A few thoughts before live-blogging tonight.
About that Scott Savol, who keeps avoiding his just musical punishment: Look. I’m incapable of seeing him rightly or fairly, I suppose. I have no tolerance for abusers of any kind. Given his background, American Idol is the last thing his ego needs. The ego of an abuser knows no bounds and Scott certainly doesn’t need his fed in this overblown, surreal way. I don’t care how purty he sounds when he sings. It’s a character thing for me and his will only suffer further damage by this excessive attention. He needs to be ousted for his own good.
On a lighter note, I think the show needs to mix things up. It’s a bit of a yawnfest with the repetitiveness of 60’s music night, 70’s music night, movie song night. How about “Original Song Night”? Require the singers to try their hand at songwriting. Give ’em a few weeks to work on it, of course. Maybe some of them would find a career there. (Scott, for instance, could have a dandy future writing songs about the glories of love and such. Or how he just had to “slap da be-otch.”) At least, though, it would be forcing the singers to diversify a bit. Or how about “Original Lyrics Night”? Give them a melody and have them write lyrics only. Wouldn’t we tune in, even more rabid and bug-eyed, to see these train wrecks and hear Simon’s comments, sick, addicted puppies that we are?
“American Idol” is a Play-Doh Fun Factory of pop music, churning out creations of different shapes, sizes, and colors, but, poke ’em, squish ’em, and they’re all still made from the same stuff. These singers are not truly originals; they’re not multifaceted talents; they’re not talents with staying power, most likely. They sell their souls under the guise of a recording contract and then they’re groomed to belt out ballad after ghastly ballad, teaching all the little chillens about “loooovve.” Just like all the other pop singer/sages.
Well, I say make ’em do something different. Shake things up a bit. C’mon. Make ’em squirm for my entertainment.
That’s all I ask.
(Live blogging follows)
All right. “American Idol” about to begin. My comments will be shorter because I’m a messy typist and spend too much time fixing my typos.
Theme is “Songs from 2000 til now.” And tonight there are precious “Personal Profiles” of each singer. Oooh.
Up first is:
Carrie: (We learn her mom blubbers a lot and thinks Carrie’s “a good daughter.”) Singing something country. Mercifully, has smaller hair this week. I don’t know what to say. She’s good. But kind of off tonight for me. Randy: Wow. You returned to your country roots. Pitchwise, you never quite got on. Paula: Did sound a little bit ... (All right. Sue me. I stopped listening. Let’s just go with “Paula said something. No one listened.” Mmmkay?) Simon: Last week you were completely out of kilter. I think the people who vote for you will absolutely love you after that.
Bo: (We learn that he’s from Alabama and has a girlfriend. That might be right, but I don’t know, people. I was distracted by yet another sign of God’s love for me: The limited edition, dark chocolate Twix bar.) He’s in a psychedelic 60’s tunic and sunglasses, awful, awful sunglasses. He sounds rough to me. Bo, did you eat some dairy before you sang? You can tell me. I won’t tell. Audience goes crazy. I do like this guy. Randy: Yo, yo, yo. American Idol finally has a true rock star. Paula: The crowd loves you. You were incredible. Simon: You got your confidence back. But there is a downside: Do not wear the Lenny Kravitz sunglasses. (Did I not say they were awful?)
Vonzell: (We learn she has a voice teacher named Mrs. Billups. Aww. And she’s the baby of the family.) “I Turn to You,” Christina Aguilera. Which I think is rather a boring song. She looks cute. Nice hair. Okay. The song builds here, I guess. Ahhh—ahh-ahh-ahh-ahhh. “For the will to carry on, etc., I turn to you.” Then at the end, she squeaks “I love you , Daddy.” Randy: Yo, man, check it out. Most difficult song. Welcome to the dog pound. (I’m terribly uncool. This is a good place to be?) I’m proud of you. Paula: Not only did you nail the song, but you connected with the audience. It’s beautiful. Simon: It’s very loud in here. I have a horrible feeling it wasn’t as good as you thought.
Anthony: (We learn that his parents will tape record any sound he makes. And dad says he’s a “dream maker.” Puh-leeze.) He’s going to sing Celine Dion and my head is going to explode. So I might be done here, needing my head for blogging and all. He’s sitting on the stage for the intimate effect. But I feel the need for a shower. Oh, song is “I Surrender.” Remember now, I think he’s musical Tofutti, so what do you want from me here? Oh, okay. Nice suit. Randy: Started a little rough for me. Low notes need work. Paula: I think it’s the first performance where there was a beginning, middle, and end. (As opposed to what, Paula?) Simon: You’re a very brave man. I personally hated it.
(Watch out, chippies. Constantine is next! *gasp*squeal* Don’t forget to breathe …)
Connie: (We learn that he’s Greek Orthodox and that his dad is Skeletor.) Already with the seductive lean into the camera. Ooh, yeah. Romance me, Mayor McCheese. He’s dressed all in bad boy black. He just did a wee kick, so watch out, Steven Tyler. Vocally, I just don’t know. Seems bizarro to me. Now he’s singing to the background singers, trying to get someone, anyone, on his side tonight. Smacks of desperation. Weird. Randy: Yo, yo, Constantine. You know I’m gonna keep it real wich’you. I felt like I was in a bar — high on performing, low on vocals. Paula: This was not my favorite song at all. But you are the one idol who does every genre effortlessly. Simon: (And I’ll bet Connie’s cheesy little butt is burning already because here comes the spank.) I think when you left your band, you crossed to the other side. It’s welcome to the dark side or something. You’re much better when you’re doing your crooner thing. (Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie. Connie thinks he’s a rocker.)
Andddd ….
Scott: (Will his profile mention the domestic abuse? Let’s listen, shall we? Hmm. Wow. It doesn’t. We learn that he’s “sensitive” and they “always thought he’d be a priest.” Also, “He’s had a lot of curve balls, but he’s hit them out of the park.” Really unfortunate choice of words, Ma.) His song is cloying, dreadful. I think he’s actually sweating syrup. And not only is he an abuser, but he could be the cause of abuse in others, because I just wanna slap him. Or someone. Awful. Way off-pitch in places. Criminally badddd … Randy: The song … that was your weakest performance in weeks. Paula: Song didn’t do you justice. Simon: I’d pack your suitcase tonight. (Let me help you, hon. I insist.) And ladies, I’d lock the door and hide; Scotty’s coming home.
No other predictions except:
Twix has a winner with this whole dark chocolate thing …