immediately to provide an opposing viewpoint.
Kellie is safe and every time they cut back to the group of contestants, Ace deflates a little bit more and his clapping becomes more wan and robotic. Kellie brings the hankie back to Ryan and he backs away from it, because it’s not enough that she be safe for turning in one of the most putrid performances ever seen on an Idol stage, but she has to milk the fucking cornpone even more.

Ryan LITERALLY sashays back to the podium and throws the hankie at Elliott. Elliott’s mom says really great stuff about him and it feels very genuine. Elliott is in the bottom three because America would rather have a moron like Pickler around than to listen to the person with the best voice onstage. Ryan asks Randy why Elliott is in the bottom three and I truly love Jackson’s answer. He says that around this time every year, America goes a little crazy and usually picks the wrong people to be in the bottom three. He says they have to be wrong because Elliott can SING! He’s right. Remember last year this time Nadia Turner got voted off and the year before that was Jennifer Hudson. Ryan asks Elliott to sing and he looks stunned at the request, not sure if it means that he’s going home. It would have been nice to tell the contestants all the bottom three were going to have to sing. Poor Elliott looks like a deer caught in Ace’s headlights, but he sings, anyway. And boy, does he sing. How can anyone listen to this guy and not hear what an amazing voice he has? If he stays tonight, I think this performance, coupled with the video footage will help him in the long run.

We get stuck now having to watch video footage about Ace. Instead of interviewing his very first Weho john, we see his boring parents again tell us about how Ace likes to go hiking and fishing and hunting… Yes, we know, he’s manly. He fixes roofs and wrestles giant squid and I hear they’re using his sperm to cure cancer. We get it. We meet two more of Ace’s five brothers, Duff and Mark, the ugly ones in the family. They’re kind of like the two older Osmonds that were born deaf and sort of deformed looking and were forced to sell t-shirts and mail out 8x10s of Donny and Jimmy instead of singing with the other kids. If Ace isn’t gay, then I’d lay odds his brother Mark is, so maybe Ryan can marry into the Young family one way or another. Ace is in the bottom three and Ryan asks Paula if, after watching the show back, she thinks Ace was better than her initial impression. Paula hates these sorts of questions, because she doesn’t want to lie (basically because she’s used up all of those to cover her drinking) but she has no idea how to tell a convincing whopper. Simon says Ace was just as bad the second time watching as seeing it live. Ace performs and he sucks yet again. I am going to wake the bitch next door up shouting with glee if he goes home tonight, if only to celebrate never again having to look at his nasty, sweaty pit hair.

Bucky’s dad talks about the town of Rockingham and how they lost the speedway a couple years ago, but that the town is polarized to vote for Bucky and he wells up, speaking about all the support he’s seen for his son. This was the only other genuine video besides Elliott’s. And since the last one is Paris, we know it’s not gonna be three.

We see Paris’ grandmother, who apparently scalped Bernadette Peters moments before this video was shot and slammed the hair on top of her own head. Granny Annie tells us Paris was going to be a gynecologist, which says more about those outfits and wigs than three years of therapy ever could. Of course, the waterworks are flowing down Paris’ cheeks.

Bucky is in the bottom three and Paris is so busy praising her folks in the audience that Bucky has to tap her on the leg for a little sympathy. Bucky gets up to sing “Fat Bottomed Girls,” and doesn’t do as good a job as last night. What I find interesting is that the audience rose naturally for both Elliott and Bucky, yet Ace had to yell for them to get up and even after that they were kind of like, uch, really?

Ryan asks Simon which of the three he thinks it will be and Simon says based on last night’s performance (but forgets to say- and the past four weeks) he thinks it will be Ace. Ace tries for a poker face, but little Dondi looks like he’s gonna cry buckets.

Bucky is going home. Paris looks sad, and even Ace’s brother in the audience looks like he thinks they picked the wrong guy. Now, I know Bucky was never going to win this thing or even come close, but damn it, he was one of the only people left on this show who was genuine and likeable. Since we’re obviously not voting for singing, otherwise, what the fuck are Pickler and Ace still doing on this show, not to mention 3 or 4 of the others, why does Bucky have to go? Katharine has no personality, Paris is irritating as hell and Chris is like a shouting stucco wall.

Bucky, I will miss you. You did something no Idol has ever done on this show yet, you actually showed progress from week to week and proved you belonged where you were. Good for you and good luck.

If this fucking show is an hour again next week, someone’s gonna be sorry.

Oh yeah, me.

Seagulls out.

There's Got to Be a Morning After. AI Re-cap 4/11

2006-04-12T14:56:00.000-07:00

Tie your mother down, it’s time for this week’s performance episode of American Idol. Tonight, the contestants will be biting into whole chunks of the music of Queen. Raw. My re-cap this week will also be a little different as I will be comparing and contrasting the performances done at the dress rehearsal to those done live on the show. Granted one was viewed in person and one on television, but I’ll do my best, which is more than I can say for a certain eight people.

Before we get into that, what can we say about Mandisa that hasn’t already been stated ad nauseum? She came, she sang, she pissed off the gays. This is a woman who is emulating the career of Donna Summer. Backwards. But it’s okay, Mandisa. Whenever you want to take back what you’ve said and renounce your prejudiced views, we’ll take you in. We’re a forgiving people. We took in David Geffen. We took in Rosie O’Donnell. If Tom Cruise ever wiggles out of the palm of the iron giant and confesses all, well, I’m sure we’ll even take him in. Hell, we’ve put up with Liza and her crazy ass for 40 years, we’re nothing if not dedicated.

So on with the show. I have two words for you. Seacrest shaved. Is it any coincidence that this happened the same time Teri Hatcher came clean and admitted she was still single and she and Ryan were just friends? Hey, Ryan, we’ll even take you in.

Homeboy is tiny live, like he’d been beamed from his new 11.5 million dollar home to the set of AI by Wonkavision. Ryan claims the songs of Queen are really going to test the talents of the Idols. Or flunk them. Cresty intros the judges. Did anyone see Paula on Leno last night? Girlfriend couldn’t make it through a ten minute appearance without a martini that would have choked Elaine Stritch. I don’t really watch the show, so tell me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression guests don’t drink while they’re being interviewed. I think we all know what’s in Paula’s coke cup, and it’s not the new olive flavored diet coke.

Ryan takes us on a journey through the career of Queen, starting with a stadium full of mindless people-bots chanting We Will Rock You, then Kellie Pickler in a car trying to jump start her brain, rocking out to Bohemian Rhapsody. $10 says she calls Brian May Freddie. Seacrest talks about their many hits and stadium anthems. I find it a bit ironic and amusing that so many lunkheaded homophobes will chant these songs but not realize or conveniently forget that the man singing them was gay and died of AIDS, a fact Ryan leaves out when mentioning Freddie’s shocking demise in 1991, leaving us to assume he fell down a ravine or accidentally stabbed himself with pinking shears.

We get to see the idols meet Queen and Kellie rushes up, knocking everyone out of the way and hugs Paul Rodgers, braying, “I’m Kellie!” I will never forgive Roger Taylor for not pulling out a gun right then and there and sparing us all Pickler’s rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. We see them all rocking out and based on this, none of them look the least bit equipped to play on a stage even ¼ the size of the one they’re on. Mandisa is still in the footage, because they decided to torture whoever was going to be voted out last week by making them go meet Queen, anyway. A bit sadistic and I like it.

Ryan tells us that the director of the video for Bohemian Rhapsody is none other than Bruce Gowers, the director of American Idol. We get a shot of Bruce in the control room and since he actually knew the band in their heyday, I search the room to see if I can spot the extra large bottle of Mylanta he will be swigging from throughout the evening. Ryan tries a little humor with Bruce and it falls flat. Flat. Very flat. Ryan seriously cannot handle a joke.

Though I know what’s about to come, more or less, I strap myself in for a disaster of such epic proportion, Charlton Heston is going to be a special guest star. Bucky is up first and will be singing “Fat Bottomed Girls.” We see footage of Bucky onstage with Queen (or as I like to call them- two guys from Queen, the lead singer of Bad Company and some other dude.) Brian May & Roger Taylor talk about Bucky’s…enthusiasm. Roger looks dubious even discussing this, but not as dubious as Mandisa, who is looking at Bucky as though he just dedicated his song to her. I wonder if we’re going to be treated to shots of Mandisa throughout the evening, a sort of Pennebaker-ian touch of docudrama.

Okay, Bucky is much more relaxed when the show isn’t live. He stiffened up severely for this performance. His vocals were about on par for both, which I thought were pretty consistently flat, but still decent. I don’t know what it is but I can’t seem to judge Bucky as harshly as I would any other contestant. I thought this was a good performance for Bucky, maybe in his top three. Oh, and he’s way cuter in person, Pen.
Randy liked the performance, Paula completely mis-analyzed it and said Bucky made it into a country song, which he didn’t, he just sang a rock song and tackled it proficiently. We cut to Simon and who is in back of him but the thief of LaToya London’s career, Fantasia Barrino. Fantasia has been busy promoting her new bio-pic deal for Lifetime, The Fantasia Barrino story, which she’ll star in as herself. Now, see, they would have had me if they’d cast one of their old standbys like Connie Sellecca or Donna Mills or Markie Post, but who’s gonna watch a movie about Fantasia starring Fantasia? Puh-lease. Simon says Bucky’s performance was mediocre. I disagree, but Simon has never liked Bucky and Bucky’s never gonna give a performance that Simon likes until Cowell is ready to get rid of him.

Ace is up next and let me tell you, this one has an ego like nobody’s business. No one milked the applause more than he. Ace will be singing “We Will Rock You.” Cue George Kennedy to come in and try to land our plane, cause it is going down. Ace is being pimped out to the nines by Seacrest who asks him how the intensity of the competition has changed. Ace’s answer- every week it gets more and more intense. I tell you, these chat spots really give you a whole new insight to the contestants not just as singers, but as human beings. Because Ace is not only battling the challenge of being talent-free, he’s battling the challenge that all of us face- life.

Ace is wearing a necklace made out of brown beads that looks like something you’d find at a Ren-Faire booth, made by a mentally challenged Native American girl who’s just trying to battle the challenge of life, which is why Ace bought it. We see Ace onstage with Queen and he’s trying to explain to them what he wants to do with the song. Brian interrupts him and says, “I don’t think we’re going to play your arrangement.” Ace’s cheeks turn even brighter and he sort of shrinks back. I love you, Brian May. I’ll even stop slagging that fuck-wad musical they made of your song catalog. For a week or two. We see Ace trying another approach and Brian laughing at him and saying, “No, can’t do that. Not to my own song. No.”

Okay, a month.

Ace comes out dressed in a chocolate-striped Constantine shirt and black leather pants that are so baggy, I do believe their former owner was Fred Mertz. Seriously, he looks like he’s wearing a pair of adult diapers under there, which is apropos for him, considering he usually takes a big dump onstage, metaphorically. He begins clapping and encouraging the audience to do the same. I want you all to picture me, sitting there, arms folded, with my best Kat McPhee look on my face while everyone else around me clapped, then some caught glimpses of me, immediately felt like schmucks, and stopped clapping. I shut down half a row before ennui took care of the rest.

The first half of the song wasn’t terribly embarrassing, just kind of karaoke with no falsetto, thank god. But then in the second go-round, Ace starts to do this weird guttural kind of singing and goose-stepping around the stage. Ace definitely saved his showboating for the live broadcast. I think he has more confidence, however misplaced. Let’s go to the judges after taking a peek at Mickey Dolenz in the audience.

Randy says it was a 5 out of 10 and was very karaoke. Paula tries very hard to tell Ace it didn’t suck, but even the little guy on the Beefeater label under the table was pulling on her stockings, going, “Paula, luv, it was arse. Tell the boy it was arse.” Simon tells Ace that Randy was being generous, that the performance was a mess. Randy chimes in that yes, he actually was being kind. I don’t know that I agree that it was a mess. Drops of Jupiter was like someone took a huge shit onstage. This was more of a spilled glass of chocolate milk. Simon says he hated it and that means Ace is safe this week.

Ryan asks Ace what he thought and Ace of course feels he rocked. Ryan asks if he was uncomfortable with the whole Brian May situation, alluding to the tape and Ace is still selling t-shirts in the souvenir stand of his mind and doesn’t understand, completely ignoring Ryan’s question and continuing to talk about the performance. Ryan just lets it go. He and Ace will have a good laugh about it later in the hot tub.

Midnight. New Year’s Eve. The S.S. Poseidon. Kellie Pickler takes the stage to sing “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Suddenly, a wall of water 100 feet high decimates the ship, turning it upside down. Death, destruction, carnage- everywhere. Then, from the wreckage, a voice mews out, clear as a bell-

“Aahm sawww-reeee.”

Kellie Pickler. Jason Biggs. Ned Beatty. And Burt Reynolds as Captain Moe, in…

The Big Boat! Coming this summer.

Yes, it is Pickler time. Yes, she IS singing that. Yes, it will suck the poison out of any rattlesnake bite. Kellie says she first heard Queen when she was a little girl. Her dad used to listen to them. And in an ironic twist of fate… yeah, you know where I’m going. We see Pickler onstage with Queen doing her best Britney Spears impersonation, running her hands up and down her body while doing something to BoRhap that can’t really be called singing. It’s more like a sexual assault. Brian and Roger say Kellie was brave to tackle the song, but that it was well done and they love her. Of course their faces resemble the expression the second before the moment of impact, so who can say if they mean it.

Kellie is dressed as though she’s about to sing “Mr. Roboto,” and her hair and make-up are a mini-disaster all their own. If this is what the North Carolina guy is doing, then I’ll be happy to contribute to help him stay in Los Angeles. She has bags under her eyes so big, Mandisa is sitting in the left one, whispering “Do it for Jesus, girl!” Kellie is so fucking pitchy and flat, then sharp, then flat, no wait, she’s sharp and… Oy! But of course, she’s strutting around like the saucy little minx she is with stiletto heels, so Simon will love her, even though with that make-up and lighting job, she resembles a young Beetlejuice. This is about on par with the rehearsal performance, to the point of the mistakes being in the same place. The only reason it wasn’t more of a disaster is because they gutted the song from tip to top and left not much material for Pickler to eviscerate. I’m sure if the producers could have just had Kellie step onstage in a see through halter, yell “Bohemian Rhapsody, y’all!” and stand there for the next 1:40, they would have. I can tell you this audience is more generous, as are the judges. Randy, Paula and Simon all thought Kellie worked it out. I agree. Out of her colon. Simon says that on paper, it shouldn’t have worked but that-

And here’s the comment that’s going to burn up every AI newsgroup and blog for the next week, possibly even longer. Kellie interrupts Simon to squeal- “Huh? On Paper? Whut?” Simon almost rolls his eyes, but stops himself, because after all, they’re pimping this chick and just says never mind. Hey, Mandisa, guess what? The world of Idol just stopped talking about you. I think by now all my readers know which side of the fence I perch when it comes to Kellie and her naiveté, so suffice to say I’m not moving from this spot anytime soon. Kellie then says to Ryan about Simon, “He uses the weirdest terminologies.” That’s an awfully big word for someone who doesn’t know what a ballsy is or what something working on paper means. But hey, she’s down home and folksy and would never lie to us.

Chris is up next and I have to be honest, I’m bored watching this on tv and I was bored watching it live. Being in the audience wasn’t as fun as I’d hoped it would be. I didn’t even get the chance to sneak backstage and trash all the other contestants with Katharine, which is really why I went. It sort of ruins doing the recaps for me, because I already know half of what I’m going to say and then I’m trying to remember things from before and I can’t so I come up with weaker substitutes and it’s all just a mess. I need a xanax.

Queen likes Chris, because they haven’t seen his last handful of performances that were all the same. He’ll be singing “Innuendo,” which is a song I barely remember and don’t care about. In fact, I can’t even remember how it goes from hearing it a few hours ago. All I keep thinking is Roger Taylor used to be cute, but now he just looks like he forgot to put in his false teeth.

Wow, this is so bad. Now I remember it and he wasn’t this awful in the rehearsal. Chris has on more eye make-up than The Lady Bunny. He’s growing a beard to go with his goatee and you know Seacrest is fuming because it looks way more natural, as does Chris with a woman. Chris is screaming his shaky vibrato all over the place on this completely unmelodic song and it reminds me I have GOT to take my car in this weekend for a re-alignment. No more putting it off! No wonder Queen never sang this song live. Except for a couple of very off notes in the beginning, it’s a typical Daughtry performance. You hear it once and you might go “cool.” But you hear it every single time, no matter what the song is and you yawn, golf clap and go, “oh, that again.” Camryn Mannheim is in the audience screaming for Chris. Boy, they’ll let anyone in there.

And judges say… Randy starts a little fake out before he declares a hot one tonight. Paula takes off her shoes and just squashes dozens of words into meaningless paste and Simon says, good vocal, horrible song choice, echoing my statement of no wonder Queen doesn’t do this song live. Mmmhmm. He tells Chris he was a disappointment because he could have chosen a better song and had a moment, but instead, he chose something self-indulgent. I agree. Chris chose something where he wouldn’t have to stretch as a singer, something he could slap his own brand of snore on and no one would be the wiser, because no one knows the song.

Katharine is next and she has decided to change songs and sing “Who Wants to Live Forever.” In my opinion, this was almost as big a disaster as Pickler, because it’s a song that should not be screamed and shrieked. It’s a great song that can get by with minimal vocal power and I think the message comes through stronger the more gently and heartfelt it’s sung. But McPhee has no idea how to connect with a song, as has been mentioned in the past, she just goes out there, smiles and shrieks it with not an ounce of subtlety. Mandisa was going to do this song before she got voted off and I think she would have handled it in the same way, probably even worse. Someone like Elliott, who has better control of his phrasing and knows how not to oversell a song could have pulled this off better. Hell, I actually think Ace could have done this particular song better, and McPhee has a way better voice than he has. Randy liked it but said it was pitchy. Paula compared her to Celine and Barbra in the shrieking parts and Simon says it was almost a wow moment, but that Kat ought to thank the lighting people because she never looked better. I agree. From the waist up, that blouse really complimented her, but with the pants and belt, it didn’t work.

Speaking of Elliott, he’s sitting with Seacrest in a pimp-chat spot (I think his first in how many weeks since the show’s been on?) and they may as well not have bothered because even double rehearsed, it still comes off as awkward and stilted as it did the first time. Elliott is singing “Somebody to Love,” which is not a song that I A)like or B) think is a good choice for Elliott.

Okay, great example of comparison here. First off- wow, Elliott pulled the shit out. This was way better than rehearsal. That being said, the mix favored the backup singers too much in many spots and I had to turn up the set to hear him better, which was not a problem live. But he was much more confident and on his game and he really made this song his own. I think Brian May telling him that the song was written with Aretha Franklin in mind really freed him and helped. I couldn’t be more pleased because in all honesty, when I left this afternoon, I was worried. On a side note, I have to say, Elliott is starting to look a lot better and more attractive. Once he fixes the teeth, I think he’s good to go. He needs to keep the hair long and the goatee. Randy says there were pitchy parts but that Elliott chose the hardest song and that is was great. Paula concurs and once again, Simon can barely be bothered to comment, only saying that Elliott pulled it off. I really don’t understand what he has against Elliott except for the fact that the boy is missing tits and a cooch for Simon to fantasize about.

Taylor explains that he has switched his song from “We Are the Champions,” to “Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” which sources say was imposed upon him rumored to be because tomorrow night there will be a group sing of it. Taylor claims that he wanted to get back to an upbeat song that he could dance to, because we all know Taylor is so graceful onstage.

Hey, everybody, come on down, crazy Uncle Taylor is drunk again and he’s going to sing, while doing the Bedrock Twitch! Taylor starts out at the mic stand and his vocals are good, even though he still has to pee from last week. Then he attempts to kick over the stand and can’t get his fat thigh up that high in those tight jeans, so he has to try it again. If we’re on the Poseidon, I vote him to play Shelley Winters. Hicks then takes off on his rampant spasms and the back of his ugly jacket looks like there’s a huge sweat stain on it, though it could be the crush of the fake velour. Either way, it’s hideous. He does this fucked up jump-step move on the stairs that I swear he cribbed from the movie “Annie.” Again, a very good vocal but the retardo dancing brings the whole of the performance down. If he insists on doing this, then learn a routine or at least some steps that makes it look like he’s not going to die of cirrhosis in five years.

Randy says it’s great to see the old Taylor back after two weeks, Paula says she doesn’t know whether to give Taylor a record contract or a strait-jacket (but meant it as a compliment) and Simon thought it was hideous and asks if Taylor is drunk, which will ensure Taylor’s votes. If you close your eyes and just listen to him sing, it sounds very good, good enough that the sight of his ham-fatted thighs rubbing together doesn’t detract enough to make it hideous. Ryan toddles out onstage and Randy yells that Simon is drunk, which of course, prompts Seacrest to say, “Someone on the panel is drunk.” I swear he has no sense of decorum. Ryan would start whistling the theme to “Flipper” in front of a bunch of Thalidomide children and not get why that’s bad timing.

Paris brings up the rear (heh) and is singing “The Show Must Go On.” Brian May loves her, loves everything about her. Now we know who’s been voting. Princess is wearing the most inexplicable wig, yet, like something Alfre Woodard would be forced to wear if she had played a hooker on an old episode of “Cagney & Lacey.” Add to that a pleather outfit and weightlifting gloves and it’s just a mess. The performance is half okay, half terribly flat, which is exactly how it sounded live, only a little more ear splitting. Randy feels Paris worked it out, Paula thinks she showed what a rock chick she is and all Simon can get out is he felt it was all a little weird before he gets played off by the theme song. Ryan comes out and slams him for being so helpful, but if we didn’t have to waste so much time of Seacrest’s bullshit banter, then we might have gotten some helpful comments.

My ranking from 1-8

1- Elliott (which would not have been at rehearsal. I’d have put him at #3)
2- Bucky
3- Taylor
4- Chris
5- Katharine
6- Paris
7- Ace
8- Kellie

Who should go- Ace or Kellie.
Who will go- I have a feeling it’s going to be Paris. If not, then Ace. I do think the bottom three is going to contain a couple of surprises, possibly Kellie or Chris, though neither will go.

Okay, I’ll say it again, I didn’t have as much fun going to the rehearsal as I thought I would. There were no hissy fits, nothing was learned that was salacious and it sort of impeded on my enjoyment of the show on tv. Having been to tapings before, both as an audience member and as an actor participating, I know they’re dull as dishwater, but I expected this to be a little different. I think also, the show was disappointing in that it wasn’t the 50 car pile-up we had all hoped it might be. My idol ship is sailing and I’m on the dock, with Doc, waving….

Seagulls out.

Results of the "How Ace Really Got His Scar" Contest.

2006-04-06T19:31:00.000-07:00

The entries have all been read and the winner and top three stories have been chosen. I want to thank everyone who sent in their stories. We had a whopping 21 entries (to me, 21 is whopping) and these are the cream of the crop. To remind everyone, the first prize is a CD of the winner's three favorite Idols of Season 5 and all their performances in this season. Now, on with the Top Three.

In first place is MapGirl and her terrific comic strip of how Ace got his scar. I loved the creativity and simplicity of this entry, but most of all, I love how Ace sounds like he stepped right out of an Irish Spring commercial. Excellent work, MapGirl and congratulations.

In second place is Soon to Choose and her story of Ace and his hunting accident...

It was the kind of day in early spring when people get restless. Ace Young was walking through the woods searching for something, but he wasn't quite sure what. Bluebells? Pixies? Or maybe just a quiet place to practice his rendition of Michael Jackson's "Butterflies" without getting beaten up?

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the undergrowth...like a startled fawn Ace turned toward the sound just in time to see his doom rushing upon him in the form of a bolt from a crossbow! It flashed across his chest, searing his tender skin and drawing
gemlike drops of blood. Ace fell to the ground and was on the point of losing consciousness when he felt himself caught up in a pair of powerful arms. He
opened his eyes to find himself gazing into the ruggedly handsome face of none other than Ted Nugent!

"Oh man, I'm so sorry! I thought you were like, Bambi!" exclaimed the mighty hunter, his voice tight with anguish. Ace, too moved to speak, sobbed delicately on Ted's manly chest. And there we leave them.

And in third place is Boulder Valley Girl and her tale of mountains gone wrong...

How Ace Young Was Impaled on Flagstaff Mountain

Having revealed his mark to the world, it is time for the truth (according to the internet) to be told about Ace Young's jagged scar over his right clavicle and how it came to be. Ace is a 1999 graduate and former athlete of Fairview High School in Boulder, Colorado. It was a simple matter of senior ditch day, a prank gone wrong, and a near-perfect male specimen being scarred for life. Flagstaff Mountain is a winding drive up the jagged rock vistas known as The Flatirons above Boulder. It's a popular place for local high school kids to hang out, climb trees, scale rocks or just park and make out. On senior ditch day, Ace and some of his fellow jocks decided it was a good enough reason to skip school as spring varsity letter winners were determined, grades already hopelessly below average, and letters of intent signed. Before Ace sought the limelight as an aspiring singer/actor, he was one of those shy types, easily swayed by his peer group. On this fateful day, wearing his favorite George Michael T-shirt, he was chided by members of his herd to mark the day with a daring climb up the steep rock formations. While navigating a particularly dangerous face of the pink sandstone, Ace slipped on loose gravel and fell. Cartwheeling downward, first to the amusement, then to the horror of his fellow truants, Ace's yodeling could be heard as far away as Louisville (this may have been the moment he decided to become an entertainer). Not unlike the demise of Chef on South Park, he bounced from rock edge to rock edge, finally coming to a jarring stop. A T-bar installed by the local forest service to prop up an ailing Ponderosa pine had impaled him dangerously close to his vital organs (not those vital organs, Paula). His friends, more skilled at batting balls or sacking the quarterback, had a difficult time making their way down the mountainside to aid their injured friend. The first to reach him described his doll's-eyes stare (later to become known as the eye boink) as eerie, and made me scared and uncomfortable. Obviously, Ace pulled through, but the "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" T-shirt did not.

Again, thanks to everyone who sent in their very entertaining stories. MapGirl, please e-mail me at flkofcguls@aol.com to let me know your three Idol selections. And readers, please keep an eye out for the next contest. I'll see you for Queen week next Tuesday!

Seagulls out.

Any Man of Hers...Isn't Gay. AI Re-cap 4/5

2006-04-05T22:52:00.000-07:00

Line ‘em up and paint dorky smiles on their faces. All except McPhee, who must huff skunk juice right before going on, because what a puss she has plastered on. It’s time for the results show.

Seacrest is in the back of the audience and you know it took every ounce of discipline for him not to shave after everyone in the world ragged on him for that ridiculous beard. (no, not Teri Hatcher, the “other” beard.) But Seacrest will not be proven wrong, no matter how many mani-pedis and facials he gets. He’s MANLY! Oh, he’s got a number for us this week. I guess the results weren’t as humiliating as last time out. 35 million votes. The audience applauds for the remaining nine and someone must have pinched McPhee, because she’s chosen to start smiling. Either that or she’s imagining all the applause is for her, like some demented Mama Rose.

Randy has the night off from Sizzler and Simon is wearing the same sweater as last night. Randy boos Simon when they announce his name and since only Paula has signed her contract (3 more years at 5-8 million dollars!! Fuck, I’d be happy to give better criticism for 1/20th of that. Hell, I’d be more qualified and I don’t drink or take drugs.) Randy had better not bite the hand that feeds.

They start strolling down last night’s memory lane and give all the contestants high marks, however none of them are from Simon, so they don’t really mean much. Praise from Paula and Randy is like my mom telling me I’m cute. What the hell does she know? The only positive comment from Simon was the one to Paris, in which he obviously curried favor from the audience after complaining about continually getting booed. He could have just said “nice wig” and been done with it.

Ryan introduces Kenny Rogers and the team of six white horses in back of him, pulling his face taut. Yeah, I had a day to reflect a bit more on King Kenny and I’m sour. The audience applauds and a quick shot to Taylor reflects he’s feeling a tad sour, as well. I guess all the Holiday Inns in Alabama are no longer going to get to hear “Lucille” performed by their bar band.

Kenny tries to get Simon to come around to country music and Simon says he likes Kenny’s songs. I actually, do, too, or I did when I was growing up. To me, they’re part of the old school country, before it became bland. Ryan asks Rogers what he thought about the contestants and he answers that he was most impressed with them personally, which when you think about it, is a slap in the face to their talent, however not a completely off the mark criticism after the past two weeks. Taylor still looks offended, Mandisa is smiling like she’s carrying the memory torch for Gedeon and McPhee totally gets that Kenny just insulted them all.

Kenny is going to perform the first single from his new album “Water and Bridges,” called “I Can’t Unlove You.” Is that anything like I can’t unfire you? Because you could have, you fat bastard. Wow, Rogers has lost it, vocally. That sucks. I mean he makes Bucky sound good. Pickler looks weird with her hair pulled back. For a minute, I thought maybe Carmen the hairstylist from North Carolina had whacked it all off short. Hey, Kenny is starting to sound better. Yeah, I can forgive and forget. Someday. The contestants hug Rogers after he finishes and Paris goes up to him and bleats, “You were good,” as though it wasn’t true until she said so.

New Idol commercial to “Just One Look.” We see Kellie and Taylor in the roles they were born to play and probably will be playing once the competition is over. Taylor is a mechanic and Pickler is dressed slutty and bringing her sugar daddy’s car in to get fixed. Now if only the commercial goes on to show Katharine as a dominatrix and Paris as a Macy’s Christmas elf, then this will be near cinema verite. God, that was the dumbest fucking commercial yet. Don’t Fords usually turn into pieces of crap almost immediately, instead of the other way around?

Ryan tells us that next week, the Idols will be performing the music of Queen and the audience squeals its surprise, as though the information hadn’t been floating around on the internet for the past two weeks. He then shows us clips of everyone rehearsing with the band, which is just bullshit footage of them pretending to play with Queen, but is a little cruel, since one of them won’t really be doing that after the next 10 minutes.

Ryan is changing things up this week. He’s going to split the contestants up into three groups of three, one of which is the bottom three. While he’s explaining this, Bucky stifles a yawn. Yeah, I hear ya. The groups are broken up as such- Taylor, Kellie and Chris; Mandisa, Elliot and Paris and Ace, Katharine and Bucky. Hard to call, because while I’m sure Chris is safe, so that means his group is safe, both of the other groups had some bad performances, so it could be either one. I’m banking on the Ace group, simply because it has Ace in it, but I’d be surprised if McPhee was in the bottom a second week in a row. That plus Mandisa was really bad last night. I think perhaps TPTB want to shake things up a bit and it will be Mandisa’s group.

And, as expected, Chris’ group is safe, which does show how much support Taylor has since he gave an el stinko performance last night and rightfully should be in the bottom three. My personal three choices would be Taylor, Seacrest’s facial hair and Randy’s red vest, but that’s just me. Yes, TPTB have decided to keep Ace on another week. Well, fresh material for me, I suppose. You can’t build a column on Pickler crap every week, though she really does make it so damned easy.

Okay, I’m fucking terrified for Elliott. However, I’m going on a limb and saying it’s Mandisa. She pissed off the gays and had two awful weeks in a row. Of course, nowhere near as awful as the six weeks in a row Ace has had, but then again, Ace has Bambi eyes and a washboard stomach. Back from the break and Paris is safe. Fuck. Me. It’s down to Elliott and Mandisa and I’m still thinking Mandisa, which doesn’t give me any pleasure, but I’d rather see her go than Elliott. My eyes are shut and I’m cringing and it’s… Mandisa. Cut to a shot of Paris and for once, she’s not crying, because now she’s got the black vote locked up. Mandisa performs her song just as badly as she did last night.

Yes, I know I said yesterday that I had given up on her, but man I wanted to see her stick around for Queen night. She would have kicked ass on half a dozen numbers. Instead, we’ll get to see Paris, Bucky and worst of all, Ace, try hard not to take a shit all over the memory of Freddie Mercury. Let this be a lesson to you, Mandisa, you do not wanna piss off the gays. No ma’am. Well, anyway, I see a possible future for her in gospel music, which is where I think she’s best suited. Oh Mandy, I loved you, you lost me, you’ll be missed.

Join me next week as I am sure seeing these 8 perform the music of Queen will be a treasure trove of snark. And I have chosen a winner of last week’s “How Ace Really Got His Scar,” contest, so check out the blog-site for the winner and top three choices.

Seagulls Out.

Stubble Trouble. AI Re-cap 4/4

2006-04-05T14:33:00.000-07:00

Just got home from a really great dinner with friends on a disgustingly rainy night and now it’s time for the heartburn. That’s right, this week’s episode of American Idol is coming our way. Yee haw and knock up your sister- the theme tonight is Country music.

Tonight’s special guest host is none other than Fred Flintstone, resplendent in a Hugo Boss suit. *Rubs eyes* My apologies, it’s only Ryan Seacrest with three days worth of five o’clock shadow. He must have had a hard week, what with shooting his new film “Liar Liar 2,” co-starring Teri Hatcher. Seriously, have you checked out the photos? I’ve seen more convincing tongue action in my 6th grade health class between little Jimmy Tuckman and Resusci Annie, the CPR doll. Ace is not having it. Word is he’ll be performing “She Got the Gold Mine (I Got the Shaft)” as his song this week.

In other news, Kellie Pickler is apparently flying in her own stylist from North Carolina to assist her with her hair and makeup for the rest of the competition. Fox’s stylist was going for more of an Alabaman trailer-trash hooch instead of one from Albermarle. Hey, there IS a distinction. The stylist’s name is Carmen Cutrona and is the owner of Carmen! Carmen! Salon e’ Spas. You have to hand it to anyone who’d open a place like that deep in the backwoods of corn and pone. Actually, the salon is in Charlotte and Carmen charges upwards of $300 for a consultation, cut and style. Pickler’s been one of his clients for years. I dunno, I get my hair cut at Christophe’ in Beverly Hills and I only pay $60. And they give me a scalp massage, jasmine tea and all the National Enquirers I can read in one sitting. Seriously, where is Miss Whatsaballsy 2006 getting the money to do this? And how soon before Katharine kicks her ass, royally? You know that one still isn’t over last week’s bottom three results. I am on top of it.

On with the show. We do a sweep of the audience and Whoopi Goldberg and Chris Rock are seated in the segregated section. What’s up with that? Some page’s head is gonna roll. Whoopi is here to hold a contest with Ace to see whose hair is dirtier. Chris Rock is here because since Dave Chapelle went batshit, he’s gotta step it up as a role model and family man. He’s got his baby daughter on his lap and she’s holding a sign that you know he forced some P.A. on the set of his sitcom to make. I hope Whoopi pokes Chris in the back every five minutes and busts his balls over his awful Oscar hosting job from last year.

Is it me, or does the stubble on Seacrest’s maw make him look even gayer than usual? Hatcher’s taking one look at that and thinking- We are NOT doing staged cunnilingus photos, I don’t care how much press we’re gonna get! Ryan intros the judges and it’s nice of Randy Jackson to join us fresh from his job as head waiter at Sizzler. Seriously, what’s with the red vest?

The news gets worse. Kenny Rogers has been contracted this week (yes, like a disease) to work with the Idols to sing their country songs. Years ago, when I was a child actor, I was cast in a film starring Mr. Rogers. It was to be a big break for me after doing tons of commercials and television. The night before my first day on the set, I had a terrible sex dream about Kenny that, without going into detail, basically involved him naked, covered in white fur and me running for my life. I was all of 11 at the time and had no idea what the fuck had just happened, but needless to say, I was a frickin’ wreck the whole day and terrified of him and his white beard. We never really hit it off and within two weeks, I was replaced due to “creative differences.” I tell you all this story so that, if I tend to be a tad harsh on ol’ Roasters himself, you’ll know where it’s coming from.

Oh, that Kenny montage had me nauseous, but when he finally walked into the room, I felt better because Rogers has had so much plastic surgery, he looks like Cher’s left ass cheek. Still that voice is unmistakable. Kenny leads the group in a singalong of “The Gambler,” and Katharine is pregnant again this week, sporting yet another maternity top. Do she and her mother exclusively shop for clothes at trailer park garage sales? Kenny makes a quick exit to have his eyeballs hydrated, as his lids no longer close fully and we’re back with Magnum P.I. and- oh no! Fooled again! It’s just Seacrest and his stubble. Jeez!

Taylor is up first and we see video of him working with Kenny. Kenny says he had a bit of trouble with Taylor and couldn’t tell if he liked the song he was singing, “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” Kenny gives Taylor a fabulous piece of advice, which is if he doesn’t get the audience with the first note, he won’t be able to get them with the second or the fourth, and so on. Kenny obviously never met the American Idol audience, or Paula and Randy, but he’s absolutely right. I find that when one of the contestants starts off with a bum note, not only does it usually take them a while to recover, but when they do, they’ve lost me, no matter how much melisma they squeeze onto their summer sausage. Damn good words of wisdom, Kenny. Shit, all I ever got from him was “Quit stepping on my lines, kid.”

Taylor has a fiddle player onstage with him, which means no one will be singing “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” tonight. Hicks starts out clapping off the beat and then sings the first few lines as though he’s reciting a grocery list. So much for that advice. Taylor is trying very hard not to twitch and shake and dance around and once again, it looks as though he’s going to pee his pants if he doesn’t find some porcelain, stat. The back-up singers are doing a lot of heavy lifting for him and he sounds a little strained, but most of all, he sounds bored, only ever breaking out at all during the bridge. Not a terrible vocal, but dull and uninspired. It’s weird, because I know I prefer the sedate Taylor to the one who dances around with his fly open and a lampshade on his head, yelling “Pull my finger, Paula!!” However, Taylor looks so sad when he tries to stay still and just sing, it’s like we’re punishing him or something because he got clumsy and knocked over Aunt Fannie’s vase while shaking his ass to the beat. I almost feel guilty, because he’s obviously trying. Aw, fuck it… Taylor, let your nerd flag fly, bubba. I’ll still rip you a fresh one every time you make the equivalent of a balloon animal in your pants while strutting around during your numbers, bending, dipping, whooing, but your mental well-being is much more important than some dumb old contest. Now go pee!

Okay, and now he’s applauding himself for the performance. I take back everything I said. Move from that spot and I’m gonna throw a frying pan at your fat melon head. Randy looks uncomfortable and he’s probably thinking- Fuck, I could be serving surf and turf right now instead of telling Taylor he sucked ass. Paula agrees with Randy, first telling Taylor that she loves him. Simon said it was boring, safe and lazy and felt like Taylor chose the song ten seconds before he stepped onstage to sing it. I’ll second that. It wasn’t great, but it was benignly bad. Tom Hanks in “Castaway,” comes out to give- Goddamn it! He did it again! Seacrest, what are we gonna do with you? While he gives the numbers, Taylor grins and drools like the fat ham he is and Randy looks at him, lips smacking, seeing a cartoon suckling pig with an apple in his mouth like they used to do on the old Bugs Bunny cartoons when the fat and skinny guy were stranded on the desert island.

Seacrest is back and tries to be silly and suave in the audience at the same time when someone yells out “We love you, Ryan,” but blows both, equally. Stick with the basics, babe. Rub your head, pat your stomach and try to convince us all you’re straight.

Mandisa is next and Kenny says some generic things about her voice. For me, this is Mandisa’s last chance, talent-wise. She’s been sinking every week. I know there was a huge controversy over Mandisa’s song choice last week and the comments she made while entering the stage, which were “This song goes out to everybody that wants to be free! Your addiction, your lifestyle or situation may be big, but God is bigger!” Many were offended by this choice of words, claiming it meant that Mandisa was being anti-gay. This was coupled with the discovery that Mandisa follows the teachings of one Beth Moore, a woman who tries to teach other young women how to live their lives more like Jesus Christ, which is different from, say, Paris, who is living her life like Jesus Christ Superstar. Ms. Moore, in her writings, is decidedly not in favor of homosexuality and talks about how the devil will lead young women astray by sending older lesbians into their lives when they are at their most vulnerable (which, by her example, is after they have been beaten by their fathers). No mention made of gay men, at all, but I highly doubt Ms. Moore is partying up with the boys at Rage on Saturdays.

Now a couple people I know claim that line is part of the actual song, itself, so I tracked it down and listened to the Mary Mary version and it’s not so. This was a choice on Mandisa’s part to say these words. Now, until Mandisa comes out and says she is anti-gay, I think we should give her the benefit of the doubt. I know many Christians who are pro-gay, even though various Christian religions teach that homosexuality is wrong. Let’s not Donna Summer her just yet. But my eye is on you, Mandisa.

Oof, unfortunately, so is my ear. Mandisa is singing a shaky and nervous “Any Man of Mine.” She’s working too hard to get the words out to attempt to actually sing the song, and you can tell she’s nervous she might pull a Melissa McGhee and forget them. She works it out in the end and there is about 35% less shouting this week than usual, but still, it was a’ight.

We cut to a shot of Rachel Bilson from “The OC,” in the audience, or as I like to call her, the dumbest girl on the planet. Next to Bilson, Kellie Pickler could teach high school algebra (provided she’d heard of it.) If you’ve ever seen the OC, you’ll know that Bilson has one expression and one expression only, that of a just inflated blow-up doll. And she speaks about as eloquently. In fact, I would wager that if, as a joke, the producers would cut to a reaction shot of an actual blow-up doll, no one would notice.

Anyhow, back to Mandisa. Randy says he can tell it’s going to be another “interesting” night, which translates into “At Sizzler, they at least leave me 20%.” He didn’t like the song choice or the vocal until the last four bars. Paula argues that Mandisa can sing the phone book. What a pity Mandisa didn’t sing the yellow pages listings for rehab centers. Simon says the song and the performance were a mess and gets roundly booed. He asks why this continuously happens when he’s trying to give constructive criticism and Paula says he’s booable. Well, dear, you’re a drunk, but you don’t see the audience hoisting glasses to you. This is why Simon needs to dump Dawg Pound and Schnockered. If he had two people up there who gave decent criticism and feedback, then he wouldn’t always have to look like the dick for being honest.

Ryan asks Simon if they didn’t like the vocals or if it was just the song, which I think everyone made clear, but Ryan has to be toastmaster general because it’s all about him. Simon comments that Ryan needs to lose the beard and stop trying to look like someone from “Desperate Housewives,” and I guess he’s referring to Eva Longoria before they bleach her mustache. Ryan counters with some inane comment about Simon’s baby blue sweater, which, you know, wasn’t funny the first 300 times he said it, and then implores them to get back to the “singing” contest, as though Seacrest doesn’t pull this baby shit nine times an episode. He’s got Mandisa on the hot seat and I wonder if we’re going to address the hot button issue of the week the way we did with Chris on last week’s show. But no, he has Mandy waddle across the stage only to give out her number and say, with not one ounce of awareness, that someone at the judges’ table must have a flask. The look on Paula’s face immediately after is priceless. I’m telling you, Fred Willard based his character from “Best in Show,” on Seacrest.

Elliott is up next and then I’m going to bed. But I have to see how my boy did tonight, first, especially since he’s the only one left I’m rooting for. In a positive way, that is, as opposed to Ace, who I just want to stick around because he’s easy and fun to make jokes about, kind of like the Helen Keller of the competition in more ways than one.

Kenny Rogers says Elliott has a tendency to oversing and says his goal isn’t to try and impress and show off, but to tell a story and make the audience cry. More good advice, but boy, wait til he gets a load of McPhee and her bullshit. He hasn’t seen oversinging!

Elliott is performing “If Tomorrow Never Comes.” I apologize for not having the original singers’ names, but tonight, for some reason, the show is not providing chyrons to tell us the names of the songs or who did them. I don’t know country, but I’m pretty good at picking out a title from listening to the lyrics.

I was worried about Elliott, but this was a smart song choice and fit his voice beautifully. He sounds wonderful and handles the vocals impeccably. I can go to sleep happy now. (Unless I have another dream about you know who.) Randy thought the vocal was hot, Paula loved Elliott up in her rambling, incoherent way and Simon, who for some reason decided after the first week that he wasn’t going to back Elliott, says the song choice was good, but Elliott’s vocals were safe and just okay and that he’ll have to do better than that. This is how a de-pimped good singer gets criticized, folks. Simon should be kissing Yamin’s ass for being the most talented person on that stage, but he’s letting Elliott’s looks get in the way. He says Elliott seemed nervous, but I didn’t see it. All right then, Good night and good luck.

It’s morning and I had a lovely, dreamless sleep but I now have a sinus headache, which I’m sure, after listening to Ace, Pickler and McPhee, is going to turn into an infection. I seriously need to go food shopping. This is the third morning in a row I’ve had to eat oatmeal. I feel like Oliver Twist. Okay, let’s see who’s first on the chopping block this A.M.

Oof, thank god I took an acid reflux pill, cause it’s Paris Bennett in a suede bustier, boots and a Sally Bowles meets Willona Woods hair-do. Ryan asks Princess Pee how many different ways she can do her hair. She’s working her way through all the classic black sitcom characters, Ryan. Duh. There was the Weezy, the Rudy, the Janet (okay, that one was white) and now the Willona. When she gets to Sheneneh, she’ll stop.

Oh for fuck’s sake, not only is it raining for the fourth day in a row, but Paris is singing “How Do I Live,” which if I never heard ever again in my life, I’d still be a miserable bastard, but my grinch heart might grow one half size. Paris actually sings the song well. It’s an easy song to put across. Randy was on the fence, Paula wasn’t thrilled and gets booed for the first time, and Simon decides he’s going to garner some major points with the audience just to stick it to Paula and he wildly overpraises Paris. She was decent this week, so it’s not too unforgivable.

Ace is up next and Kenny says Ace is a passionate singer who feels things. He sure does. His hair, his abs, his scar…. Kenny says Ace matched with his song is the best combination of music and singer of the whole bunch, which must mean he’s singing “The Asshole Song.” No, he’s singing something called “I Wanna Cry.” Ok, that is appropriate, too. He’s wobbly and the song doesn’t sound the least bit country, but it is way better than last week’s fiasco and Ace did wash his hair. Whoopi wins. Ace just about makes it through relatively unscathed until he decides to do a falsetto scat that no one in the world thinks he does well except him. All in all, though, he’s likely safe this week. There was a shot of the judges smiling and Paula twirling in her seat, thighs quivering, so I guess Ace is back in her dreams. Why is Ace’s brother wearing a sheriff’s badge pinned to his blouse? Did they visit Six Gun Territory before dropping into the studio? Randy says the vocal was boring and Paula totally disagrees with him, as evidenced by the puddle at her feet, which could be any number of things, but if she gets down and laps at it, we know it’s spilled booze. Randy is not having Paula and he points to Ace, looks back at the audience and screams “That was boring. Come on, boring!!” Randy is now in my dawg pound, but Ace shoots him a look that says “Stop interrupting the only person who gets me. A pre-menopausal lush.” There’s your audience, babe. Paula chokes on the word “signature,” because it wasn’t pre-soaked in bourbon and then Simon tells Ace it was one of his better nights. Ryan comes onstage and informs us all that Ace is officially single now, which means Essence Atkins is no longer on the payroll, needing to make room for Teri Hatcher and her bearding budget.

Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s Pickler time. She’s dressed in a red negligee and jeans and is getting a pimp spot, since it is country night and nothing says down home like a $300 a cut personal stylist. Ryan wants her to set the record straight about her “naiveté act.” Kellie swears up and down that she really is just a coal miner’s daughter, had never heard of calamari and thought that since there was an L in salmon, that you pronounced it with one. Kellie, there are two Ls in bullshit, make sure you hit both of those. Why, why, WHY are they giving this girl so much time when she can’t fucking do anything but bim out?

Pickler will be singing a song called “Fancy,” which sounds like it’s about a hooker, but I can’t tell because Kellie is singing it fast and low, strutting through the audience looking for donations to help pay for the stylist. It’s an adequate karaoke performance, which is the best I think anyone can say for Pickler, ever. She didn’t suck. However, she has no idea what’s she’s singing about (well, I seriously doubt that) but she didn’t once connect with the song or look or feel as though she wasn’t just simply singing lyrics off a page. She didn’t sell the song, she had no clue how to make us feel anything and I don’t know that she ever will understand how to do that. Randy likes the song choice for Kellie, and of course, it’s her fucking life story. Simon says he hated the song, but thought Kellie did the song well, and Kellie fake apologizes again. Don’t say sorry, just go away.

Hey, do you all think Lisa Tucker is in front of her TV set tonight, singing “Jesus, Take the Wheel for her parents, while they clap and clap, telling her how special she is?

Chris is up next and this should be interesting in light of last week’s mea culpa. He’s singing a Keith Urban song called “Makin’ Memories of Us.” It’s a pleasant, non-shouty version and Chris sings it well, but he is clearly uncomfortable with both this genre and the style of singing. If he can’t scream, then who is he? The comment that Simon made (erroneously) about Elliott looking nervous and uncomfortable really applies better to Chris. Randy liked it, Paula clicked her ben-wa balls together and brayed suggestively a whole lot of nothing and Simon said the vocal was good, but a poor choice of song and then got yelled at by drunky.

I just got back from my trainer because I needed another break from the Idols before I continued. Tonight’s show is just so boring. It’s not even good bad, it’s just dull dull dull. We couldn’t even come up with anything snarky to kibbutz about, except for Ryan’s dumb ass.

Okay, let’s bring this bitch home. Speaking of, we’re up to Katharine McPhee. Kenny obviously wants to put his island in Kat’s stream because he doesn’t dare mention her penchant for turning everything into a syllable factory, yet he felt the need to harp on Elliott for it when he wasn’t even doing it. Yeah, that’s the Kenny I remember. McPhee has recovered from her crushing blow of being in the bottom three last week and her ego is in full bloom. She’s gonna go bluesy tonight, singing something called “You’re Brining Out the Elvis in Me.” (I guess, I have no idea.) She’s smiling all the way through it like she’s trying to impress the judges of a Miss Whateverthefuck pageant. I really hate when Katharine thinks she’s got soul. She has none. When she gets all “sultry,” she just ruins it for me, and it doesn’t matter how good she sounds, the performance is bad. It’s like watching Debby Boone trying to sing “Sugar Walls.” It doesn’t work. Quit fucking smiling, this isn’t an Up With People show. God, someone ought to punch her. Randy liked it, Paula liked it, Simon doesn’t know what to say and Katharine sasses him by sneering that he just doesn’t like country music, but it’s okay. No, he just doesn’t like you anymore, and I can’t blame him.

Bucky is last, but not in my heart. He’s doing some Gary Allan song, and I don’t know who that is. Kenny tells him to over enunciate so we can follow the story and I think he means for Bucky to over enunciate so we can maybe pick out every third word, at least. Bucky is dressed to promote the DVD release of “Brokeback Mountain.” I like the song Bucky sang and I think he did it well for his voice. It’s the only song of the evening I want to go check out the original of after the show. The judges praise him faintly and Paula has just lost it, she can barely speak for slurring. They’re just gonna let her sleep it off in the chair and hope she’s still there when they open up again tomorrow for business.

Okay, tough week, because except for Elliott, no one really knocked it out of the park, but no one really sucked terribly. The rest were just all levels of mediocre. Here’s my 1-9.

1- Elliott
2- Bucky
3- Chris
4- Paris
5- Katharine
6- Ace
7- Kellie
8- Mandisa
9- Taylor

Hmm, Taylor goes from first place to last place on my list this week, but that being said, no one was dreadful and I’m not sure who deserves to go home or who will go home. My picks for the bottom three are: Ace, Mandisa and Taylor.

Who should go home: Ace
Who will go home: Ace

Wednesday’s results show will be the tightest this year so far. See you there.

Seagulls out.