Simon appreciates her soul and says she's the best so far, which he apologizes for meaning nothing because we are now only 25% through the night. He compares her to "the contestant beforehand," Ricky, about how she has a personality; then he compares her to Kelly Clarkson and says she's one to watch, and then her parents are unreal, and look like Jeopardy! contestants. Then I don't really know what because why is always-hot Neil Patrick Harris sitting with lately-hot Ted Danson at steaming-hot American Idol. Why any of those things in any order.
up, Brent Keith. Who has hooded, confused eyes and... A very long Spaghetti Cat still of Stevie looking deranged. Ryan hustles him downstairs to recreate his video package, and then they roll it anyway. Brent is adorable and beardy all over the place and talks about how creepy it was with Kara and Paula under the table that time. He talks about how they are living paycheck-to-paycheck, and he says he'll be singing "Hicktown," which always-faithful Country Correspondent Cheryll says is by Jason Aldean, and furthermore she says that he outdid Jason, but that this is not a huge compliment. He seems nice, and he's real cute, but you really have to focus your energies to come in under the median-intelligence limbo stick on a show that once featured Ryan Starr. Mostly, I'm worried about the fact that Brent's never apparently used a microphone before, and all his weirdness and lack of breath control is really distracting. If you ever wondered whether using a mic involves a craft, Brent just showed us that it does.
Asking me to rate any kind of music or TV or whatever on a scale of this-to-this is always a dicey proposition, because my brain doesn't work that way, but asking me to listen to country music and then tell you if it's good or not produces the exact same cognitive dissonance and shame issues as asking some dudebro like Brent whether Eric Dane or Nathan Fillion is hotter: I have an opinion, but acknowledging my right to that opinion means becoming something I hate, which is the kind of person who is capable of judging country music on its merits, and therefore my response must be that it is you who are a fag for asking me in the first place.
Afterward, Brent's happy with himself, I guess as he should be. Randy calls him "a new edge to country with the old country swagger" and spins some kind of yarn about how Brent will take him to a chili cookoff and Simon will ride a steer. Awesomely, Simon and Paula spend this whole stupid monologue rolling their eyes, because can you imagine having to spend even two days a week with Randy Jackson? I would leave him at a chili cookoff. Because we are live, they don't cut the cameras away fast enough and you can see Paula lean over to Simon and go, "Wow," and Simon make a face to the effect of, "At least when you say retarded shit like this you have a purpose, but not even Randy Jackson is capable of thinking Randy Jackson is interesting, so why is he talking?" Kara tells him he's playing to the cheap seats and singing some flat-toned country hick song is not really that impressive because he has a great range. Paula agrees that he's pandering, but that pandering is 95% of country music, so: great.
Brent informs the judges that he really is just a safe, pandering, uninteresting hick, and that by doing this shit he is keeping it real. Because being "authentic" is so much better than being well-trained, practiced, versatile or even particularly dedicated. Which is exactly how we came so close -- and how close we came -- to hearing the words "Vice President Palin" come out of a news anchor's mouth every day for four years, and just so, I am officially over Brent Keith. Simon's like, "Yeah, you could be lucky enough to be Bucky Covington," heh, and tells Brent he blew it because there's "safe" and then there's "boring." (And then there's Brent.) (And then there's Bucky.)
Brent informs Simon that country fans will not find him forgettable, adding asshole to injury and not exactly complimenting his constituency either, but increasing the joy when Ryan asks Brent's wife how old he's going to have to get before they give up and redirect their dreams to something other than découpaging the Diaper Genie while he's working at Home Depot and playing his guitar around campfires well past that point in the keg when nobody cares anymore. She says, "Never!" and Brent says, "This is our one shot!" Ugh. Go have a thousand more diabetes-prone towheaded babies like you were already going to anyway. And thanks for splitting Sarver's vote for him.
Stevie will be taking Simon's advice to heart and being a bubbly 17-year-old, and will be doing this by singing a Taylor Swift song at the bottom of her range and sounding pretty horrible for about half the song. I like that Taylor Swift. She sings about things to which I can easily relate, like generalized dissatisfaction with calcified gender roles. Also porches. Stevie doesn't drop that adorable smile even as she fumbles her way through a karaoke-level performance that even the backup singers -- who, by the way, have decided to suck tonight, for the first time ever, on every single song -- can't really find too interesting. She's so cute! And so very doomed.
Randy says it was the worst of the night, an easy safe choice, and not something that would have gotten her through from her first audition. Kara says the song was sort of clueless because it didn't showcase her voice or personality at all, but acknowledges that this is basically the judges' fault for telling her to get young. Paula points out that persona aside, she sounded like shit, which is weird because she has a good voice. Simon tells her straight-up it was terrible and out-of-tune, which it was, and tells her goodbye. Neil Patrick Harris agrees, and is just as uncomfortable with this truth as everyone else; Jackie hurls herself on Stevie for a bit more camera time, and then her giant dad hugs her around her giant face. The mom bitches about the "too old"/"too young" thing, even though it's obviously not the issue. Ryan congratulates her for being on TV, because at this point it's all she's got. She takes it well, because she's awesome.
Anoop Dawg gives us the lowdown about some barbecue folklore and remembers how he sang "My Prerogative" in Hollywood, and says his goal is to sing songs he wanted people to sing as a viewer of this show. He will be singing Monica's "Angel Of Mine." OMG remember Monica? That's awesome. Anoop's awesome. He sings it beautifully, with super weirdo movements and a really uncomfortable, gassy smile. I think he's got a shot, making him the other contender tonight besides Alexis. You can hear the audience realize where they are and why, and it is a good feeling.
Randy says Anoop Dawg a billion times and sounds idiotic, and says he's a fan of Anoop's, and talks about how it was sharp, even though it wasn't, to my ears. Kara wonders if he really has the ability to ornament it to the degree the song requires to be interesting, which is a valid point. Paula reminds America that we love Anoop, which makes Simon shift around uncomfortably, and then she compares him to Bryan McKnight. OMG remember Bryan McKnight? Simon asks him why that song, and he says it was the first R&B song he obsessed on. I like that. Simon tells him it was too oldish for him, and Anoop delivers a short lecture about how the song is about thankfulness or something, and Simon says he's thankful mostly that Anoop is already awesome and has enough goodwill to hopefully keep this going. Ryan chats with his fabulous parents -- mom's in flares! -- and Anoop... He's sort of got a Michael Cera thing happening, doesn't he? Think about it.
Casey Carlson sells boba tea, which automatically means you know nine-tenths of the things about Casey Carlson, because only one sort of girl actually gets that job: they look like cartoons, they are precociously self-possessed, and they consider fashion a challenge to overcome. They put little stickers on every goddamn thing, and they always date down because they know they're too smart to be as tiny and cute as they are, which has got to be maddening with everybody constantly treating you like some weird fetishized moron no matter how deep your voice is, so they have to have a boyfriend at all times just to serve as nerd repellent. However, just because they sit there while you play D&D and just because they have some pink fairy character on World of Warcraft does not mean they enjoy doing these things; they consider it the price of being alive, which is the main thing I know about boba tea girls: you can tell how deeply unsatisfied they are with their lot in life by how mesmerizing their socks are. If it's a rainbow of stripes and little weird animals, they are this close to saying fuck it and joining Americorps or going vegan, but if it's argyle then they've attained a Zen kind of peace and you can talk to them. Just don't ask them about manga unless you have four hours and a pack of smokes, because they are not fucking around.
The judges eat their own pants about it, and Randy calls Danny the "demon" or "diva" of the night, and Jamar cries and cries, and Kara thanks him for the hope he is giving us all, and Paula says he was stellar and then offers him "two words with a hyphen in them": "Sold Out Arenas." Oh, Paula. Danny smiles dewily and nods and whatever, he makes me sad. Simon says it was good, parts were great, and that he's a good singer. He's likeable and has a good voice, but Simon's not buying the hype; Ryan accuses him of lacking "that organ we all have," and Simon's like, "Tooooo easy." Danny says that he -- okay, see -- pictures "people just coming out of rough situations" and "rising above" and "knowing that there's a future ahead of them." Ryan's like, "We get your subtext, Tiger," and gives the numbers.
What do you think? There are so very many of them. I will see how many I can name and perhaps that will tell us something. Anoop. Michael. Alexis. Ann Marie. Danny. Jackie. Ricky. Brent. Casey. Tatiana. Stephen. How many is that? Oh, and Stevie. Not bad, Daddy-O. Valuable brain real estate that I will never be able to use again, but whatever. I'll take some ginkgo. And some St. John's wort. Okay, let me think. Of the girls, only Alexis and Tatiana really have a shot. Maybe Casey, if the furries are voting. But Stevie and Ann Marie and Jackie are dunzo for sure. The guys are harder. You can automatically take out Ricky, and Brent I think. And sad to say, I think Stephen just put the final nail in, no matter how cute and talented he is.
So that leaves Anoop, Michael, and Danny. All three of whom I would take over any of the girls in a heartbeat, even Danny, but this show loves sob stories and broken people, so I think we'll be saying goodbye to one or both of the other boys tonight, which sucks. And I would freak out about how the deck was stacked, but only because I love Anoop and Michael, and I'm sure week it'll seem just as ridiculously sad, but that's the nature of taking 36 and making 9 out of it: mostly sad, because math is mean. On the other hand, any three of those guys could easily get a Wildcard spot.
God, that seems like so very far in the future I can't really imagine it. Wildcards and Top 12 are like the Year 2000 right now. There's still Lambert and Von, and the awful Kristen and Nate and twenty other people. Tatiana could have been 86 freaky people by the time we see her. Hell, Tatiana could have killed 86 people by the time we see her. Or wait, is tonight's show live? I would say to keep those fingers crossed she does something truly effed up tonight, either way, but honestly that's just putting undue stress on your fingers. She will, and you better be there to see it.