One of my favorite pastimes is saving money on groceries. There's the tactile pleasure of clipping coupons (it's as relaxing for me as knitting was for Rosey Grier); there's the thrill of the hunt when I'm in the grocery store, tracking down the hidden bargain; there's the satisfaction of knowing I only spent, say, 62 cents on a box of dishwasher detergent that normally costs $4.99.
For most of my supermarket-savings career, I've concentrated on the coupons you find in the Sunday newspaper. But as the price of groceries has skyrocketed lately, I've started seeking out new sources for cents-off savings, and I think I've come up with a winner.
Now, I have started writing to companies whose products we use and like, simply to compliment them. I don't ask for coupons, and I don't complain. I just tell them that I like their product and I wanted to drop them a line to let them know.
I don't send a letter via snail mail, because at 42 cents a stamp, I'm losing money if I don't get a response. Instead, I go to a company's website and click on the "Contact Us" button. There's always a "Contact Us" button, and there's always a place for a narrative comment.
Since I started doing this a couple of weeks ago, I've heard back from two companies -- Sara Lee (I was complimenting them on Hillshire Farm sausage, which I haven't had a coupon for in a while) and H.J. Heinz.
Sara Lee sent me 75 cents in coupons (50 cents off a frozen Sara Lee product, 25 cents off Hillshire Farm sausage), and today I got this from Heinz:
"We appreciate your kind words. As a way of thanking you for your continued patronage, we are sending coupons to you through the regular postal mail."
How great is that? You say something nice, and you get rewarded. I mean, we've all heard of people who griped about something and got their money back, but that's joyless. It may be hard for some of you to believe, but I'd really rather be nice.
It's true: you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. But it's also true that you can catch more vinegar (the Heinz brand, anyway) by being as sweet as honey than by being as annoying as a fly.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Funniest Ann Landers Letter Ever
If you didn't read the Annie's Mailbox column in yesterday's paper, click on the title to this entry above. Read the first letter -- the one signed "Please Don't Die Here." A word of advice: Do not have anything in your mouth when you read it. Choking or exploding could result.
Annie's Mailbox is the successor to the Ann Landers advice column, and it is still the best one out there, with more specific and practical guidance than you'll get from Carolyn Hax (wordy and obtuse), Dear Abby (too frequently off the mark) or Ask Amy (who I do like, but doesn't ever come up with a letter as stunning as this one).
Mercury in Retrograde: What Else Is New?
According to recent reports in Automotive News, The Detroit News and the Los Angeles Times, it’s just a matter of time before Ford Motor Company discontinues the Mercury brand of vehicles it has produced since 1939.
Dealers are concerned; Mercury enthusiasts are mortified; and fans of good old Detroit iron are lamenting the latest in a line of casualties that includes Oldsmobile and Plymouth.
Please.
Ford killed Mercury a long time ago.
Back in the 1950s and ’60s, Mercury offered features—like the Breezeway window, the reverse-slanted power-operated backlight that gave passengers extra ventilation in the days before air conditioning became standard equipment—that you couldn’t get on a comparable Ford.
During the same era, Mercury offered models that were truly different from the Ford-branded products built on the same platform. The first Comet compact, for example, rode on a wheelbase five inches longer than the Ford Falcon on which it was based. The original Cougar had unique styling from and a three-inch-longer wheelbase than the Ford Mustang.
Midway through the ’60s, the styling of full- and mid-sized Mercurys was influenced by Elwood Engel’s iconic 1961-69 Lincoln Continental, and Mercurys were advertised as having been “built in the Lincoln tradition.” This lent the marque some cachet among those aspiring to be upwardly mobile that you couldn't get from a humdrum Ford.
Now? There’s nothing you can get on a Mercury Grand Marquis, Sable, Milan, Mountaineer or Mariner that you can’t get on a Ford Crown Victoria, Taurus, Fusion, Explorer or Escape. The Mercury versions of those vehicles are not longer or wider or more powerful than their Ford counterparts. Their grilles and taillamps and minor trim are unique, but you can’t say they look like Lincolns—largely because Lincoln itself no longer has an identifiable design.
Since 1957 there have been few stand-alone Mercury retailers; most have been Mercury-Edsel-Lincoln or Lincoln-Mercury dealers. Today there are no Mercury-only dealers at all. So officially killing Mercury doesn’t pose the same problems for Ford that discontinuing Oldsmobile, which had a couple thousand single-point dealers, posed for GM. Those Mercury dealers will still have Lincolns to sell, and Lincoln has already begun to creep into the upper-mid-priced market segment that Mercury once occupied, with vehicles like the MKZ sedan and MKX crossover.
It’s a shame, but let’s face it: there hasn’t been a uniquely appealing Mercury in years. What brought the brand to its sales peak of 580,000 units in 1978 is long gone.
The Mercury death notice was most recently expected in April, but Ford officials delayed a meeting about future product with Lincoln Mercury dealers until this coming September. But today, Ford announced that it would be laying off an additional ten to twelve percent of its white-collar workforce by the end of July.
So I expect an obituary any day now—“Mercury Discontinued (Duh!)”—which you can immediately clip and put in your file of non-news news, just behind “Dog Bites Man” and “Generalissimo Francisco Franco Still Dead.”
Dealers are concerned; Mercury enthusiasts are mortified; and fans of good old Detroit iron are lamenting the latest in a line of casualties that includes Oldsmobile and Plymouth.
Please.
Ford killed Mercury a long time ago.
Back in the 1950s and ’60s, Mercury offered features—like the Breezeway window, the reverse-slanted power-operated backlight that gave passengers extra ventilation in the days before air conditioning became standard equipment—that you couldn’t get on a comparable Ford.
During the same era, Mercury offered models that were truly different from the Ford-branded products built on the same platform. The first Comet compact, for example, rode on a wheelbase five inches longer than the Ford Falcon on which it was based. The original Cougar had unique styling from and a three-inch-longer wheelbase than the Ford Mustang.
Midway through the ’60s, the styling of full- and mid-sized Mercurys was influenced by Elwood Engel’s iconic 1961-69 Lincoln Continental, and Mercurys were advertised as having been “built in the Lincoln tradition.” This lent the marque some cachet among those aspiring to be upwardly mobile that you couldn't get from a humdrum Ford.
Now? There’s nothing you can get on a Mercury Grand Marquis, Sable, Milan, Mountaineer or Mariner that you can’t get on a Ford Crown Victoria, Taurus, Fusion, Explorer or Escape. The Mercury versions of those vehicles are not longer or wider or more powerful than their Ford counterparts. Their grilles and taillamps and minor trim are unique, but you can’t say they look like Lincolns—largely because Lincoln itself no longer has an identifiable design.
Since 1957 there have been few stand-alone Mercury retailers; most have been Mercury-Edsel-Lincoln or Lincoln-Mercury dealers. Today there are no Mercury-only dealers at all. So officially killing Mercury doesn’t pose the same problems for Ford that discontinuing Oldsmobile, which had a couple thousand single-point dealers, posed for GM. Those Mercury dealers will still have Lincolns to sell, and Lincoln has already begun to creep into the upper-mid-priced market segment that Mercury once occupied, with vehicles like the MKZ sedan and MKX crossover.
It’s a shame, but let’s face it: there hasn’t been a uniquely appealing Mercury in years. What brought the brand to its sales peak of 580,000 units in 1978 is long gone.
The Mercury death notice was most recently expected in April, but Ford officials delayed a meeting about future product with Lincoln Mercury dealers until this coming September. But today, Ford announced that it would be laying off an additional ten to twelve percent of its white-collar workforce by the end of July.
So I expect an obituary any day now—“Mercury Discontinued (Duh!)”—which you can immediately clip and put in your file of non-news news, just behind “Dog Bites Man” and “Generalissimo Francisco Franco Still Dead.”
Friday, May 23, 2008
Critiquing "American Idol": The Beginning
I met my friend Dave in 1978. I had just graduated from Ohio University, at the age of three, and he was still in school, at the age of 21. Dave was a member of OU’s forensics, or competitive public speaking, team, as I had been for four years. Over the next few years, I coached the forensics teams at Miami University and Morehead State University, and post-graduation Dave coached the team at Ohio State University.
On a forensics team, students compete in various “individual” speaking events (as opposed to debate, which is a team sport): Extemporaneous and Impromptu Speaking; After Dinner, Informative and Persuasive Speaking; Oral Interpretation of Prose, Poetry or Drama. Week after week, students work on their presentations, assisted by their coaches; then they attend tournaments on various college campuses nationwide, competing in multiple speaking events, being judged by grad students and faculty members from other schools, hoping to score highly enough to make the final round, to advance to the national championships, to win it all.
Sound familiar?
It should come as no surprise, then, that on July 3, 2002, my friend Dave sent me an e-mail that included these fateful words:
On a forensics team, students compete in various “individual” speaking events (as opposed to debate, which is a team sport): Extemporaneous and Impromptu Speaking; After Dinner, Informative and Persuasive Speaking; Oral Interpretation of Prose, Poetry or Drama. Week after week, students work on their presentations, assisted by their coaches; then they attend tournaments on various college campuses nationwide, competing in multiple speaking events, being judged by grad students and faculty members from other schools, hoping to score highly enough to make the final round, to advance to the national championships, to win it all.
Sound familiar?
It should come as no surprise, then, that on July 3, 2002, my friend Dave sent me an e-mail that included these fateful words:
One thing I hope you are doing is watching “American Idol” on Fox. It is one of the most entertaining shows I've seen in a long time!
In case you haven't seen it . . . it's a forensics tourney with one event -- singing. It's the talent competition of Miss America, but guys can compete. It's the Gong Show...
The "talent" is a great deal of fun to watch and judge. Each week 10 of the 30 semi-finalists performs and three move on to the finals. This week’s show would have had me awarding a 1-94, 2-90, 3-85. My 4th through 10th would have had a hard time getting rating points above 80. . . .
The bottom line is that the show is a hoot. And the judges don't really get to decide, because they leave it up to the American public to phone in. The results have been unpredictable. At least one horrid performer makes it each week. The best one usually makes it as well, as does a mediocre talent. The judges will get to determine the final contestant to make the top 10. The show is on Fox for 1 hour on Tuesdays at 9 p.m. The winners are announced live on Wednesdays at 9:30.
Well, I was intrigued, but it took me a while to get around to watching the show. Then, on July 23, Dave sent me this, his summary of the previous night’s performances, complete with ranks and ratings, just like a judge would assign at a forensics tournament:
Kelly, “Natural Woman,” 1-97 -- a top-notch, star-quality performance, her best
to date
Tamyra, “Tell Me?,” 2-95 – might have won the round, but lack of musical merit – never never heard of it before, but boy can she work the crowd
Justin, “Sunny,” 3-93 – it was like watching Teresa McElwee – even when he's off he still pulls sweeps points, although he may be taking it a little for granted
R.J., “Under the Boardwalk,” 4-92 – much better than last week, can he be peaking in the elim rounds?
Christina, “When a Man Loves a Woman,” 5-91 – I didn't care for her rendition, a little sharp on some notes
None of the others fit the bill, “American Idol”:
Nikki, “Heartbreaker,” 6-86 – Janis Joplin she ain't. She is nowhere near as good as she was in prelims. Choking?
Ryan, “You Really Got Me,” 7-83 – simply dreadful
A.J., “How Sweet It Is,” 8-82 – He snuck thru last week, it won't happen again (although Ryan could let him stay alive to hurt our eardrums again)
After that—after I had seen Dave put “American Idol” into a form we were both familiar with, the judging ballot with ranks, ratings and comments—I had to start watching the show. By the middle of August, we were swapping e-mails every Wednesday morning, comparing our ranks, ratings and comments on the previous night’s performances.
Here’s the oldest one of mine from my e-mail archive, dated August 14, 2002—the day after Tamyra Gray had blown me away singing “A House is Not a Home” during Burt Bacharach Week:
Another "BB" night -- not Big Bands, but Burt Bacharach. What can they come up
with for next week? Betty Boop?
Once again, we agreed on almost everything.
5-87 NIKKI McKIBBON
I think she was probably right to choose the closest thing to a hard-rocking Bacharach song, "Always Something There to Remind Me." Unfortunately, she was off-key during a lot of the number. And I don't care if you're an opera diva or a grunge rocker, off-key is just not good when it comes to singing. Buh-bye.
4-90 R. J. HELTON
I'll try to come up with some nice things to say about R. J., like Paula would. He has a
nice smile, and very lovely feminine eyelashes, and he remembered the words to
"Arthur's Theme." Okay, I'm done now. Someday, R. J. will be fat. And even then,
he won't be Pavarotti. There's just nothing spectacular or distinctive or even
interesting about his voice.
3-93 JUSTIN GUARINI
Justin does have a way of making love to the camera and to the audience, so I can see how he's gotten as far as he has. Unlike, say, Ricky Martin, I have a hard time
picturing him at 50, though. His "Look of Love" was good, but I thought the ending was flat -- not as in off-key, but just dry. Not a strong finish.
2-95 KELLY CLARKSON
What I most liked about Kelly's performance was that she really made "Walk on By" her own -- I loved the way she growled on lines like "Make believe that you don't see a tear." She was NOT a Dionne Warwick clone, and I think that's terrific.
1-98 TAMYRA GRAY
Tamyra benefitted from singing the closest thing to a melodic ballad (on what was officially called "Love Song" night, not Burt Bacharach night) in the Bacharach oeuvre. She not only has an amazing voice but she also knows how to act a song. The only thing that kept her from getting a 100 from me was the outfit. I kept thinking of another singing performance you and I both saw on television: "I'm just another
Jew in rags!"
The next time I wrote was when they were down to the Final Three (after Tamyra became the show’s first “shocking elimination”):
SINGER'S CHOICE ROUND
====================
3-90 NIKKI McKIBBIN
I thought "Edge of Seventeen" was a good song choice for Nikki. But it doesn't seem like the lyrics matter to her. They could be about anything and she will have the same facial expressions and vocal tone. She's got one or two good "big" notes that she hits pretty well. Her eyes tend to wander (like she's sneaking a glance at the judges while she's performing). I thought she lost her enthusiasm toward the end.
2-95 JUSTIN GUARINI
It occurred to me while watching Justin do his "Let's Stay Together" that the secret to his success is all in his physical performance. The sustained eye contact with an audience member (or the camera) on a phrase. The smile. The little head shakes (that make the hair bounce). He needs all of that as camouflage for the fact that his voice is good -- but JUST good. The performance improved as he went along but it was a weak ending.
1-97 KELLY CLARKSON
Unlike Randy Jackson, I thought "Think Twice" was a good choice for Kelly, because
contemporary country is something we (or at least I) haven't heard on the "AI"
stage, and it demonstrated yet again her enormous versatility. Kelly's voice is
great and she does a lot with it. And her facials are wonderful -- Nikki should
take a lesson.
JUDGES' CHOICE ROUND
====================3-90 NIKKI McKIBBIN
Although "Black Velvet" is done to death on Karaoke Night at my favorite watering hole (and Randy Jackson said it was a very karaoke performance) I thought this was a perfect choice for Nikki. However, she sang it just like she sings everything else. Her ending was good, and her costume choice was better than in Round I, but I got the feeling that Nikki knows it's over.
2-94 JUSTIN GUARINI
The striped suit made him look even younger than he is. It finally hit me while watching him sing "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" what it is that bothers me about Justin. It's all acting. It's all studied. The outstretched hand lowering on "the sun going down on me." The gestures. The facials. And since this was a song the
judges picked -- not a song HE picked -- the technique was more obvious. He is a
flirt, and it's obvious he's flirting. Shallow. All surface. Bleah.
1-96 KELLY CLARKSON
Kelly looked beautiful in the dress, but this was not her best performance. She
had to alter the melody because her low range doesn't quite stretch low enough for the song. I also don't know why she sang the same verse twice ("I can't forget this
evening" twice, instead of that verse once and "I can't forget tomorrow" once).
Still, she is such a great singer and it is such a tough song (and she doesn't
come across as scripted) that she gets the 1 from me.
Nikki finally got her comeuppance, and the following week it was time for the first “AI” showdown:
And with no further ado . . .
JUSTIN -- "BEFORE YOUR LOVE" -- Score: 94
In forensics, I know that we are not supposed to judge a contestant on anything other than his performance -- for example, seeing him smoke pot in the men's room in between rounds or something. But all that contributes to, or detracts from, one's extrinsic ethos, doesn't it? So Justin bothered me from the minute he walked out on stage, with his wide-legged stance and his unwillingness to listen to the scripted blather from the moron hosts (so that he could blow kisses and touch his heart while making eye contact with his fan base of premenstrual girls). Then he comes out to sing this incredibly boring song and he's all gestures, stance and smile again. The heart touching. The legs a mile apart. That smile. All pre-planned, all phony, and all of that made obvious by the snoozer of a song he had to sing. Creepy.
KELLY -- "A MOMENT LIKE THIS" -- Score: 94
Not, by far, Kelly's best performance. I kept asking myself, "Why is she dropping her final consonants?" It's "A Moment Like This," not "A Momen' Li' This." She had to do her trademark growl, of course, but there was nowhere in the lyric to do it appropriately. So she did it where it was inappropriate. You don't growl on the line "something so tender." However, the end of the number was terrific.
JUSTIN -- "GET HERE" -- Score: 96
Justin proved once again that he is best with his own choice of material, and not stuff he's forced to sing by the judges' choice or the category. At least with songs he's chosen he has internalized the thoroughly rehearsed movements and gestures. They were all there, of course. It was like watching American Sign Language. Justin must be terribly popular with the hearing impaired; his gestures spell out the song like a hula dancer's. I was disappointed that the producers required the contestants to sing their original two-minute versions of their chosen songs, and not expanded renditions. But I don't think I could have taken another minute of Justin touching his heart and reaching out for the sunset. The two-minute limit: Mahalo.
KELLY -- "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" -- Score: 97
It was so delightful to see somebody up on stage having fun. Kelly played with the audience and pranced around the stage as if she had been performing in venues like the Kodak Theater all her life. Her growls worked perfectly on this song, too, and fortunately she was limited to two minutes -- one more growl and she would have had laryngitis. She's going to have the same vocal problems that Julie Andrews and Liza Minnelli have encountered, and maybe sooner than them, too. So we should be enjoying her while we can.
JUSTIN -- "A MOMENT LIKE THIS" -- Score: 93
At the beginning, the song seemed to dip too low and reach too high for his range. But the main portion of the song he handled well vocally. However . . . if he leaned down to touch one more little girl's fingertips, I would have hurled. Yuck. Yuck, yuck, yuck.
KELLY -- "BEFORE YOUR LOVE" -- Score: 98
Amazing. I hated this song when Justin sang it, and when Kelly sang it, I actually liked it. Is that my bias? Is that because I was more familiar with it? Or was it because she really sang the lyric and exuded nothing but class? She really knocked it out of the park, in my opinion.
Overall:
KELLY 1-96
JUSTIN 2-94
Can't wait for tonight
Little did I know that by the middle of the following season, I’d be forwarding my e-mails intended for my friend Dave to other people who wanted to know what I thought of the previous night’s goings-on on what by then had become (in every sense of the word) a monstrous television hit. And I never expected that those people would start forwarding those e-mails to others, and an interplanetary phenomenon would be born.
Thanks a lot, Dave.
Thanks a lot, Dave.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
"American Idol," May 21, 2008: The Results
Surprise!
Although I never review the "American Idol" results shows, for some reason this year I feel compelled to. Something I guess I should take up at my next appointment with my therapist, Robert, at the Farmers Market.
Maybe it's because, in the past, the "American Idol" season finale has been such a monumental waste of cathode rays. Remember the year of the running-joke dumb-blonde-at-the-gourmet-restaurant sketches with Wolfgang Puck and Kellie Pickler? Ryan Seacrest trolling the red carpet and then taking us backstage to "spy" on the finalists in their dressing rooms? Paul Anka, dripping formaldehyde, singing custom lyrics to "My Way"? Or, most cringe-worthy of all, the dreaded "Golden Idol" Awards?
This year's closer, on the other hand -- while it had plenty of the filler, shameless cross-promotion and lame gags that characterize every "American Idol" results show -- provided a solid two hours of entertainment that, more than anything else, ended the season in an altogether satisfying way.
How could I not do the same for you, my faithful fellow "Idol" fans?
As always, in order of appearance:
Intro: David Archuleta and David Cook, dressed all in white and bathed in a single spotlight, staring each other down in a most uncomfortable way. Oh, please, God, I thought, not more boxing. Proof again that God cares about reality shows: we were spared. Better yet, the boys' embarassment wearing their Man from Glad-rags was diminished once we got a load of Randy Jackson, dressed as if he'd just been discharged from the British Army, circa 1776. What was he thinking?
The Remotes: Live from the Cook-fan gathering Kansas City, it's . . . Matt Rogers! What, they couldn't get Constantine Maroulis or Justin Guarini or Kimberly Caldwell or someone who placed higher than 11th and actually went on an "AI" tour to report from the scene? Meanwhile, in Murray, Utah -- oh, my God, it's Mikalah Gordon! You must remember Mikalah Gordon, the girl with the soul of Barbra Streisand but the voice of Fran Drescher. Only now, she doesn't look like she's from Flushing. She looks like she's from . . . Siam. What's up with that? Still, it was nice to see that "Idol" takes care of its own, especially those more unfortunate than us.
"Get Ready," performed by the Top Twelve with the "So You Think You Can Dance?" Dancers: Well, everybody's in white, and they're moving all over the stage, and some of them are break-dancing, and some of them are singing, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you who's who, thanks to the non-stop zooming of the cameras and the every-nanosecond editing. Dizzying.
"A Hero Can Save Us," performed by David Archuleta and David Cook: The Top Two harmonized very nicely on this, I thought -- not always the result when a crooner and a rocker get together. (It helps when the rocker can adapt to other musical styles.) The difference between the two as performers was particularly evident here: David Cook is so much more relaxed onstage, and looked ever so much more comfortable relating to his duet partner. He's a generous performer, though, and by the end of the number the two of them had a nice big brother/little brother vibe going on.
The Love Guru sketch, David Archuleta, David Cook and Mike Myers: Oooh -- another big difference between the Daves became apparent here, in a wretched cross-promotional sketch about the two of them visiting the lead character in the upcoming Paramount Pictures blockbuster, The Love Guru. And the difference is: David Cook can act. David Archuleta can't. D.C.'s facial expressions were actually funnier than the forced gags coming out of Mike Myers's mouth. (I have to say, though, that the Guru's greeting to one and all, "Mariskahargitay," is pretty damn funny.)
"Waiting for You," performed by Syesha Mercado and Seal: Syesha's singing partner courtesy of Heidi Klum. Syesha's dress courtesy of Rami Kashou. The whole number was "Project Runway"-licious. And our third-place contestant held her own in the singing department with Seal. Only one word for it: Fierce!
"Hallelujah," performed by Jason Castro: Jason reprised his best number of the season. And he still remembered the words. Another heartfelt rendition from Whoopi Travolta's Love Muppet. Let's move on.
Ford Music Video outtakes: Better than the videos were.
Donna Summer medley, performed by the Top Six women and Donna Summer: Notable for two things: Amanda Overmyer looking somewhere between bored and downright pissed off throughout the entire number, and Donna Summer herself, in fine voice but sporting not so svelte a figure. Somewhere along the line she should have said, "No more beers -- enough is enough!" But she graciously shared her rhinestone-encrusted microphone with Syesha. I wish she'd share it with me -- what a hit I'd be on karaoke night with that thing!
"The Letter," performed by Michael Johns and Carly Smithson: So nice to see them both, to see two early front-runners get another moment in the sun, and to see them so relaxed onstage and with each other. Carly looked great, but I have to say, Michael Johns, in his tux jacket, looked even better. They were terrific.
Jimmy Kimmel's monologue: He tried to skewer Ryan, Paula and Simon, but he left Randy out entirely. Since, in my opinion, Randy is completely expendable (and the British Army wants its red coat back), this didn't bother me. Makes you wonder, though, doesn't it? The entire monologue was lame. Best line: An aside about Simon's parents, "Rosemary and Satan Cowell."
Bryan Adams medley, performed by the Top Six men and Bryan Adams: Not in my wheelhouse. Who is this guy? He kind of looks like Jerry Van Dyke.
"Sharp Dressed Man," performed by David Cook and ZZ Top: At times, especially early on, D.C. looked a little uncomfortable and reserved, but heck -- he's only been trying to grow his facial hair for three months, not 30 years. He loosened up and, better yet, he displayed none of the diction problems that plagued him Tuesday night. By the end of the number, he was having fun, and so was I.
"Teach Your Children Well," performed by Brooke White and Graham Nash: Okay, so she didn't get to sing with Carole King or Carly Simon -- but if she had, we wouldn't have been able to tell their voices apart. Pairing Brooke with a man made that job ever so much easier. Overall, the perfect parting image for the ex-nanny: barefoot, strumming her guitar and singing a 1970s folk-rock song in front of pictures of little children. Woo-hoo!
Guitar Hero commercial with David Cook: D.C. re-creates Tom Cruise's famous "Old Fashioned Rock-and-Roll" number from Risky Business. Hilarious. What I didn't realize at the time was that David Archuleta also filmed his own version of the spot, and I missed it when I went for another slug of whiskey. I have since seen it, and I now recommend that you watch them back-to-back on YouTube. The big difference? David Cook is wearing briefs, and David Archuleta is wearing Magic Mormon Underpants. It's worth seeking out D.A.'s version, just to get a rare look at the Sacred Vestments of Latter-Day Saints, Boxer-Shorts Edition. You've got to hand it to David Archuleta: He gave us something Mitt Romney and Marie Osmond never did.
A performance by a boy band that Ryan said "needs no introduction" so he allowed the screaming girls in the audience to shout out their name, which of course was unintelligible: I came to find out they were The Jonas Brothers. I had come to think of them as The Eunuchs. I like my name for them better.
Bad-audition montage: Better to watch one minute of this than ten entire episodes of it. One wannabe the judges and producers found particularly memorable was one Renaldo Lapuz, who auditioned with a song he wrote himself called "We're Brothers Forever." So just as they trotted out last year's crazed Clay Aiken fan and let him sing with the object of his twisted desire, the producers foisted Renaldo upon us, singing his signature tune, dressed in something he got at Siegfried and Roy's going-out-of-business sale, and coming down the stairs just like Lucy Ricardo did in the famous Hollywood-showgirl episode. Oh, but it got better. Up the aisles to accompany him: the University of Southern California marching band and cheerleaders, and eventually even Paula and Randy.
This show is like the television equivalent of a pizza that fell over in your car on your way home, I thought. All the cheese is smooshed into one place!
Around here, USC is viewed either with envy or contempt as the rich kids' school, the university whose graduates sometimes have just a tiny superiority complex and sense of entitlement. I'm from Ohio, I wouldn't know. But now that their band has accompanied Renaldo Lapuz on "We're Brothers Forever," I would advise any Trojans out there not to mention their alma mater for a while. If there's anything more shameful than losing a football game to UCLA, surely this must be it.
"Apologize," performed by David Archuleta and OneRepublic: Another band I've never heard of. God, I'm such a fossil. The guy at the piano looked like he was passing the same kidney stone that was bothering David A. on Tuesday night. You could tell the competition was over for D.A. at this point. In fact, you could almost hear his thoughts: "Darn what Andrew Lloyd Webber says! He's not around anymore! I'm gonna close my eyes all over the place! In fact, I'm gonna look comatose! GOSH!"
"One Step at a Time," performed by Jordin Sparks: If this were the Miss America Pageant, this would be the spot where last year's winner takes her Final Walk, while Bert Parks sings the salute to the deposed queen, "Miss America, You're Beautiful" ("There She Is" was always reserved for the new title-holder):
Miss America, you're beautiful.
With so many roles to play,
Ev'ry road along the way
Will still be your runway,
Miss America!
Well, actually, this is the Miss America Pageant, or what substitutes for it these days, and this was the outgoing Idol's Final Walk, and God, I wish Bert Parks were still alive. Then we might have been spared Jordin's aggressively off-key (but energetic!) romp through yet another undistinguished and indistinguishable song of the type currently favored by pop princesses and those who download their hits. You know what I mean: mile-a-minute hip-hop-influenced lyrics set to a breakneck beat and what can only charitably be called a melody. It's the same crap we've heard on this show in just the last six weeks from Fantasia Barrino, Mariah Carey and that Natasha woman. What made it special was Jordin's outfit -- a shockingly unflattering gold mylar babydoll dress that made her look like Betsy McCall after that nasty accident at the wrapping-paper factory. I'm sorry, I can't resist: She was a hot tranny mess!
Filler consisting of footage of Gladys Knight from 1972 superimposed onto the Pips she was supposedly auditioning at the time, played only marginally successfully for laughs by Ben Stiller, Jack Black, and someone I thought I wasn't hip enough to recognize but who turned out to be Robert Downey, Jr.: What more could possibly be said about that?
"Last Name," performed by Carrie Underwood: Carrie is getting more comfortable actually moving onstage, her voice is better than it ever was during her tenure on "Idol," and she looked fantastic last night. Well, fantastic as long as you were looking at her face and her figure. Please to ignore the clothes. I swear, Carrie was in costume as a 1968 Western Airlines flight attendant who discovered she had to get married while on the job, and therefore attached a train to the back of her uniform. That flight, when she walked down the aisle, she walked down the aisle.
George Michael medley, performed by the Top Twelve: Shucks. Couldn't they have brought Luke Menard back and sung "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" just for this? No such luck.
"Praying for Time," performed by George Michael: Reportedly George wasn't feeling well last night, but you'd never know it from his restrained but emotional (if somewhat mannered -- the fluttery gestures were a bit distracting) interpretation of this song. Nice to see GM out of the slammer, out of the courtroom, out of the men's room, out of the closet and back on the stage.
Judges' final remarks: Randy's remarks were dismissible, but Paula and Simon each had a moment. I wish I had written down Paula's comments verbatim, but they were something along the lines of this: "This is the finale, but it's really not the final, because it's just the beginning of the destiny of your career." Why don't they have Paula write the winner's song every year? That lyric is certainly no worse than Tuesday night's "How can a window encompass perfection?"
Simon, meanwhile, did something to David Cook I don't remember him doing to any contestant since he did the same to Katharine McPhee on April 26, 2006 -- he apologized! Evidently in watching the show on TV (or in finding out the results in advance, depending on how much of a conspiracy theorist you are) he realized that Tuesday night's competition hadn't been the David Archuleta "knockout" he called it at the time. (And it wasn't: David A.'s first song was the best of the night, but David C.'s second song was far better than D.A.'s, and D.C. did attempt a new song in Round Three while D.A. safely and lazily trotted out his old warhorse, "Imagine"). David C. was as gracious accepting Simon's apology as he was weathering his criticism. What a feelgood moment! Can't we just call it a tie and hug each other and go home?
The Results: But we knew it wasn't a tie -- Ryan had announced at the top of the show that, of 97.5 million votes cast, one David had won an astonishing 56% of them. And of course as the world now knows, that David was not the contestant repeatedly called "The Chosen One" by the Los Angeles Times or the "Presumptive 'American Idol' Winner" by Zap2it.com. It was David Cook!
The rest of the show would have been wonderful just because Jeff Archuleta did not storm the stage to throttle his second-place offspring. What raised it to the level of greatness was the genuine emotion displayed by both David A. (who looked truly happy that his big-brother-figure had won) and David C., who was overwhelmed.
And what made it a lesson for every future "Idol" contestant was David C.'s acceptance speech, in which he reminded us all that he had branded himself early on as "a word nerd." How many times do aspiring Idols have to be told that it's not just the music, it's the music and the words that make a song a song? Maybe future contestants will look at David Cook and realize that paying attention to the words was what made him able to reinvent "Hello" and "Billie Jean" in a way that made sense . . . that paying attention to the words was what enabled D.C. not only to learn three new songs for competition this week (to D.A.'s two), but to learn six more songs for the finale . . . and that not paying attention to the words was what undid Brooke White, Jason Castro and even David Archuleta.
I admit I was late to the David Cook party. Back on March 12, my friend John Mihelich wrote to me after I had blasted D.C. for some performance or other:
Although I never review the "American Idol" results shows, for some reason this year I feel compelled to. Something I guess I should take up at my next appointment with my therapist, Robert, at the Farmers Market.
Maybe it's because, in the past, the "American Idol" season finale has been such a monumental waste of cathode rays. Remember the year of the running-joke dumb-blonde-at-the-gourmet-restaurant sketches with Wolfgang Puck and Kellie Pickler? Ryan Seacrest trolling the red carpet and then taking us backstage to "spy" on the finalists in their dressing rooms? Paul Anka, dripping formaldehyde, singing custom lyrics to "My Way"? Or, most cringe-worthy of all, the dreaded "Golden Idol" Awards?
This year's closer, on the other hand -- while it had plenty of the filler, shameless cross-promotion and lame gags that characterize every "American Idol" results show -- provided a solid two hours of entertainment that, more than anything else, ended the season in an altogether satisfying way.
How could I not do the same for you, my faithful fellow "Idol" fans?
As always, in order of appearance:
Intro: David Archuleta and David Cook, dressed all in white and bathed in a single spotlight, staring each other down in a most uncomfortable way. Oh, please, God, I thought, not more boxing. Proof again that God cares about reality shows: we were spared. Better yet, the boys' embarassment wearing their Man from Glad-rags was diminished once we got a load of Randy Jackson, dressed as if he'd just been discharged from the British Army, circa 1776. What was he thinking?
The Remotes: Live from the Cook-fan gathering Kansas City, it's . . . Matt Rogers! What, they couldn't get Constantine Maroulis or Justin Guarini or Kimberly Caldwell or someone who placed higher than 11th and actually went on an "AI" tour to report from the scene? Meanwhile, in Murray, Utah -- oh, my God, it's Mikalah Gordon! You must remember Mikalah Gordon, the girl with the soul of Barbra Streisand but the voice of Fran Drescher. Only now, she doesn't look like she's from Flushing. She looks like she's from . . . Siam. What's up with that? Still, it was nice to see that "Idol" takes care of its own, especially those more unfortunate than us.
"Get Ready," performed by the Top Twelve with the "So You Think You Can Dance?" Dancers: Well, everybody's in white, and they're moving all over the stage, and some of them are break-dancing, and some of them are singing, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you who's who, thanks to the non-stop zooming of the cameras and the every-nanosecond editing. Dizzying.
"A Hero Can Save Us," performed by David Archuleta and David Cook: The Top Two harmonized very nicely on this, I thought -- not always the result when a crooner and a rocker get together. (It helps when the rocker can adapt to other musical styles.) The difference between the two as performers was particularly evident here: David Cook is so much more relaxed onstage, and looked ever so much more comfortable relating to his duet partner. He's a generous performer, though, and by the end of the number the two of them had a nice big brother/little brother vibe going on.
The Love Guru sketch, David Archuleta, David Cook and Mike Myers: Oooh -- another big difference between the Daves became apparent here, in a wretched cross-promotional sketch about the two of them visiting the lead character in the upcoming Paramount Pictures blockbuster, The Love Guru. And the difference is: David Cook can act. David Archuleta can't. D.C.'s facial expressions were actually funnier than the forced gags coming out of Mike Myers's mouth. (I have to say, though, that the Guru's greeting to one and all, "Mariskahargitay," is pretty damn funny.)
"Waiting for You," performed by Syesha Mercado and Seal: Syesha's singing partner courtesy of Heidi Klum. Syesha's dress courtesy of Rami Kashou. The whole number was "Project Runway"-licious. And our third-place contestant held her own in the singing department with Seal. Only one word for it: Fierce!
"Hallelujah," performed by Jason Castro: Jason reprised his best number of the season. And he still remembered the words. Another heartfelt rendition from Whoopi Travolta's Love Muppet. Let's move on.
Ford Music Video outtakes: Better than the videos were.
Donna Summer medley, performed by the Top Six women and Donna Summer: Notable for two things: Amanda Overmyer looking somewhere between bored and downright pissed off throughout the entire number, and Donna Summer herself, in fine voice but sporting not so svelte a figure. Somewhere along the line she should have said, "No more beers -- enough is enough!" But she graciously shared her rhinestone-encrusted microphone with Syesha. I wish she'd share it with me -- what a hit I'd be on karaoke night with that thing!
"The Letter," performed by Michael Johns and Carly Smithson: So nice to see them both, to see two early front-runners get another moment in the sun, and to see them so relaxed onstage and with each other. Carly looked great, but I have to say, Michael Johns, in his tux jacket, looked even better. They were terrific.
Jimmy Kimmel's monologue: He tried to skewer Ryan, Paula and Simon, but he left Randy out entirely. Since, in my opinion, Randy is completely expendable (and the British Army wants its red coat back), this didn't bother me. Makes you wonder, though, doesn't it? The entire monologue was lame. Best line: An aside about Simon's parents, "Rosemary and Satan Cowell."
Bryan Adams medley, performed by the Top Six men and Bryan Adams: Not in my wheelhouse. Who is this guy? He kind of looks like Jerry Van Dyke.
"Sharp Dressed Man," performed by David Cook and ZZ Top: At times, especially early on, D.C. looked a little uncomfortable and reserved, but heck -- he's only been trying to grow his facial hair for three months, not 30 years. He loosened up and, better yet, he displayed none of the diction problems that plagued him Tuesday night. By the end of the number, he was having fun, and so was I.
"Teach Your Children Well," performed by Brooke White and Graham Nash: Okay, so she didn't get to sing with Carole King or Carly Simon -- but if she had, we wouldn't have been able to tell their voices apart. Pairing Brooke with a man made that job ever so much easier. Overall, the perfect parting image for the ex-nanny: barefoot, strumming her guitar and singing a 1970s folk-rock song in front of pictures of little children. Woo-hoo!
Guitar Hero commercial with David Cook: D.C. re-creates Tom Cruise's famous "Old Fashioned Rock-and-Roll" number from Risky Business. Hilarious. What I didn't realize at the time was that David Archuleta also filmed his own version of the spot, and I missed it when I went for another slug of whiskey. I have since seen it, and I now recommend that you watch them back-to-back on YouTube. The big difference? David Cook is wearing briefs, and David Archuleta is wearing Magic Mormon Underpants. It's worth seeking out D.A.'s version, just to get a rare look at the Sacred Vestments of Latter-Day Saints, Boxer-Shorts Edition. You've got to hand it to David Archuleta: He gave us something Mitt Romney and Marie Osmond never did.
A performance by a boy band that Ryan said "needs no introduction" so he allowed the screaming girls in the audience to shout out their name, which of course was unintelligible: I came to find out they were The Jonas Brothers. I had come to think of them as The Eunuchs. I like my name for them better.
Bad-audition montage: Better to watch one minute of this than ten entire episodes of it. One wannabe the judges and producers found particularly memorable was one Renaldo Lapuz, who auditioned with a song he wrote himself called "We're Brothers Forever." So just as they trotted out last year's crazed Clay Aiken fan and let him sing with the object of his twisted desire, the producers foisted Renaldo upon us, singing his signature tune, dressed in something he got at Siegfried and Roy's going-out-of-business sale, and coming down the stairs just like Lucy Ricardo did in the famous Hollywood-showgirl episode. Oh, but it got better. Up the aisles to accompany him: the University of Southern California marching band and cheerleaders, and eventually even Paula and Randy.
This show is like the television equivalent of a pizza that fell over in your car on your way home, I thought. All the cheese is smooshed into one place!
Around here, USC is viewed either with envy or contempt as the rich kids' school, the university whose graduates sometimes have just a tiny superiority complex and sense of entitlement. I'm from Ohio, I wouldn't know. But now that their band has accompanied Renaldo Lapuz on "We're Brothers Forever," I would advise any Trojans out there not to mention their alma mater for a while. If there's anything more shameful than losing a football game to UCLA, surely this must be it.
"Apologize," performed by David Archuleta and OneRepublic: Another band I've never heard of. God, I'm such a fossil. The guy at the piano looked like he was passing the same kidney stone that was bothering David A. on Tuesday night. You could tell the competition was over for D.A. at this point. In fact, you could almost hear his thoughts: "Darn what Andrew Lloyd Webber says! He's not around anymore! I'm gonna close my eyes all over the place! In fact, I'm gonna look comatose! GOSH!"
"One Step at a Time," performed by Jordin Sparks: If this were the Miss America Pageant, this would be the spot where last year's winner takes her Final Walk, while Bert Parks sings the salute to the deposed queen, "Miss America, You're Beautiful" ("There She Is" was always reserved for the new title-holder):
Miss America, you're beautiful.
With so many roles to play,
Ev'ry road along the way
Will still be your runway,
Miss America!
Well, actually, this is the Miss America Pageant, or what substitutes for it these days, and this was the outgoing Idol's Final Walk, and God, I wish Bert Parks were still alive. Then we might have been spared Jordin's aggressively off-key (but energetic!) romp through yet another undistinguished and indistinguishable song of the type currently favored by pop princesses and those who download their hits. You know what I mean: mile-a-minute hip-hop-influenced lyrics set to a breakneck beat and what can only charitably be called a melody. It's the same crap we've heard on this show in just the last six weeks from Fantasia Barrino, Mariah Carey and that Natasha woman. What made it special was Jordin's outfit -- a shockingly unflattering gold mylar babydoll dress that made her look like Betsy McCall after that nasty accident at the wrapping-paper factory. I'm sorry, I can't resist: She was a hot tranny mess!
Filler consisting of footage of Gladys Knight from 1972 superimposed onto the Pips she was supposedly auditioning at the time, played only marginally successfully for laughs by Ben Stiller, Jack Black, and someone I thought I wasn't hip enough to recognize but who turned out to be Robert Downey, Jr.: What more could possibly be said about that?
"Last Name," performed by Carrie Underwood: Carrie is getting more comfortable actually moving onstage, her voice is better than it ever was during her tenure on "Idol," and she looked fantastic last night. Well, fantastic as long as you were looking at her face and her figure. Please to ignore the clothes. I swear, Carrie was in costume as a 1968 Western Airlines flight attendant who discovered she had to get married while on the job, and therefore attached a train to the back of her uniform. That flight, when she walked down the aisle, she walked down the aisle.
George Michael medley, performed by the Top Twelve: Shucks. Couldn't they have brought Luke Menard back and sung "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" just for this? No such luck.
"Praying for Time," performed by George Michael: Reportedly George wasn't feeling well last night, but you'd never know it from his restrained but emotional (if somewhat mannered -- the fluttery gestures were a bit distracting) interpretation of this song. Nice to see GM out of the slammer, out of the courtroom, out of the men's room, out of the closet and back on the stage.
Judges' final remarks: Randy's remarks were dismissible, but Paula and Simon each had a moment. I wish I had written down Paula's comments verbatim, but they were something along the lines of this: "This is the finale, but it's really not the final, because it's just the beginning of the destiny of your career." Why don't they have Paula write the winner's song every year? That lyric is certainly no worse than Tuesday night's "How can a window encompass perfection?"
Simon, meanwhile, did something to David Cook I don't remember him doing to any contestant since he did the same to Katharine McPhee on April 26, 2006 -- he apologized! Evidently in watching the show on TV (or in finding out the results in advance, depending on how much of a conspiracy theorist you are) he realized that Tuesday night's competition hadn't been the David Archuleta "knockout" he called it at the time. (And it wasn't: David A.'s first song was the best of the night, but David C.'s second song was far better than D.A.'s, and D.C. did attempt a new song in Round Three while D.A. safely and lazily trotted out his old warhorse, "Imagine"). David C. was as gracious accepting Simon's apology as he was weathering his criticism. What a feelgood moment! Can't we just call it a tie and hug each other and go home?
The Results: But we knew it wasn't a tie -- Ryan had announced at the top of the show that, of 97.5 million votes cast, one David had won an astonishing 56% of them. And of course as the world now knows, that David was not the contestant repeatedly called "The Chosen One" by the Los Angeles Times or the "Presumptive 'American Idol' Winner" by Zap2it.com. It was David Cook!
The rest of the show would have been wonderful just because Jeff Archuleta did not storm the stage to throttle his second-place offspring. What raised it to the level of greatness was the genuine emotion displayed by both David A. (who looked truly happy that his big-brother-figure had won) and David C., who was overwhelmed.
And what made it a lesson for every future "Idol" contestant was David C.'s acceptance speech, in which he reminded us all that he had branded himself early on as "a word nerd." How many times do aspiring Idols have to be told that it's not just the music, it's the music and the words that make a song a song? Maybe future contestants will look at David Cook and realize that paying attention to the words was what made him able to reinvent "Hello" and "Billie Jean" in a way that made sense . . . that paying attention to the words was what enabled D.C. not only to learn three new songs for competition this week (to D.A.'s two), but to learn six more songs for the finale . . . and that not paying attention to the words was what undid Brooke White, Jason Castro and even David Archuleta.
I admit I was late to the David Cook party. Back on March 12, my friend John Mihelich wrote to me after I had blasted D.C. for some performance or other:
C'mon, drink the David Cook Kool Aid! It's so yummy! Here, have a sip. Mmmm.
Now I buy the stuff by the gallon.
And who wouldn't? After his coronation, willingly sharing the stage with his family and his competitor and all the rest of the Top Twelve, David still had to sing the 2008 "American Idol" equivalent to "There She Is, Miss America," the first-place votegetter in the dreaded "AI" Original Song Contest. The title will tell you almost everything you need to know, and I'll tell you the rest. The title is "The Time of My Life," and the rest is: it even included a lyric about rainbows.
D.C. sang the hell out of this shlock, amid tears and smiles and hugs and strobe lights and confetti -- everything but a sash and a tiara, and I could arrange for that if they asked me -- and he didn't drop a word or miss a note of it. How much more of an idol could anybody want than that?
Yes, "American Idol" is part beauty pageant, and that's part of its appeal. When I was -- oh, let's say when I was minus 10 -- watching the Miss America pageant wasn't something we just did in my family every year; it was a national event. So was sitting around the television set on Saturday nights watching Jackie Gleason and, later, Carol Burnett, and on Sunday nights watching Ed Sullivan. At my house, every afternoon after school you could find my grandmother caught up in her "stories" -- "The Edge of Night" and "The Secret Storm." Sunday afternoons at 5:30? Time for "Ted Mack and the Original Amateur Hour."
Beauty pageants are out of style now; so are variety shows. Soap operas went into decline when the press started reporting which actors' contracts were renewed and whose weren't -- letting you know in advance what characters were likely to meet an untimely end. Talent contests faded after "Star Search" celebrated Ed McMahan's 104th birthday on the air.
"American Idol," in its maddening way, brings back what made all of those indigenous American art forms popular. The chance for an unknown to become a star because of popular acclaim, a la Ted Mack and his wheel of fortune ("Round and round she goes, and where she stops, nobody knows") and the postcards people sent in to vote for their favorites. The succession of musical acts and burlesque sketches (now they're called Ford Music Videos) that ensured variety show viewers there'd be something for everyone in the family to enjoy. The suspense of not knowing who's going to be killed off next. The pomp and circumstance of crowning royalty.
For those of us who grew up watching variety shows, soaps, talent contests and beauty pageants, "American Idol" (and, to a lesser extent, "Dancing with the Stars") taps into our collective memory. For the kids who don't even know what those relics are (variety shows might as well be vaudeville), "American Idol" proves that their elements are just as compelling now as they were 40, 50 or even 60 years ago. That's why -- despite all the complaints, including mine, about its structure, its judges, its conspiracies, its scandals, its contestants, its songs, its value -- it will be around next year.
And so I guess I will be too. See you then.
And who wouldn't? After his coronation, willingly sharing the stage with his family and his competitor and all the rest of the Top Twelve, David still had to sing the 2008 "American Idol" equivalent to "There She Is, Miss America," the first-place votegetter in the dreaded "AI" Original Song Contest. The title will tell you almost everything you need to know, and I'll tell you the rest. The title is "The Time of My Life," and the rest is: it even included a lyric about rainbows.
D.C. sang the hell out of this shlock, amid tears and smiles and hugs and strobe lights and confetti -- everything but a sash and a tiara, and I could arrange for that if they asked me -- and he didn't drop a word or miss a note of it. How much more of an idol could anybody want than that?
Yes, "American Idol" is part beauty pageant, and that's part of its appeal. When I was -- oh, let's say when I was minus 10 -- watching the Miss America pageant wasn't something we just did in my family every year; it was a national event. So was sitting around the television set on Saturday nights watching Jackie Gleason and, later, Carol Burnett, and on Sunday nights watching Ed Sullivan. At my house, every afternoon after school you could find my grandmother caught up in her "stories" -- "The Edge of Night" and "The Secret Storm." Sunday afternoons at 5:30? Time for "Ted Mack and the Original Amateur Hour."
Beauty pageants are out of style now; so are variety shows. Soap operas went into decline when the press started reporting which actors' contracts were renewed and whose weren't -- letting you know in advance what characters were likely to meet an untimely end. Talent contests faded after "Star Search" celebrated Ed McMahan's 104th birthday on the air.
"American Idol," in its maddening way, brings back what made all of those indigenous American art forms popular. The chance for an unknown to become a star because of popular acclaim, a la Ted Mack and his wheel of fortune ("Round and round she goes, and where she stops, nobody knows") and the postcards people sent in to vote for their favorites. The succession of musical acts and burlesque sketches (now they're called Ford Music Videos) that ensured variety show viewers there'd be something for everyone in the family to enjoy. The suspense of not knowing who's going to be killed off next. The pomp and circumstance of crowning royalty.
For those of us who grew up watching variety shows, soaps, talent contests and beauty pageants, "American Idol" (and, to a lesser extent, "Dancing with the Stars") taps into our collective memory. For the kids who don't even know what those relics are (variety shows might as well be vaudeville), "American Idol" proves that their elements are just as compelling now as they were 40, 50 or even 60 years ago. That's why -- despite all the complaints, including mine, about its structure, its judges, its conspiracies, its scandals, its contestants, its songs, its value -- it will be around next year.
And so I guess I will be too. See you then.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Restaurant Review: Philly's Best
The first Philly’s Best restaurant I went to was in Fountain Valley, in 1998. It had been recommended to me by a former boss of mine who was originally from the East Coast, and knew my parents were also from the Greater Philadelphia area. I took them there, and sure enough, not only did they serve pretty authentic Philly cheesesteaks, but they were augmented by Wise potato chips and—best of all—Tastykakes!
As it turns out, that Fountain Valley shop was the first of what is now a chain. Last Monday, I happened upon its latest outpost, in one of the new shopping centers that have sprung up like weeds in the former dairy town of Mira Loma, where Limonite Avenue intersects Interstate 15, just south of the 60 Freeway.
Like the original, this Philly’s Best is an unassuming little restaurant, with a mural of the Philadelphia skyline dominating one wall. There are other geographically appropriate touches, but I didn’t see copies of the Philadelphia Daily News or enough other artifacts to make me feel like I was stepping into the Reading Terminal Market.
I ordered the Philly Pepper Steak, which is a twelve-inch steak sandwich with grilled sweet peppers and white American cheese. (White American cheese is a genuine Philly touch—the stuff is the standard in that part of the country; it’s only elsewhere that you find the dyed-orange slices.) If I’d read the menu more closely, I’d’ve seen I could have had provolone or what you’d find on a real Philly cheesesteak, Cheez Whiz.
Grilled onions were $0.95 extra. With two small bags of Wise potato chips and a medium Diet Coke, my bill came to nearly $12.00—exorbitant, in my opinion.
Other sandwiches are available—hoagies (which are served cold and with lettuce and tomato) and chicken sandwiches (cheesesteaks with poultry instead of beef), but I didn’t see smaller portion sizes. The twelve-inch cheesesteak would easily have been enough to share.
The cheese melted beautifully into the steak, which was appropriately tender and juicy (or greasy, depending on your point of view). The sweet peppers were genuinely sweet—delicious, in fact. I added some chopped jalapenos from the condiment bar, but was sorry I did. They were so roughly chopped that I actually had to remove two stems from the sandwich. The onions were nicely grilled, but were chopped, not diced—the pieces were much larger than you’d find on a similar sandwich in Philadelphia itself. The accompanying potato chips were typical Wise—prized because they are rare here, not because they’re significantly better than other brands.
Because of the size of the sandwich, I was too full to try a Tastykake, but they had many of the brand’s most popular offerings, including Jelly Krimpets and Chocolate Kandy Kakes. I can assure you I’d’ve made room if they’d had my all-time favorite—Tastykake Lemon Pies, the snack food that made me the man I am today.
If you are hankering for a taste of Philadelphia, Philly’s Best may not be the same as going to Pat’s or Geno’s, but it may be as good as you’ll get out here on the West Coast.
Ambience: 2 (out of 5). Not much more than a typical Fatburger would have. They need to pump up the Philly connection.
Service: 3 (out of 5). Order at the counter and they’ll call your name when your order is ready. I got lucky; someone who appeared to be one of the franchise owners was on duty and he brought my sandwich to my table.
Food: 7 (out of 10). Smaller portion sizes and a less lazy approach to vegetable chopping would be appreciated.
Value: 2 (out of 5). Overpriced.
Total: 14 (out of 25)—that’s about a C+.
Philly’s Best, 6237 Pat's Ranch Road, Mira Loma, CA 91752. (951) 279-5400.
As it turns out, that Fountain Valley shop was the first of what is now a chain. Last Monday, I happened upon its latest outpost, in one of the new shopping centers that have sprung up like weeds in the former dairy town of Mira Loma, where Limonite Avenue intersects Interstate 15, just south of the 60 Freeway.
Like the original, this Philly’s Best is an unassuming little restaurant, with a mural of the Philadelphia skyline dominating one wall. There are other geographically appropriate touches, but I didn’t see copies of the Philadelphia Daily News or enough other artifacts to make me feel like I was stepping into the Reading Terminal Market.
I ordered the Philly Pepper Steak, which is a twelve-inch steak sandwich with grilled sweet peppers and white American cheese. (White American cheese is a genuine Philly touch—the stuff is the standard in that part of the country; it’s only elsewhere that you find the dyed-orange slices.) If I’d read the menu more closely, I’d’ve seen I could have had provolone or what you’d find on a real Philly cheesesteak, Cheez Whiz.
Grilled onions were $0.95 extra. With two small bags of Wise potato chips and a medium Diet Coke, my bill came to nearly $12.00—exorbitant, in my opinion.
Other sandwiches are available—hoagies (which are served cold and with lettuce and tomato) and chicken sandwiches (cheesesteaks with poultry instead of beef), but I didn’t see smaller portion sizes. The twelve-inch cheesesteak would easily have been enough to share.
The cheese melted beautifully into the steak, which was appropriately tender and juicy (or greasy, depending on your point of view). The sweet peppers were genuinely sweet—delicious, in fact. I added some chopped jalapenos from the condiment bar, but was sorry I did. They were so roughly chopped that I actually had to remove two stems from the sandwich. The onions were nicely grilled, but were chopped, not diced—the pieces were much larger than you’d find on a similar sandwich in Philadelphia itself. The accompanying potato chips were typical Wise—prized because they are rare here, not because they’re significantly better than other brands.
Because of the size of the sandwich, I was too full to try a Tastykake, but they had many of the brand’s most popular offerings, including Jelly Krimpets and Chocolate Kandy Kakes. I can assure you I’d’ve made room if they’d had my all-time favorite—Tastykake Lemon Pies, the snack food that made me the man I am today.
If you are hankering for a taste of Philadelphia, Philly’s Best may not be the same as going to Pat’s or Geno’s, but it may be as good as you’ll get out here on the West Coast.
Ambience: 2 (out of 5). Not much more than a typical Fatburger would have. They need to pump up the Philly connection.
Service: 3 (out of 5). Order at the counter and they’ll call your name when your order is ready. I got lucky; someone who appeared to be one of the franchise owners was on duty and he brought my sandwich to my table.
Food: 7 (out of 10). Smaller portion sizes and a less lazy approach to vegetable chopping would be appreciated.
Value: 2 (out of 5). Overpriced.
Total: 14 (out of 25)—that’s about a C+.
Philly’s Best, 6237 Pat's Ranch Road, Mira Loma, CA 91752. (951) 279-5400.
The Argument Against Gay Marriage
Last week, the California Supreme Court struck down the law banning marriage between members of the same gender here in the Golden State. According to Chief Justice Ron George, “Our state now recognizes that an individual's capacity to establish a loving and long-term committed relationship with another person and responsibly to care for and raise children does not depend upon the individual's sexual orientation.”
To no one’s surprise, the only thing louder than the whoops of happiness from West Hollywood and the Castro District have been the cries of outrage from the religious and political right. Part of their argument is that this decision “subverts the will of the people of California,” 61 percent of whom voted in favor of Prop 22, which stated “only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California,” back in 2000.
Having forgotten that “majority rules” only counts when the rights of the minority are protected, they are pinning their hopes on an amendment to the state constitution decreeing marriage a one-man/one-woman institution—an amendment that would, if passed, overturn the Supreme Court’s decision.
I want to talk to these people for a few minutes. Not the talk-radio blowhards and the Bible-thumping zealots, but the average, even-tempered people who also want to deny homosexuals the right to marry.
And I want to say to these people: I understand. I understand why you’re against gay marriage. And I want you to listen to me, with an open mind, just for a few minutes.
No one wants his or her child to be gay. A gay child is subject to isolation, or name-calling, or ridicule, or bullying, or far, far worse. No parent wants that for his son or daughter.
And no one aspires to be the parent of a gay son or daughter.
We don’t know whether homosexuality is a result of genetics or chemistry or upbringing or some combination thereof, or if it’s just some cosmic accident. But because, unlike eye or hair color, it’s a trait that’s not obvious at birth, parents frequently consider themselves responsible for it.
“He loves baseball—just like his father.”
“She’s stubborn—she gets that from me.”
“She loves horses. I did too when I was her age.”
“He’s gay—where did I go wrong?”
People do care what others think of them. And as a result, some parents don’t want a child to be gay because of what they think it says about them.
So how do these concerned parents think they can stop homosexuality from happening, so that they can ensure that their children and their children’s children will be heterosexual and the neighbors won’t talk?
By denying its existence.
If there are no books in the school library that feature gay characters—
If we boycott the products of sponsors of television shows that feature gay people—
If the only role models our children see are heterosexual people in traditional marriages—
If we make sure that our children don’t even know there is such a thing as homosexuality—
Then how can they become what doesn’t exist?
That, I believe, is at the very core of the argument against gay marriage: a belief that if there is no gay marriage, fewer children will grow up to be gay—and vice versa.
But it doesn’t work that way.
Gay just happens.
Whether society accepts it or denies it or decries it, gay just happens. It’s happened throughout recorded history. It’s happened in cultures that embraced homosexuality and it’s happened in cultures that demonized it. In the absence of positive role models and in the presence of punishment, gay just happens. It happens to the children of conservatives who espouse family values just as it happens to the children of left-wing free-love advocates. Like being left-handed, there are children—about ten percent of all children—who just turn out that way.
And as no parent wishes for his or her child to be gay, believe me: no child wishes to be gay either. They just turn out that way. Anyone who thinks homosexuality is a choice is naïve at best. The only choices homosexuals have are whether to admit their preference to themselves and others, and whether to act on their desires. Their sexual orientation itself? That’s not a choice; it’s a fact of their lives.
In a world that tells children—from before they are even aware of their sexual feelings—that being gay is unnatural and wrong, that being gay means you can’t grow up and get married to the person you love, how do you think these children feel?
They feel guilty. Ashamed. Afraid. Alone.
Parents who think they’ll prevent their children from becoming homosexual by denying them the opportunity to see happy, productive gay people in long-term committed relationships are not preventing any such thing. Their straight children will still be straight; but their gay children will not only still be gay, they’ll also feel marginalized and inferior and without hope.
This is the environment that produces people like Jim McGreevey and Ted Haggard and Larry Craig, men who are willing to build lives of elaborate lies (hurting many others in the bargain) to hide their sexual orientation—desires that they can then only indulge in pathetic places like turnpike exits, motel rooms and airport toilets.
So I understand the argument against gay marriage. It’s a well intentioned hedge against a child’s unhappiness. But that hedge can create its own unhappiness, a much deeper and more damaging unhappiness.
Gay marriage won’t turn heterosexuals gay any more than allowing marriage only between a man and a woman has turned homosexuals straight. What it will do is allow some boy or some girl, somewhere, to feel that he or she can grow up and live a normal, healthy life with the partner of their choosing.
In the end, what parent wouldn’t want that?
To no one’s surprise, the only thing louder than the whoops of happiness from West Hollywood and the Castro District have been the cries of outrage from the religious and political right. Part of their argument is that this decision “subverts the will of the people of California,” 61 percent of whom voted in favor of Prop 22, which stated “only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California,” back in 2000.
Having forgotten that “majority rules” only counts when the rights of the minority are protected, they are pinning their hopes on an amendment to the state constitution decreeing marriage a one-man/one-woman institution—an amendment that would, if passed, overturn the Supreme Court’s decision.
I want to talk to these people for a few minutes. Not the talk-radio blowhards and the Bible-thumping zealots, but the average, even-tempered people who also want to deny homosexuals the right to marry.
And I want to say to these people: I understand. I understand why you’re against gay marriage. And I want you to listen to me, with an open mind, just for a few minutes.
No one wants his or her child to be gay. A gay child is subject to isolation, or name-calling, or ridicule, or bullying, or far, far worse. No parent wants that for his son or daughter.
And no one aspires to be the parent of a gay son or daughter.
We don’t know whether homosexuality is a result of genetics or chemistry or upbringing or some combination thereof, or if it’s just some cosmic accident. But because, unlike eye or hair color, it’s a trait that’s not obvious at birth, parents frequently consider themselves responsible for it.
“He loves baseball—just like his father.”
“She’s stubborn—she gets that from me.”
“She loves horses. I did too when I was her age.”
“He’s gay—where did I go wrong?”
People do care what others think of them. And as a result, some parents don’t want a child to be gay because of what they think it says about them.
So how do these concerned parents think they can stop homosexuality from happening, so that they can ensure that their children and their children’s children will be heterosexual and the neighbors won’t talk?
By denying its existence.
If there are no books in the school library that feature gay characters—
If we boycott the products of sponsors of television shows that feature gay people—
If the only role models our children see are heterosexual people in traditional marriages—
If we make sure that our children don’t even know there is such a thing as homosexuality—
Then how can they become what doesn’t exist?
That, I believe, is at the very core of the argument against gay marriage: a belief that if there is no gay marriage, fewer children will grow up to be gay—and vice versa.
But it doesn’t work that way.
Gay just happens.
Whether society accepts it or denies it or decries it, gay just happens. It’s happened throughout recorded history. It’s happened in cultures that embraced homosexuality and it’s happened in cultures that demonized it. In the absence of positive role models and in the presence of punishment, gay just happens. It happens to the children of conservatives who espouse family values just as it happens to the children of left-wing free-love advocates. Like being left-handed, there are children—about ten percent of all children—who just turn out that way.
And as no parent wishes for his or her child to be gay, believe me: no child wishes to be gay either. They just turn out that way. Anyone who thinks homosexuality is a choice is naïve at best. The only choices homosexuals have are whether to admit their preference to themselves and others, and whether to act on their desires. Their sexual orientation itself? That’s not a choice; it’s a fact of their lives.
In a world that tells children—from before they are even aware of their sexual feelings—that being gay is unnatural and wrong, that being gay means you can’t grow up and get married to the person you love, how do you think these children feel?
They feel guilty. Ashamed. Afraid. Alone.
Parents who think they’ll prevent their children from becoming homosexual by denying them the opportunity to see happy, productive gay people in long-term committed relationships are not preventing any such thing. Their straight children will still be straight; but their gay children will not only still be gay, they’ll also feel marginalized and inferior and without hope.
This is the environment that produces people like Jim McGreevey and Ted Haggard and Larry Craig, men who are willing to build lives of elaborate lies (hurting many others in the bargain) to hide their sexual orientation—desires that they can then only indulge in pathetic places like turnpike exits, motel rooms and airport toilets.
So I understand the argument against gay marriage. It’s a well intentioned hedge against a child’s unhappiness. But that hedge can create its own unhappiness, a much deeper and more damaging unhappiness.
Gay marriage won’t turn heterosexuals gay any more than allowing marriage only between a man and a woman has turned homosexuals straight. What it will do is allow some boy or some girl, somewhere, to feel that he or she can grow up and live a normal, healthy life with the partner of their choosing.
In the end, what parent wouldn’t want that?
"American Idol," May 20, 2008: The Battle of the Davids
Greetings, "Idol" Minds!
So here it is, 7:00 on the Wednesday morning after the "American Idol" Season Seven finals, and after ten hours, I still haven't come up with anything to say. No wacky stories to tell, no quizzes, no limericks, no creative ideas at all about how to approach this topic. Has my well at last run dry? Am I intimidated by the challenge of trying to come up with something that can top what I have written about this show before?
Or am I just completely uninspired by the material I have to work with here?
Um, the correct answer would be C.
Oh, don't get me wrong. There were some remarkable things in last night's episode. Not least among them: the defrosting and triumphant return of the cryogenically preserved Clive Davis, who was banished last year after having criticized Kelly Clarkson in the press. (I guess he has been vindicated by the fact that her last album, the object of his scorn, turned out to be the critical and commercial flop he predicted it would be.) And in the role of Robin to Clive's Batman, making a return appearance: the season's best mentor, Andrew Lloyd Webber, who came away with the night's (intentionally) funniest line, saying what would happen if David Archuleta kept squinting through every song: "He'll drive us all mad!"
Equally remarkable, in a quite different way, was the boxing metaphor. After a season in which "American Idol" has been accused of being too old-school, past its prime, bordering on self-parody, and fixed, the producers chose, without an ounce of irony, to draw a parallel between the show and . . . boxing? First we had the opening, with the contestants introduced by that famous boxing ringmaster guy, the one who bellows "Let's get ready to rumble!," Michael Buffer or something. Okay, fine, but then the two Davids had to come on stage wearing silk robes and boxing gloves, and you can imagine how embarrassed they both clearly were. But wait, there was more. Since the producers are never satisfied with stopping at "too much" when "beyond the pale" is within reach, every round was introduced with a "tale-of-the-tape" segment shot in grainy hand-held black-and-white, complete with dead-serious commentary by a too-bronzed and too-sweaty Jim Lampley, who proved that "Dancing with the Stars" and Kenny Mayne do this sort of thing much better by not taking it seriously at all. By the end of the show, when Simon Cowell declared it a "knockout" in David Archuleta's favor, I was ready to bite my own ear off.
Yes, as I said, there were remarkable things in last night's episode. None of them, however, happened to be performances by the contestants, which for the most part put the "dull" in "American Idol."
CLIVE DAVIS'S CHOICE ROUND
After his year on Exile Island, Clive proved that he still can pick 'em, just like he did when he picked "Sonny Boy" for Al Jolson back in 1910. These were the most appropriate song choices and the best performances of the night.
DAVID COOK -- "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" -- 2 / 96
Nice controlled beginning. A little mush-mouthy when he got to the chorus. David didn't hit some of the sustained notes squarely on pitch, but he managed to hit them all eventually, and his slide on the last note was effective and beautifully done. I would have liked to have seen more intense facial expressions from David C. -- a little bit more frustration.
Best judging comment: Randy Jackson calling this "the duel of 2007." Since Paula Abdul has already proved that she can see the future, it's only appropriate that Randy should prove once again ("I worked with Mariah! With Whitney! I was in Journey!") that he lives in the past.
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" -- 1 / 98
Well, if you like David Archuleta, this was your moment. He kept his eyes open (thank you, Lord Webber!), he bounced an imaginary ping-pong ball up and down with his right hand, he bounced on his feet as he moved across the stage, and he bent over and grabbed his appendix every time he had to hit a high note. All the typical Archuletisms, minus the squinting, but amped up to a fare-thee-well. It was like Extra-Strength Archuleta. And to tell you the truth, it worked. This was an exceptionally solid vocal, and David's peculiar pained facial expressions were completely appropriate for the lyric. The best performance of the night.
ORIGINAL SONG ROUND
I have to confess, I went on the "Idol" website during the songwriting contest and listened to and voted on the 20 finalists for this year's Original Song. Oh, what a cesspool of musical waste. Among the titles? "Believe in Me," "You Believe in Me" and "You Believed in Me" -- I kid you not. Hard to believe, but apparently there was no clear-cut "winner," because the producers "allowed" (such an honor!) the Davids to pick their own poison from this pile of sewage. Not a sign that the powers that be sensed a surefire hit in there, is it? And they were right.
DAVID COOK -- "Dream Big" -- 1 / 94
Simon correctly pointed out that this song didn't have the valedictory feel of such previous "Idol" original songs as "A Moment Like This," "I Believe," "Angels Brought Me Here," "My Destiny," "Do I Make You Proud?" and that timeless national treasure, "This is My Now." But unlike most of those anthems of self-affirmation, this one had a solid hook, a driving beat and a catchy tune. I would have liked to see David C. display more joy in performing this song. I kept thinking, He's holding back for some reason. Maybe he's got something in his back pocket that he's keeping from us until Round Three. Even though I felt David C. was holding back on us, the relative strength of the song itself, coupled with a performance free of any annoyances, gave him the edge in this round.
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "In this Moment" -- 2 / 92
Now, this is more like it -- an "Idol" original song with truly wretched lyrics and a wholly forgettable melody! And if you thought David Cook looked joy-free while singing his second-round choice, you should have seen David Archuleta. The boy looked constipated the entire time: squinty (I could almost hear Andrew Lloyd Webber begin to lose his grip), strained, unsmiling, and bent at the waist. Maybe it's me, but I think if you're going to sing a song about how this is your moment and nobody's gonna take it away from you, you shouldn't look like you're trying to pass a kidney stone.
CONTESTANT'S CHOICE ROUND
DAVID COOK -- "The World I Know" -- 2 / 92
Terrible song choice. If you didn't know it -- and I didn't -- you wouldn't get much out of it from David C.'s mush-mouthed interpretation of it, and therefore you wouldn't understand why he started crying (!) at the end of it. He hit a beautiful last note, but again, the entire enterprise seemed restrained, removed, overly self-controlled. But then, in my opinion, there was only one song in the world that David Cook should have sung in this round of competition last night, and because he has repeatedly vowed that he'd never trade on his sibling's illness for sympathy votes, he never would. But if he had sung "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother," the crown would be his, and the world would still be weeping.
Best judging comment: Paula Abdul telling David, "You're standing in your truth." I hope he wiped his feet afterwards.
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "Imagine" -- 1 / 93
Terrible song choice. David A. thinks that this is his signature song, because it got the most impassioned audience response. The fact is, "Imagine" just happened to be the first yearning ballad he sang on the show -- and therefore the first time the audience would have heard this big voice coming from this small, relentlessly sincere teenager. Any of the yearning ballads he's sung since -- "Another Day in Paradise," "The Long and Winding Road," "Angels," or, for that matter, "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" -- would have evoked the same response, and he'd think that was his signature song.
Regardless, the repeat performance didn't do anything for me except reinforce the fact that David A. can only do one thing, one way. But unlike David Cook, there was nothing restrained about David A. last night, and the combination of a full-strength performance and a better song put David A. over the top in this round.
Speaking of over the top: Ruben Studdard singing the soundtrack to the retrospective montage at the end of the show? Oh, my God. He could have moons orbiting him.
Tonight, David Archuleta -- he of such limited emotional range, limited vocal range, limited life experience -- is going to win "American Idol." And you know what? I have this nagging feeling that -- consciously or subconsciously -- David Cook wants that to happen, and it was reflected in his performances last night. Maybe David C. doesn't want the title -- the brand -- of "American Idol." After all, the lack of it probably helped Chris Daughtry more than it hurt him. Or maybe -- and I think this is more likely -- he doesn't want to be the contestant who denied David Archuleta his dream.
Tonight we'll find out if it worked.
So here it is, 7:00 on the Wednesday morning after the "American Idol" Season Seven finals, and after ten hours, I still haven't come up with anything to say. No wacky stories to tell, no quizzes, no limericks, no creative ideas at all about how to approach this topic. Has my well at last run dry? Am I intimidated by the challenge of trying to come up with something that can top what I have written about this show before?
Or am I just completely uninspired by the material I have to work with here?
Um, the correct answer would be C.
Oh, don't get me wrong. There were some remarkable things in last night's episode. Not least among them: the defrosting and triumphant return of the cryogenically preserved Clive Davis, who was banished last year after having criticized Kelly Clarkson in the press. (I guess he has been vindicated by the fact that her last album, the object of his scorn, turned out to be the critical and commercial flop he predicted it would be.) And in the role of Robin to Clive's Batman, making a return appearance: the season's best mentor, Andrew Lloyd Webber, who came away with the night's (intentionally) funniest line, saying what would happen if David Archuleta kept squinting through every song: "He'll drive us all mad!"
Equally remarkable, in a quite different way, was the boxing metaphor. After a season in which "American Idol" has been accused of being too old-school, past its prime, bordering on self-parody, and fixed, the producers chose, without an ounce of irony, to draw a parallel between the show and . . . boxing? First we had the opening, with the contestants introduced by that famous boxing ringmaster guy, the one who bellows "Let's get ready to rumble!," Michael Buffer or something. Okay, fine, but then the two Davids had to come on stage wearing silk robes and boxing gloves, and you can imagine how embarrassed they both clearly were. But wait, there was more. Since the producers are never satisfied with stopping at "too much" when "beyond the pale" is within reach, every round was introduced with a "tale-of-the-tape" segment shot in grainy hand-held black-and-white, complete with dead-serious commentary by a too-bronzed and too-sweaty Jim Lampley, who proved that "Dancing with the Stars" and Kenny Mayne do this sort of thing much better by not taking it seriously at all. By the end of the show, when Simon Cowell declared it a "knockout" in David Archuleta's favor, I was ready to bite my own ear off.
Yes, as I said, there were remarkable things in last night's episode. None of them, however, happened to be performances by the contestants, which for the most part put the "dull" in "American Idol."
CLIVE DAVIS'S CHOICE ROUND
After his year on Exile Island, Clive proved that he still can pick 'em, just like he did when he picked "Sonny Boy" for Al Jolson back in 1910. These were the most appropriate song choices and the best performances of the night.
DAVID COOK -- "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" -- 2 / 96
Nice controlled beginning. A little mush-mouthy when he got to the chorus. David didn't hit some of the sustained notes squarely on pitch, but he managed to hit them all eventually, and his slide on the last note was effective and beautifully done. I would have liked to have seen more intense facial expressions from David C. -- a little bit more frustration.
Best judging comment: Randy Jackson calling this "the duel of 2007." Since Paula Abdul has already proved that she can see the future, it's only appropriate that Randy should prove once again ("I worked with Mariah! With Whitney! I was in Journey!") that he lives in the past.
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" -- 1 / 98
Well, if you like David Archuleta, this was your moment. He kept his eyes open (thank you, Lord Webber!), he bounced an imaginary ping-pong ball up and down with his right hand, he bounced on his feet as he moved across the stage, and he bent over and grabbed his appendix every time he had to hit a high note. All the typical Archuletisms, minus the squinting, but amped up to a fare-thee-well. It was like Extra-Strength Archuleta. And to tell you the truth, it worked. This was an exceptionally solid vocal, and David's peculiar pained facial expressions were completely appropriate for the lyric. The best performance of the night.
ORIGINAL SONG ROUND
I have to confess, I went on the "Idol" website during the songwriting contest and listened to and voted on the 20 finalists for this year's Original Song. Oh, what a cesspool of musical waste. Among the titles? "Believe in Me," "You Believe in Me" and "You Believed in Me" -- I kid you not. Hard to believe, but apparently there was no clear-cut "winner," because the producers "allowed" (such an honor!) the Davids to pick their own poison from this pile of sewage. Not a sign that the powers that be sensed a surefire hit in there, is it? And they were right.
DAVID COOK -- "Dream Big" -- 1 / 94
Simon correctly pointed out that this song didn't have the valedictory feel of such previous "Idol" original songs as "A Moment Like This," "I Believe," "Angels Brought Me Here," "My Destiny," "Do I Make You Proud?" and that timeless national treasure, "This is My Now." But unlike most of those anthems of self-affirmation, this one had a solid hook, a driving beat and a catchy tune. I would have liked to see David C. display more joy in performing this song. I kept thinking, He's holding back for some reason. Maybe he's got something in his back pocket that he's keeping from us until Round Three. Even though I felt David C. was holding back on us, the relative strength of the song itself, coupled with a performance free of any annoyances, gave him the edge in this round.
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "In this Moment" -- 2 / 92
Now, this is more like it -- an "Idol" original song with truly wretched lyrics and a wholly forgettable melody! And if you thought David Cook looked joy-free while singing his second-round choice, you should have seen David Archuleta. The boy looked constipated the entire time: squinty (I could almost hear Andrew Lloyd Webber begin to lose his grip), strained, unsmiling, and bent at the waist. Maybe it's me, but I think if you're going to sing a song about how this is your moment and nobody's gonna take it away from you, you shouldn't look like you're trying to pass a kidney stone.
CONTESTANT'S CHOICE ROUND
DAVID COOK -- "The World I Know" -- 2 / 92
Terrible song choice. If you didn't know it -- and I didn't -- you wouldn't get much out of it from David C.'s mush-mouthed interpretation of it, and therefore you wouldn't understand why he started crying (!) at the end of it. He hit a beautiful last note, but again, the entire enterprise seemed restrained, removed, overly self-controlled. But then, in my opinion, there was only one song in the world that David Cook should have sung in this round of competition last night, and because he has repeatedly vowed that he'd never trade on his sibling's illness for sympathy votes, he never would. But if he had sung "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother," the crown would be his, and the world would still be weeping.
Best judging comment: Paula Abdul telling David, "You're standing in your truth." I hope he wiped his feet afterwards.
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "Imagine" -- 1 / 93
Terrible song choice. David A. thinks that this is his signature song, because it got the most impassioned audience response. The fact is, "Imagine" just happened to be the first yearning ballad he sang on the show -- and therefore the first time the audience would have heard this big voice coming from this small, relentlessly sincere teenager. Any of the yearning ballads he's sung since -- "Another Day in Paradise," "The Long and Winding Road," "Angels," or, for that matter, "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" -- would have evoked the same response, and he'd think that was his signature song.
Regardless, the repeat performance didn't do anything for me except reinforce the fact that David A. can only do one thing, one way. But unlike David Cook, there was nothing restrained about David A. last night, and the combination of a full-strength performance and a better song put David A. over the top in this round.
Speaking of over the top: Ruben Studdard singing the soundtrack to the retrospective montage at the end of the show? Oh, my God. He could have moons orbiting him.
Tonight, David Archuleta -- he of such limited emotional range, limited vocal range, limited life experience -- is going to win "American Idol." And you know what? I have this nagging feeling that -- consciously or subconsciously -- David Cook wants that to happen, and it was reflected in his performances last night. Maybe David C. doesn't want the title -- the brand -- of "American Idol." After all, the lack of it probably helped Chris Daughtry more than it hurt him. Or maybe -- and I think this is more likely -- he doesn't want to be the contestant who denied David Archuleta his dream.
Tonight we'll find out if it worked.
Friday, May 16, 2008
"American Idol," May 13, 2008: The Final Three
Live . . . from Television City in Hollywood . . . this is “A-merrr-ican Idol”!
Yes, despite my resolve never to go anywhere near the CBS lot after being denied a spot in the “Idol” studio audience two weeks ago—hey, I’ve been kicked out of better places than this!—there I was again yesterday, courtesy of my friends Mo and Mark, who this time had genuine, bona fide, can’t-miss guaranteed VIP seats for the Season Seven Final Three telecast.
To paraphrase George W. Bush: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on both of you.
I arrived well over an hour before 3:15, when real honest-to-God ticket holders were told they’d be admitted, and decided to amuse myself at the adjacent L.A. Farmer’s Market, rather than stand in line on Beverly Boulevard with a hundred juvenile delinquents again. There are limits to how much I’m willing to degrade myself, even for “American Idol.” (That’s what separates me from the contestants, I guess. That and 30 years or so.)
If you’ve ever been to the Farmer’s Market, you know it’s a maze of shops, kiosks, tourists and the occasional movie star. I went in search of a Diet Coke, since fatigue and dehydration seemed to be common maladies among the “Idol”-loving masses two weeks ago. As I was navigating my way through the morass, I almost ran into a tall, 30-ish man with exotic, dark, Middle-Eastern good looks and Israeli-blue eyes that lasered into mine. He looked like his name was Avi, or Ari, or Uri. Uvi, perhaps. I paused to let him pass, and as I started to move on, I heard from behind me, “Excuse me. Excuse me.”
I turned around. It was Uvi, his penetrating stare fixed on me again, his arm outstretched, offering me a business card.
“Please take this card. I am Robert. I do readings. You have a very nice energy.”
A very nice energy? That’s the nicest thing a stranger has said to me since the doctor at the Bosley Clinic told me I had “wonderful donor hair from which we can harvest,” and that was years ago. A very nice energy? Oh, Robert, if you only knew.
I took the card, thanked him, and beat a hasty retreat, because to tell you the truth, Uvi-Robert creeped me out quite a bit. After I got my Diet Coke, I looked at the card:
Psychic Readings by Robert
> Unfold the divine light within
> Over coming blockages, obstacles and fears
> Specialize in energy healing restoring relationships
> Creating clarity within
> Change your aura
> Balance your life
Who knew my divine light was folded up inside of me? I mean, there are some mornings when I know about the blockages, but I thought I needed a physic, not a psychic. I immediately wished I’d had the presence of mind to ask him, “Am I finally going to get in to see ‘American Idol’ today?” But there you go—I don’t have any inner clarity after all.
Armed with Uvi-Robert’s card, a Diet Coke, and my very nice energy, I headed over to the lines of desperate seat fillers at the entrance to Television City. There they all were again—the 50-something men in suits and women in sequined cocktail dresses waiting for the “Dancing with the Stars” results show, the love-struck teenage girls and gay 20-year-old disco boys waiting for “American Idol,” and working the line, as always, the intern from hell, Jason.
Mo and Mark arrived with their new and improved e-mail, the one with big bold print announcing guaranteed admission, much like a Publishers Clearinghouse giveaway promises you ten million dollars and Ed McMahan at your door. Mo showed it to Jason, who showed it to one of his minions (yes, at CBS, even the minions have minions) and boom! We were directed to a special line and, after a wait of no more than five minutes, we were escorted to the holding area outside the studio building.
We were in!
Well, not in, actually—but close! Before we went through a security inspection that would have shamed the TSA, yet another CBS page warned us that, inside, we might be separated from our groups, purportedly because of seat availability. Sure enough, on the other side of the metal detectors, some people were directed to sit on benches lining the studio’s outside wall, while others—including Mo, Mark and me—were sent to benches a few feet away.
As we sat there, it was Mo who observed that there was a distinct difference between the wall-huggers and us in the middle. The wall people were all between the ages of 15 and 20, the girls looking like cheerleaders and the boys looking like they were ready to go clubbing in West Hollywood. And the rest of us? Well, if you should ever go to a taping of “American Idol,” remember this: “middle bench” is the producers’ euphemism for “middle aged.” Someone should have taken a picture. Caption: The Beautiful and the Damned.
It was clear: They would be the Mosh Pit—and we would be somewhere out of camera range.
Having a very nice energy only gets you so far, I guess. Thanks a lot, Uvi-Robert.
A limo pulled up as the people on one bench were gelling their hair and the people on ours were putting gel insoles in their shoes. Our first star sighting! Out of the limo and ready for his close-up stepped that glittering megastar . . . um, Justin Guarini. Justin Guarini—who came in second to Kelly Clarkson in Season One and starred in the worst movie ever made, From Justin to Kelly—gets a limo? Going to see “American Idol” is, if nothing else, an object lesson in the total unfairness of life.
At about 3:45, the studio audience for the dress rehearsal was released (no star sightings there—these people couldn’t get in to see the actual live broadcast, making them even more pathetic than we were) and shortly thereafter the CBS pages directed us, bench by bench, into the studio itself.
Now I was starting to feel confident about actually having a seat at an “American Idol” taping.
A few observations about the “Idol” studio:
> If you think the bowels-of-the-Enterprise set looks tacky on TV, you should see it in person. I wondered, Do you think they’ll finish painting it before they go on the air? In a word: no.
> The set is, as many have reported, much smaller than it appears on screen. The camera adds ten pounds and, roughly, a hundred feet.
> The judges’ desk sits on a platform directly in front of the stage. Their chairs are, in keeping with the flying-saucer theme, very silvery of frame and cushion, and look quite comfortable.
> Because the judging panel is elevated, the Mosh Pit is not actually a pit at all. It’s the floor—that portion of the floor between the judges’ platform and the stage.
> Behind the judges are four rows of seats that are likewise on a platform and are cordoned off, for glittering megastars like Justin Guarini, I guess, as well as contestants’ friends and family. Behind these rows are eight rows of bleachers. And that’s it. It may look like Radio City Music Hall on TV, but I’ve been to--excuse me, heard of--adult movie theaters that seat more people.
Soon, various headsetted assistant directors had the princesses and the queens stand on the Mosh Floor, and had those of us branded old and pathetic stand in what I presumed was a holding area radiating diagonally away from the giant gyroscopic towers on which “Idol” logos spin. Every few minutes, they’d direct us to move an inch or two away from the stage, or move an inch or two closer to it. Whatever. It was a holding area, and I was looking around taking it all in, enjoying the star sightings: Look! It’s Marilu Henner! There’s Sam Rubin, the KTLA entertainment reporter! Wow—it’s Jeff Archuleta, the most notorious stage parent since Mama Rose, in his “Dainty June and Her Newsboys” cap! Over there—David Hernandez, the lap dancer who got booted from the Top Twelve! Justin Frigging Guarini!
I am telling you, it was a galaxy of stars: B-list, Z-list, and—what’s lower than Z?
It seemed at this point like the bleachers were filling up, and I wondered when they were going to move us from our holding area to actual chairs. A monitor running time code off to the side said there was less than 15 minutes to air. Then it dawned on me. I asked Mo: “Is this it? Is this where we’re going to be? Standing here? The whole time?” I already knew the answer when the A.D. came along and directed us to shift one inch to the left again.
In other words, after two vacation days, six hours of waiting in line and incalculable suffering and humiliation, I still haven’t gotten a seat at a taping of “American Idol”!
Behind me was a very short woman who was none too pleased that I was in front of her here in the Mosh Annex. She started talking in a very loud voice to her companions: “Well, I can’t! Every time I move, he moves!” She said this two or three times, in fact. I kept expecting a tap on my shoulder and a polite request from her to get out of her way, but no—just the same loud passive-aggressive whining to her friends about how I managed to sense when she was moving behind me, and how I’d thwart her cleverness by blocking her, as if that would somehow improve my view.
Mo finally leaned over and said to me, “Don’t pay any attention to her.” In my best loud fighting-fire-with-fire voice I said, “I’m not. When the stagehands tell me to move, I move. When they tell me to stand still, I stand still. Maybe she should just ask for a refund.” I guess that’s when Shorty remembered that TV tickets are free, because that shut her up.
When it comes to height deprivation, though, this woman was a tower of human flesh compared to the judges, who were escorted to their seats from an entrance near us. Randy Jackson is short, but Paula Abdul? I knew from Linda C. (hi, Linda!), a co-worker who attended a live broadcast in April, that Paula was tiny. Tiny, hell. The woman is a dwarf.
Just before air time, Corey—the manic warm-up comedian who, with the help of blaring dance-club music, tries to whip the audience into a frenzy before the show and during commercial breaks—brought our three remaining contestants out on stage. They’re short, too, as is Ryan Seacrest. Come to think of it, the whole place is practically Lilliputian. Other than their lack of stature, the sight of the contestants brought no surprises: David Cook looked cool as a spring breeze, Syesha Mercado was stunningly beautiful, and David Archuleta seemed overwhelmed and petrified.
Debbie Williams, the highly respected stage manager famous for fixing Brad Pitt’s microphone during “Idol Gives Back,” suddenly appeared to shout, “Quiet! And in five, four, three . . . “
With that, the lights dimmed and someone ahead of me in the Mosh Outhouse quietly expelled flatulence of astonishing foulness. Just for the record, in case this entry should be read by someone who was in the general vicinity at the time, it was not me. It was some other old fart.
Meanwhile, there was Ryan on stage with the Idols, giving yet another of his overblown introductions: “They are at your mercy!” And, of course, “This . . . is ‘A-merrrr-ican Idol’!” If it sounded from the right side of your TV speakers as if the ovation was more subdued than usual, it’s because all of us over there were holding our noses.
On with the show!
JUDGE’S CHOICE ROUND
DAVID ARCHULETA—“And So It Goes” (chosen by Paula Abdul)—3 / 93
First, let me say this. In person, all three of the contestants sounded just terrific. Maybe it was because of our location in the Mosh Wing that I had a hard time detecting pitches that were off, lyrics that were fumbled or energy that waned. Or maybe I was just caught up in the moment. But I would have had a hard time breaking a nine-way tie for first place after three rounds of competition if I had to do all of my judging standing there in the audience.
Watching the show on TV at home last night, criticism of the contestants came much easier to me, thank God. David A. did a lovely job with a first verse that he delivered virtually a capella and without his customary melismatic riffs and runs. But he got to the chorus and I was distracted by his poor diction. Billy Joel’s original lyric:
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break
David Archuleta’s version:
Butt chew can make decisions too
Ann Jew can have this heart to break
I mean, the imagery there—it just doesn’t work for me!
SYESHA MERCADO—“If I Ain’t Got You” (chosen by Randy Jackson)—2 / 95
Contrast David A. with Syesha, the trained actress, who managed to get through this entire song without singing “If I ain’t got chew.” This song allowed Syesha to demonstrate plenty of vocal variety and she gave it a really wonderful ending. And in her glittery gold gown, she looked nothing less than stunning. I loved the whole thing.
DAVID COOK—“The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” (chosen by Simon Cowell)—1 / 98
The night’s best performance. Randy panned Simon’s choice as too old-fashioned a ballad for Rocker David, and Ryan tried to spin it first into a subliminal homoerotic message from Simon to David and then afterwards as a tribute to David’s mother, which is all just too weird for words: The first time ever I saw your face—you mean, in the delivery room?
What seemed to escape everyone was David’s beautifully controlled, modulated and incredibly sensitive interpretation of the first half of the song, followed by his patented crowd-pleasing Big Cookie Ending. This was a great, great performance that highlighted David C.’s real strength—reinventing pop classics of relatively recent vintage as show-stopping, rock-infused, stadium-busting anthems. Terrific.
CONTESTANT’S CHOICE ROUND
DAVID ARCHULETA—“With You”—2 / 92
Oh, my God! David Archuleta is wearing a pair of Blake Lewis’s plaid pants from last season! Mine eyes!
Once I got past the painful imagery, it seemed to me that David A. forgot and stumbled through one lyric, barely remembered another one, and, of course, sang “if I got chew” instead of “if I got you.” But he hid the memory lapses well and overall delivered a bouncy and sprightly teen-idol rendition of something other than one of his maudlin ballads. He seemed to be having fun for a change, and so did I.
SYESHA MERCADO—“Fever”—1 / 97
The judges panned Syesha’s choice of song and doomed her to elimination tonight, which amounts to one of the rawer deals “American Idol” has handed a contestant in its history. Simon stated flatly that “Fever” didn’t show Syesha as a “contemporary recording artist,” which is what the show is looking for. Paula complained that it didn’t “define the real Syesha.”
Give me a break. If the show was really intent on finding a “contemporary recording artist,” it wouldn’t force contestants to sing stuff frequently older than “Fever” during theme weeks, it wouldn’t make them dance in the weekly results show “group song” horror-fests, and it wouldn’t delay the release of winners’ first albums until after they’ve had to endure a 40-city tour where they are expected not to be “recording artists” but stage performers. Hell, if the show was really intent on finding a "contemporary recording artist," it would be on radio.
A stage performer is exactly what Syesha is—so, Paula, you midget, it did “define the real Syesha” and “allow her to shine through.”
Beyond the choice itself, this girl’s interpretation of it was nothing to be dismissed. It was the second-best performance of the night and showed Syesha to be a talented and compelling singer, dancer, actress and artist. She was purposely just behind the beat, giving the pacing a completely different sound compared to what we’ve heard from Peggy Lee and, much more recently, Michael Buble. Her use of a simple wooden chair (think Liza Minnelli in Cabaret) was clever and different. And her run on the last two words of the song—“to burn”—was unexpected and ethereal and wholly new.
But what’s the point? The producers want two contestants in the finale who will be perceived as having an equal chance of winning. Suspense builds ratings. And perpetual Bottom Three dweller Syesha doesn’t fit into that scenario.
So of course the judges had to ignore the numerous qualities of Syesha’s performance and diss her for “song choice.” It’s the only way to put pressure on the voting viewers so that the Final Two can include a singer with a huge fanbase who happens to have a vocal and emotional range that’s narrower than your average remote-control toy. Which, now that I think of it, is a pretty good description of David Archuleta.
DAVID COOK—“Dare You to Move”—3 / 90
Not David C.’s best. While I didn’t hear the “pitchiness” Randy complained about during the live performance, it was quite evident on TV. The whole verse was flat, and in more than one way—it was the lethargic David Cook we saw last week. The rocking Big Cookie Ending helped, but overall this performance reminded me of a line from the Kander & Ebb musical Curtains: “I found it lackluster. It lacked . . . luster.”
PRODUCERS’ CHOICE ROUND
DAVID ARCHULETA—“Longer”—2 / 93
Nothing we haven’t seen or heard from David before—sexless, sincere and squinty. Nice last note, though.
SYESHA MERCADO—“Hit Me Up”—3 / 92
Bouncy and upbeat, not unlike David A.’s “With You” in Round Two. Also pitchy at places, not unlike David C.’s “Dare You to Move” in the same round. Simon and I were in agreement: What Syesha needed last night was a “defining moment”—her equivalent to Fantasia’s “Summertime,” Kelly’s “Stuff Like That there,” Kat’s “Over the Rainbow.” This song, and Syesha’s performance of it, didn’t give her that. Syesha will be “hit up” indeed tonight—by a massive hook.
DAVID COOK—“I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing”—1 / 96
In the studio, this was clearly the most popular performance of the night. Maybe the people in the four rows of elevated seats were more enthusiastic in their response to it because sitting amongst them was the song’s author, the well known hack Diane Warren. The producers also gave this the full production-number treatment, with violinists on stage and, at the chorus, enough strobe lights to induce epileptic seizures in less hearty souls.
David C. committed himself to an energetic, involved, powerful performance and, even if he did oversing it in the end, it was the perfect closer to the show.
The results on my ballot were clear but close—no one ranked last in more than one round, and only one contestant ranked first in more than one round.
David Archuleta 3 / 93 + 2 / 92 + 2 / 93 = 7 / 278 Third Place
Syesha Mercado 2 / 95 + 1 / 97 + 3 / 92 = 6 / 284 Second Place
David Cook 1 / 98 + 3 / 92 + 1 / 96 = 5 / 286 First Place
But my ballot doesn’t reflect what will happen tonight, when Syesha—who, through talent and tenacity, has had a run as long as my beloved Melinda Doolittle did last year—will get the axe.
By the time the credits rolled on your TV at home, Sam Rubin, Marilu Henner and David Hernandez were already out the door. The contestants remained onstage, where David Cook instigated a group hug for the three of them. It was touching, and it looked like it was something they’d been doing all season long.
Mo and Mark lingered to talk to the judges as they walked past (Mo shook Simon’s hand!) but I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I have a broken toe, remember, and my feet, after the better part of two hours standing in the Mosh-like Place, were sore. A page gave every audience member a DVD of the Season Six Final Two episode (oh, boy—more Blake Lewis in plaid pants) and directed us to the “American Idol” merchandise kiosk, where the lowest-priced item was an appropriately cheap-looking keychain that could be yours for the bargain-basement price of $6.50. I only bought one. Then I was off to catch the West Coast broadcast from the comfort of an actual chair.
So, if you’re wondering whether or not I was actually visible in the audience on last night’s telecast, the answer is yes! To see me, here’s what you need to do. Fire up your TiVo or your VCR and fast-forward through the show till you get to Ryan’s introduction of the final songs of the night. That’s the one where he’s standing in the audience (actually, of course, it was the Mosh Satellite). Now rewind to the very, very beginning of that segment, right after the animated logo disappears. Are you there? Okay, good. Now go frame by frame as the swooping jib camera zeroes in on Ryan. No, no, no, you’ve gone too far. Back up. Back, back, back—there! On the extreme left side of your screen. Do you see the man in the dark blue striped long-sleeved shirt clapping with his hands above his head, just like Corey told him to? (I’m nothing if not obedient.) That’s my right arm! You’ll recognize it right away—it has a very good energy.
Next week: The Battle of the Davids as they each have to sing the winning entrant from the “AI” Songwriting Contest! Somehow I’m guessing that “Are You Proud that Angels Brought Me to the Dream that is My Now” has Archuleta written all over it . . .
Friday, May 9, 2008
"American Idol," May 6, 2008: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Week
Greetings, Idol Superdelegates!
> Season Five: Three men again (Taylor Hicks, Elliott Yamin and Chris Daughtry) and one woman (Kat McPhee)
Last night, in case you missed the news, an older white male, a slightly younger white male, a mixed-race guy and one woman squared off in a race for votes. Oh, and in North Carolina and Indiana, John McCain, Ron Paul, Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton did the same thing. But who cares about them and the future of our country when faced with David Cook, Jason Castro, David Archuleta, Syesha Mercado and the future of "American Idol"? Honestly, people, get your priorities straight.
This week was "Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Week," with songs drawn from said Hall of Fame's list of "500 Songs that Helped Shape Rock and Roll." Who would have guessed that among the "500 Songs that Helped Shape Rock and Roll" would be the "Four Songs that Tried to Kill Rock and Roll"? Somehow, two of the contestants managed to find them. They may make the "American Idol" Hall of Fame, but for all the wrong reasons. Specifically:
ROUND ONE
DAVID COOK -- "Hungry Like the Wolf" -- 3 / 90
Boring like the pig. David had good eye contact with the audience and sang on key, but this was a monotonous song and David sang it all on one level. Made me sleepy like the cat.
SYESHA MERCADO --"Proud Mary" -- 1 / 95
You've gotta love somebody who is brave enough to: (A) take on songs made famous by people like Tina Turner even though the judges always advise contestants not to do that, and (B) wear more body glitter than Julie Chen on a season finale episode of "Big Brother." Shine-eesha was out in full regalia last night with her shimmery silver cocktail dress and her iridescent eye shadow, but that's not what made her glow. She sang well, she danced, she commanded the stage and the audience, and she looked like she was having the time of her life. I enjoyed every second of it.
JASON CASTRO -- "I Shot the Sheriff" -- 4 / 84
More like "I Shot Up with the Sheriff." What was the matter with him? The right side of Jason's body had this guitar hanging from it, unplayed, like a third, muscleless arm. Simultaneously, the left side of his body was doing these herky-jerky movements that reminded me of Taylor Hicks and his host of tics -- touching the microphone stand, then spasming out in all directions, then adjusting the mic again. Dude! Go back to weed -- crack does not become you. Meanwhile, someone in the sound booth decided to adjust the audio mix so that Jason's famously underpowered voice actually drowned out the band. The whole thing was freaky and unwatchable, an opinion seconded by the judges, who -- unlike last week -- obviously didn't know in advance that this would turn out to be Jason's best performance of the night. Scary!
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "Stand by Me" -- 2 / 91
A typical David A. performance, punctuated by pleading facial expressions and the one gesture he knows how to make (the right palm upraised at varying heights, as if he were practicing tossing pizza crusts). He tried to hit a high note, though, and managed to succeed. This bit of vocal variety lifted David A. above David C. on my ballot for Round One. That, and the birds on his T-shirt. I liked them.
ROUND TWO
DAVID COOK -- "Baba O'Riley" -- 3 / 91
Costume change for Round Two! I loved that black jacket with the silver sparkles. Of course, I have that black jacket with the silver sparkles. What I didn't love was that this was another repetitious rock lyric (just how many times did Pete Townshend need to insert the phrase "teenage wasteland" for us to get the point?) and David had pitch problems throughout his performance of it. The judges loved it, but I thought it was surprisingly lackluster. The song itself had a little more variety in melody and tempo than David's first-round selection; hence he gets one additional rating point.
SYESHA MERCADO -- "A Change is Gonna Come" -- 2 / 96
Uh-oh. In her pre-performance package, Syesha said she was initially drawn to this song because its lyric ("It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die / I don't know what's up there beyond the sky") reflected the experience she'd had on "American Idol" -- but it took on added meaning for her when she researched it and learned how it had been an important anthem during the civil rights movement of the 1960s. So far, so good.
Then Syesha came out (dressed like an Oscar statuette) and sang it -- with big notes throughout and without much in the way of screechiness. So far, even better.
Randy criticized her with his usual vagueness, but when Paula demonstrably disagreed with him by standing up and giving Syesha an ovation -- hoo, baby! A historic "Idol" moment began. Syesha started to cry, and I mean cry. When Simon agreed with Paula's positive assessment of the performance, she moved beyond crying into a complete nervous Brooke-down. Shiny, shimmering, glimmering tears, the most beautiful sparkly tears you've ever seen in your life, cascaded down Syesha's face. Ryan, nonplussed as usual, while waiting for the stage manager to locate a Kleenex, tried to find out from Syesha why she was carrying on so. And that's when she repeated that the song was from the civil rights movement, and it just meant so much to her, and -- she played the race card.
Uh-oh.
JASON CASTRO -- "Mr. Tambourine Man" -- 4 / 79
There once was a singer forgetful
Who was lousy but never regretful.
He forgot his Bob Dylan
From too much sensimilla 'n'
This song, like his hair, was just dreadful.
(Okay, fine, those words don't exactly rhyme -- but why should I show any more respect for mere words than Jason Castro does? Don't even get me started on this smirking, lazy, disengaged amateur. Over him. Hear me? Over him.)
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "Love Me Tender" -- 1 / 97
In his package, David A. announced that he was, for the first time, going to sing a romantic song on the "Idol" stage. Would you like to know what it's like when David Archuleta sings a romantic song? It's exactly like it is when he sings a non-romantic song. Pleading, squinty facials, and vocal runs the length of the Boston Marathon. What I did like: It was a truly different take on the song, and there were no post-performance histrionics.
Overall, for the night, I would place Syesha first (on performance alone), a resurgent David Archuleta second, and a surprisingly colorless David Cook third. Then I'd put Carly Smithson, Michael Johns, David Hernandez, Brooke White, and Chikezie ahead of Jason. That's just me, though.
How will it play out? Well, let's look at this historically. There have been three previous "American Idol" Top Four episodes in which there were three contestants of one gender and one contestant of the other:
This week was "Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Week," with songs drawn from said Hall of Fame's list of "500 Songs that Helped Shape Rock and Roll." Who would have guessed that among the "500 Songs that Helped Shape Rock and Roll" would be the "Four Songs that Tried to Kill Rock and Roll"? Somehow, two of the contestants managed to find them. They may make the "American Idol" Hall of Fame, but for all the wrong reasons. Specifically:
ROUND ONE
DAVID COOK -- "Hungry Like the Wolf" -- 3 / 90
Boring like the pig. David had good eye contact with the audience and sang on key, but this was a monotonous song and David sang it all on one level. Made me sleepy like the cat.
SYESHA MERCADO --"Proud Mary" -- 1 / 95
You've gotta love somebody who is brave enough to: (A) take on songs made famous by people like Tina Turner even though the judges always advise contestants not to do that, and (B) wear more body glitter than Julie Chen on a season finale episode of "Big Brother." Shine-eesha was out in full regalia last night with her shimmery silver cocktail dress and her iridescent eye shadow, but that's not what made her glow. She sang well, she danced, she commanded the stage and the audience, and she looked like she was having the time of her life. I enjoyed every second of it.
JASON CASTRO -- "I Shot the Sheriff" -- 4 / 84
More like "I Shot Up with the Sheriff." What was the matter with him? The right side of Jason's body had this guitar hanging from it, unplayed, like a third, muscleless arm. Simultaneously, the left side of his body was doing these herky-jerky movements that reminded me of Taylor Hicks and his host of tics -- touching the microphone stand, then spasming out in all directions, then adjusting the mic again. Dude! Go back to weed -- crack does not become you. Meanwhile, someone in the sound booth decided to adjust the audio mix so that Jason's famously underpowered voice actually drowned out the band. The whole thing was freaky and unwatchable, an opinion seconded by the judges, who -- unlike last week -- obviously didn't know in advance that this would turn out to be Jason's best performance of the night. Scary!
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "Stand by Me" -- 2 / 91
A typical David A. performance, punctuated by pleading facial expressions and the one gesture he knows how to make (the right palm upraised at varying heights, as if he were practicing tossing pizza crusts). He tried to hit a high note, though, and managed to succeed. This bit of vocal variety lifted David A. above David C. on my ballot for Round One. That, and the birds on his T-shirt. I liked them.
ROUND TWO
DAVID COOK -- "Baba O'Riley" -- 3 / 91
Costume change for Round Two! I loved that black jacket with the silver sparkles. Of course, I have that black jacket with the silver sparkles. What I didn't love was that this was another repetitious rock lyric (just how many times did Pete Townshend need to insert the phrase "teenage wasteland" for us to get the point?) and David had pitch problems throughout his performance of it. The judges loved it, but I thought it was surprisingly lackluster. The song itself had a little more variety in melody and tempo than David's first-round selection; hence he gets one additional rating point.
SYESHA MERCADO -- "A Change is Gonna Come" -- 2 / 96
Uh-oh. In her pre-performance package, Syesha said she was initially drawn to this song because its lyric ("It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die / I don't know what's up there beyond the sky") reflected the experience she'd had on "American Idol" -- but it took on added meaning for her when she researched it and learned how it had been an important anthem during the civil rights movement of the 1960s. So far, so good.
Then Syesha came out (dressed like an Oscar statuette) and sang it -- with big notes throughout and without much in the way of screechiness. So far, even better.
Randy criticized her with his usual vagueness, but when Paula demonstrably disagreed with him by standing up and giving Syesha an ovation -- hoo, baby! A historic "Idol" moment began. Syesha started to cry, and I mean cry. When Simon agreed with Paula's positive assessment of the performance, she moved beyond crying into a complete nervous Brooke-down. Shiny, shimmering, glimmering tears, the most beautiful sparkly tears you've ever seen in your life, cascaded down Syesha's face. Ryan, nonplussed as usual, while waiting for the stage manager to locate a Kleenex, tried to find out from Syesha why she was carrying on so. And that's when she repeated that the song was from the civil rights movement, and it just meant so much to her, and -- she played the race card.
Uh-oh.
JASON CASTRO -- "Mr. Tambourine Man" -- 4 / 79
There once was a singer forgetful
Who was lousy but never regretful.
He forgot his Bob Dylan
From too much sensimilla 'n'
This song, like his hair, was just dreadful.
(Okay, fine, those words don't exactly rhyme -- but why should I show any more respect for mere words than Jason Castro does? Don't even get me started on this smirking, lazy, disengaged amateur. Over him. Hear me? Over him.)
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "Love Me Tender" -- 1 / 97
In his package, David A. announced that he was, for the first time, going to sing a romantic song on the "Idol" stage. Would you like to know what it's like when David Archuleta sings a romantic song? It's exactly like it is when he sings a non-romantic song. Pleading, squinty facials, and vocal runs the length of the Boston Marathon. What I did like: It was a truly different take on the song, and there were no post-performance histrionics.
Overall, for the night, I would place Syesha first (on performance alone), a resurgent David Archuleta second, and a surprisingly colorless David Cook third. Then I'd put Carly Smithson, Michael Johns, David Hernandez, Brooke White, and Chikezie ahead of Jason. That's just me, though.
How will it play out? Well, let's look at this historically. There have been three previous "American Idol" Top Four episodes in which there were three contestants of one gender and one contestant of the other:
> Season Two: Ruben Studdard, Clay Aiken and Josh Gracin were arguably all men, and Kimberley Locke was not
> Season Five: Three men again (Taylor Hicks, Elliott Yamin and Chris Daughtry) and one woman (Kat McPhee)
> Season Six: Three women (Jordin Sparks, my beloved Melinda Doolittle, and LaKisha Jones) and one man (Blake Lewis)
Each time, one of the majority went home, and the lone representative of the opposite sex stayed in the mix. That's a good sign for Syesha.
There have also been three previous "American Idol" Top Four episodes in which there was a "shocking elimination" (or, perhaps more accurately, a shocking reprieve for a less talented contestant)
There have also been three previous "American Idol" Top Four episodes in which there was a "shocking elimination" (or, perhaps more accurately, a shocking reprieve for a less talented contestant)
> Season One: When -- of Kelly Clarkson, Justin Guarini, Nikki McKibbin and Tamyra Gray -- it was Tamyra, not Nikki, who went home
> Season Three: When -- of Fantasia Barrino, Diana DeGarmo, Jasmine Trias and LaToya London -- it was LaToya, not Jasmine, who went home
> Season Five: When -- of Taylor, Kat, Elliott and Chris -- it was Chris, not Taylor, who went home
That, sadly, is a good sign for Jason -- meaning it will be either David Archuleta or David Cook who gets shown the exit door. Based on his lackluster performance as a rocker, and rockers' traditional inability to win at the highest levels of this competition, I'm predicting David Cook will be the shocking elimination tonight. Jason Castro will be the shocking reprieve, Syesha Mercado will dodge a bullet yet again, and David Archuleta will for all intents and purposes be handed the Season Seven crown.
Unless, of course, David Cook's superdelegates came out in full force last night.
Unless, of course, David Cook's superdelegates came out in full force last night.
"American Idol," April 29, 2008: Neil Diamond Week
Greetings from my office, where I hadn't expected to be this morning, because I thought I would be home nursing a hangover from partying all night after having been in the audience for Neil Diamond Week at "American Idol," but --
Let this be a lesson to you, if you have dreams of coming West and achieving nirvana by actually witnessing "American Idol" in person: Unless you have a real, honest-to-God ticket that says "Admit One" in your hot little hand, it ain't gonna happen.
It's the old bait-and-switch. You sign up online for some service like "Live TV Audiences.com" or something, and eventually they send you an e-mail saying you have four hours to respond if you want tickets to whatever show you've requested. Look at the e-mail carefully, people! It's not the same as a ticket.
This I found out yesterday, after my friends Mo and Mark got the e-mail alert on Friday that their names had finally come up to see an "Idol" performance episode. They invited our mutual friend Philip to take their third ticket. Philip had to work yesterday and graciously offered his seat in the studio audience to me. So off I went, hoping to be able to report to you this morning first-hand about the differences between live performances and what we see on our TV screens, and about the secrets and surprises of an "Idol" broadcast. No such luck.
What little experience I ended up having was not what I'd call positive. First of all, I try to go to places where I'm the youngest person in attendance: Steve Lawrence & Eydie Gorme concerts . . . Denny's before 4:30 . . . Palm Springs. The line to get in to see "American Idol" outside Television City in Hollywood is not one of those places. I kept looking at the other people in line, thinking, Aren't you supposed to be in school? And they kept looking at me, thinking, Aren't you supposed to be dead?
Here are a couple of little factoids for you. Although "American Idol" is a Fox show, it broadcasts from the CBS Television City facility, the same place you'd go to see "The Price is Right." It's a huge complex of studios, and next door to the stage where "Idol" performance episodes originate on Tuesday nights is the studio where ABC's "Dancing with the Stars" results show is produced. The audience lines for the two shows are next to one another on Beverly Boulevard. And let me tell you, the vibe is entirely different. "American Idol" draws pubescent teenagers dressed in hip clothes. "Dancing with the Stars" attracts well dressed senior citizens with artificial hips. Next time, for me, it's "Dancing" all the way. I'll fit right in.
After two hours of standing in the sun, looking ancient and carrying my "SYESHA SHINES LIKE A DIAMOND" sign (thanks, Andrea, for making the sign -- you can buy it back from me on Ebay on Thursday), we were ushered onto the CBS lot proper by a poor shmuck named Jason, who told us at last that we were not actually ticket-holders. We were seat fillers. And we'd be used when and if the people with real tickets -- the "VIPs" -- didn't show up. Jason explained that we might be separated from our friends, and we might not be seated until the first break, but he was confident that we'd all get in. He was incorrect.
After last night, I now officially hate all people named Jason.
The "compensation" for our trouble when we were sent home about ten minutes after the live broadcast began? Mo and Mark can call "Live TV Audiences.com" or whatever on Friday, and they will be given "guaranteed" seats for next Tuesday's show. So let me see. The "VIPs" who actually got in to see last night's show? They're last week's seat fillers who were turned away.
Call me cynical, but I don't think next week's "guaranteed" seats are any more guaranteed than this week's, so I will be doing what I usually do (and what I ended up doing last night) -- filling a seat at home, where I don't look 40 years older than everybody else and where there's never a line to get in.
Despite my bitter disappointment over the cruel hand fate dealt me, I managed to watch the West Coast tape delay broadcast of the five remaining contestants attempting to do justice to the catalog of Neil Diamond. Yikes.
Traditionally, when "Idol" gets to the top five contestants, they must sing two songs each. But there was no Top Five last year -- they had the Top Six two weeks in a row, and then eliminated two people to break to the Top Four (because the producers didn't eliminate anyone during "Idol Gives Back" week). So the last time "Idol" offered up a Top Five episode, there was no hour-long "Hell's Kitchen" immediately following -- so the show was 90 minutes long.
Last night, because Fox wanted the solid 60 minutes of advertising revenue supplied by a known hit like "Hell's Kitchen," rather than the minimal amount of money they might make if they followed a 90-minute "Idol" with, say, a repeat of "Back to You," the producers had to cram a traditional Top Five show (mentor introduction, pre-performance "packages," ten performances and judges' critiques) into a non-traditional hour.
The results were largely disastrous. Contestants had to edit songs severely to shoehorn them into the time constraints. And individual critiques of the singers' first songs were dispatched in favor of a judges' "recap" midway through the show that will live forever in the memories of "Idol" fans, not to mention on Youtube.
If you did actually see last night's episode, I hope you preserved it. Here's one thing that can be guaranteed: There'll never be another Top Five show like this one again -- ever.
ROUND ONE
JASON CASTRO -- "Forever in Blue Jeans" -- 5 / 85
I have two words for this performance. They are "ho" and "hum."
DAVID COOK -- "I'm Alive" -- 3 / 93
David C., accompanying himself on his electric guitar, took a lesser-known ND song and sang it just like you'd expect ND to sing it himself. He did a more-than-passable imitation of Neil's razorblades-on-sandpaper voice, and therein lies my only problem with this performance: It sounded more like an impression of Neil Diamond than it did a performance by David Cook.
BROOKE WHITE -- "I'm a Believer" -- 4 / 88
Well, I have to hand it to Brooke. Her first song last night inspired an entire screenplay to bloom fully flowered in my mind.
It's the story of two teenagers, a girl played by Miley Cyrus and a boy with a too-precious name like Zachariah, Jonah or Colton. They attend the same high school in Sherman Oaks or Toluca Lake or someplace like that and are always vying against each other for titles like class president or "Most Popular." Early on, we learn, and they learn, that Miley's divorced mother and Zacoltah's widowed dad are engaged to marry each other, making these bitter rivals about to become siblings.
In an effort to foster warm familial ties between them, the parents decide to send them to the same summer camp. The first night, the preternaturally chipper Camp Mom gathers all the children and, accompanying herself on the guitar, tries to spread joy and happiness among them by singing, in a key too low for her voice, a cloyingly upbeat version of "I'm a Believer." She strums, she smiles, she bats her eyes, she hits more than a few clunker notes, it's painful. Miley and Jocolzach begin to bond when they realize they have something in common -- neither one of them can stand Camp Mom. And so, together, they burn her at the stake.
Let this be a lesson to you, if you have dreams of coming West and achieving nirvana by actually witnessing "American Idol" in person: Unless you have a real, honest-to-God ticket that says "Admit One" in your hot little hand, it ain't gonna happen.
It's the old bait-and-switch. You sign up online for some service like "Live TV Audiences.com" or something, and eventually they send you an e-mail saying you have four hours to respond if you want tickets to whatever show you've requested. Look at the e-mail carefully, people! It's not the same as a ticket.
This I found out yesterday, after my friends Mo and Mark got the e-mail alert on Friday that their names had finally come up to see an "Idol" performance episode. They invited our mutual friend Philip to take their third ticket. Philip had to work yesterday and graciously offered his seat in the studio audience to me. So off I went, hoping to be able to report to you this morning first-hand about the differences between live performances and what we see on our TV screens, and about the secrets and surprises of an "Idol" broadcast. No such luck.
What little experience I ended up having was not what I'd call positive. First of all, I try to go to places where I'm the youngest person in attendance: Steve Lawrence & Eydie Gorme concerts . . . Denny's before 4:30 . . . Palm Springs. The line to get in to see "American Idol" outside Television City in Hollywood is not one of those places. I kept looking at the other people in line, thinking, Aren't you supposed to be in school? And they kept looking at me, thinking, Aren't you supposed to be dead?
Here are a couple of little factoids for you. Although "American Idol" is a Fox show, it broadcasts from the CBS Television City facility, the same place you'd go to see "The Price is Right." It's a huge complex of studios, and next door to the stage where "Idol" performance episodes originate on Tuesday nights is the studio where ABC's "Dancing with the Stars" results show is produced. The audience lines for the two shows are next to one another on Beverly Boulevard. And let me tell you, the vibe is entirely different. "American Idol" draws pubescent teenagers dressed in hip clothes. "Dancing with the Stars" attracts well dressed senior citizens with artificial hips. Next time, for me, it's "Dancing" all the way. I'll fit right in.
After two hours of standing in the sun, looking ancient and carrying my "SYESHA SHINES LIKE A DIAMOND" sign (thanks, Andrea, for making the sign -- you can buy it back from me on Ebay on Thursday), we were ushered onto the CBS lot proper by a poor shmuck named Jason, who told us at last that we were not actually ticket-holders. We were seat fillers. And we'd be used when and if the people with real tickets -- the "VIPs" -- didn't show up. Jason explained that we might be separated from our friends, and we might not be seated until the first break, but he was confident that we'd all get in. He was incorrect.
After last night, I now officially hate all people named Jason.
The "compensation" for our trouble when we were sent home about ten minutes after the live broadcast began? Mo and Mark can call "Live TV Audiences.com" or whatever on Friday, and they will be given "guaranteed" seats for next Tuesday's show. So let me see. The "VIPs" who actually got in to see last night's show? They're last week's seat fillers who were turned away.
Call me cynical, but I don't think next week's "guaranteed" seats are any more guaranteed than this week's, so I will be doing what I usually do (and what I ended up doing last night) -- filling a seat at home, where I don't look 40 years older than everybody else and where there's never a line to get in.
Despite my bitter disappointment over the cruel hand fate dealt me, I managed to watch the West Coast tape delay broadcast of the five remaining contestants attempting to do justice to the catalog of Neil Diamond. Yikes.
Traditionally, when "Idol" gets to the top five contestants, they must sing two songs each. But there was no Top Five last year -- they had the Top Six two weeks in a row, and then eliminated two people to break to the Top Four (because the producers didn't eliminate anyone during "Idol Gives Back" week). So the last time "Idol" offered up a Top Five episode, there was no hour-long "Hell's Kitchen" immediately following -- so the show was 90 minutes long.
Last night, because Fox wanted the solid 60 minutes of advertising revenue supplied by a known hit like "Hell's Kitchen," rather than the minimal amount of money they might make if they followed a 90-minute "Idol" with, say, a repeat of "Back to You," the producers had to cram a traditional Top Five show (mentor introduction, pre-performance "packages," ten performances and judges' critiques) into a non-traditional hour.
The results were largely disastrous. Contestants had to edit songs severely to shoehorn them into the time constraints. And individual critiques of the singers' first songs were dispatched in favor of a judges' "recap" midway through the show that will live forever in the memories of "Idol" fans, not to mention on Youtube.
If you did actually see last night's episode, I hope you preserved it. Here's one thing that can be guaranteed: There'll never be another Top Five show like this one again -- ever.
ROUND ONE
JASON CASTRO -- "Forever in Blue Jeans" -- 5 / 85
I have two words for this performance. They are "ho" and "hum."
DAVID COOK -- "I'm Alive" -- 3 / 93
David C., accompanying himself on his electric guitar, took a lesser-known ND song and sang it just like you'd expect ND to sing it himself. He did a more-than-passable imitation of Neil's razorblades-on-sandpaper voice, and therein lies my only problem with this performance: It sounded more like an impression of Neil Diamond than it did a performance by David Cook.
BROOKE WHITE -- "I'm a Believer" -- 4 / 88
Well, I have to hand it to Brooke. Her first song last night inspired an entire screenplay to bloom fully flowered in my mind.
It's the story of two teenagers, a girl played by Miley Cyrus and a boy with a too-precious name like Zachariah, Jonah or Colton. They attend the same high school in Sherman Oaks or Toluca Lake or someplace like that and are always vying against each other for titles like class president or "Most Popular." Early on, we learn, and they learn, that Miley's divorced mother and Zacoltah's widowed dad are engaged to marry each other, making these bitter rivals about to become siblings.
In an effort to foster warm familial ties between them, the parents decide to send them to the same summer camp. The first night, the preternaturally chipper Camp Mom gathers all the children and, accompanying herself on the guitar, tries to spread joy and happiness among them by singing, in a key too low for her voice, a cloyingly upbeat version of "I'm a Believer." She strums, she smiles, she bats her eyes, she hits more than a few clunker notes, it's painful. Miley and Jocolzach begin to bond when they realize they have something in common -- neither one of them can stand Camp Mom. And so, together, they burn her at the stake.
That was Brooke's performance of "I'm a Believer" last night: Camp Mom, before she's burned at the stake.
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "Sweet Caroline" -- 1 / 95
Amazing. This was the first time since he sang "Shop Around" during the Group of 24 that David Archuleta sang a peppy, feel-good song and displayed a real joy in performing it. He changed the tune around a bit, tried to avoid squinting (though he did have some major lip-licking moments) and actually looked like he was having fun! Best of the first round, and David A.'s best in a long, long time.
SYESHA MERCADO -- "Hello Again" -- 2 / 94
I couldn't tell you if Syesha gave a good physical performance of this song, because she sang much of it seated on the stage, in front of the ridiculous arm wavers of the Mosh Pit. Considering what we see of them, why don't the producers rename it the Arm Pit? Ugh. Vocally, Syesha got a little screechy in the middle of this, one of my favorite ND ballads, but the beginning and the end were well controlled and just lovely.
THE ROUND ONE RECAP
Last week, I predicted that Brooke White -- having used up the sympathy she generated for missing her sister's wedding, starting off in the wrong key on of one song and forgetting the words to another -- would pull a Marie Osmond and, this week, faint on air. Well, we had a collapse, all right, but it was not a physical implosion by Brooke White, it was a mental meltdown by Paula Abdul. As Brooke herself might say, "Woooo-hoooo!"
Denied the opportunity to comment on the first round of songs individually, they had to address the Idols as a group and give very short critiques of each performer's first number. After Randy Jackson's usual litany of catchphrases, Paula, frantically rearranging Post-it notes in front of her, started commenting on Jason Castro's first song. And then -- oh, my -- she started criticizing his second song. The one he hadn't sung yet. She kept at it for a few awkward seconds until Randy jumped in with, "He's only sung one song," to which Paula replied, "He has? I thought he sang twice." And then she tried to keep going, to the point that Ryan Seacrest had to step in. In one of his rare displays of quick-wittedness, he tried to lighten the moment by saying, "Paula, you're seeing the future! Paula, come back to the present," or something like that. Simon Cowell, the only member of the regular cast with enough gravitas and savvy to exert some control, finally wrested the whole thing from the drug-addled Paula, the panicked Randy and the earnest but ineffective Ryan and gave his one-word critiques of the five singers' first performances.
Is there anyone left who doesn't think we'll see Paula Abdul in a future season of "Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew"? I didn't think so.
Hilarious? Tragic? Whatever it was, it was memorable.
ROUND TWO
JASON CASTRO -- "September Morn" -- 5 / 79
Jason's first song was boring, but it wasn't bad. This one was wretched. He was off-key on the first note, and that turned out to be the best moment of the whole performance. Unlike David A. and Brooke, who changed the melodies of their songs to personalize them to their styles and ranges, Jason changed the melody because he didn't know the melody. And the last four notes? Abysmal. This boy puts the dread in dreadlocks. He clearly doesn't want to be in the competition anymore, and as a result is barely even trying. It's an insult, and I'm offended.
DAVID COOK -- "All I Really Need is You" -- 1 / 98
A sublime performance. The only song that built naturally during the extremely short amount of time the contestants were allotted for each number, and David worked the build beautifully: He hit his two glory notes, and within the space of another measure or two, followed them with a soft sustained falsetto note that floated on air. One of David C.'s best, and easily the best of the night.
BROOKE WHITE -- "I Am, I Said" -- 4 / 92
Brooke, didn't you learn a lesson a couple of months ago when David Archuleta told Ryan Seacrest he had to pee, and then Ryan repeated it on air moments later? You should never have told Ryan you had written the lyrics to "I Am, I Said" on your hand so you wouldn't forget them, because he so busted you. Fortunately, you didn't have to look at them (it would have affected your piano playing if you had). Unfortunately, the allotted time wasn't enough for Brooke to really build this number to the heights of existential despair it attempts to reach. I'd like to watch Brooke perform the whole song sometime -- I bet it would be terrific.
DAVID ARCHULETA -- "America" -- 3 / 94
Several friends of mine and I collaborated on an informal pool, trying to guess who would sing what during Neil Diamond Week on "American Idol." This was the only song I predicted correctly. How could anybody not predict that David Archuleta, the crown prince of bleeding-heart social-issue balladeers, would sing this salute to immigrants? When he got to the cheesetastic coda -- My country 'tis of thee / Sweet land of liberty / Of thee I sing / Of thee I sing / Today! -- I burst out laughing. Simon praised this as a smart song choice. I think he likened it to Kristy Lee Cook's choice of "God Bless the U.S.A." a few weeks ago. But Kristy Lee's song was a hymn to patriotism. Neil Diamond's "America" is a paean to immigration -- not exactly the most popular cause David Archuleta has championed. Of course, David A. has no idea what he's singing about. But a portion of his audience does. This could spell as much trouble for him as the blasphemous "Jesus Christ Superstar" caused for Carly Smithson a week ago. I see trouble ahead.
(Kudos, by the way, to my aforementioned friend Philip, who won that informal pool by correctly guessing that Jason Castro would sing "September Morn" and Syesha Mercado would sing "Hello Again." A fabulous prize is on its way to you. Would you like a sign that says "SYESHA MERCADO SHINES LIKE A DIAMOND"?)
SYESHA MERCADO -- "Thank the Lord for the Nighttime" -- 2 / 95
What a great way to end Neil Diamond Week, with a fun, upbeat number that allowed Syesha to show off some sweet high notes and a little gospel sass. A delightful contrast to the longingness of her first number, making it a smart strategic choice as well.
Here's how it all adds up:
Jason Castro 5 / 85 + 5 / 80 = 10 / 165 Fifth place
David Cook 3 / 93 + 1 / 98 = 4 / 191 First place
Brooke White 4 / 88 + 4 / 92 = 8 / 176 Fourth place
David Archuleta 1 / 95 + 3 / 94 = 4 / 189 Second place (tie)
Syesha Mercado 2 / 94 + 2 / 95 = 4 / 189 Second place (tie)
Ties are not allowed, and so, to determine second place on my ballot, it's time to employ the time-honored tiebreaker used for so many years at the Ohio Forensic Association state intercollegiate speech championships: Reciprocals! Ranks are turned into reciprocals of themselves (so a 1 becomes the reciprocal of 1 -- which is 1; a 2 becomes the reciprocal of 2, which is 0.5; a 3 becomes the reciprocal of 3, which is 0.34; etc.). Highest score wins the tie.
Looking, then, at the two tied contestants, the results are as follows:
David Archuleta 1.0 + 0.34 = 1.34
Syesha Mercado 0.5 + 0.5 = 1.0
David Archuleta squeaks by to earn the second-place vote on my scorecard, pushing Syesha into the bottom three with Jason and Brooke.
We're likely to get only a bottom two tonight, though. Will America agree with me that Jason and Brooke both deserve seats on the Stainless Steel Stools of Ignominy? Nah. Jason Castro is going to get a huge boost of sympathy votes from the fact that Mad Paula criticized him before he'd even sung his second song. Millions of his tone-deaf fans will have voted for him to protest the unfairness of it all, figuring that his disastrous performance was the result of this wretched injustice.
Syesha tends to find herself at the bottom of the pile more often than not, so I expect she'll be there again tonight. And I think her seatmate will be Brooke. Brooke was saved last week after her do-over disaster of "You Must Love Me." This season, there tends to be a one-week lag between putrid performance and blessed send-off, so I think tonight is the night we finally will see Camp Mom burned at the stake.
I will be seat filling at home anxiously awaiting the results.
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