Thanks to AB Chao for sending me the tape, Shack for being cool, and Sars for being patient and generally ruling.
The horrid voice-over guy informs us that so far, 158 have made it through the "harrowing" audition process. Now, we're in Atlanta and Nashville, doing more sorting. You know, wheat from chaff, cream from the 2% milk. Separating dirty, skid-marked underpants from the cashmere socks. Well, maybe cash-mink, and affordable cashmere substitute, now available at Target (!). I wouldn't call any of these contestants we've seen this far cashmere. VO Guy wonders if Atlanta will "produce another Tamyra Gray." You mean the contestant who should have won and was robbed? For Atlanta's sake, I hope not. I mean, twice in a row? I'd be bitter. Anyway, the final auditions, Nashville and Atlanta -- or "a double dose of southern comfort" -- are finally up. I'll just pour myself a...hmm, what goes with Southern Comfort? Oh, right. Ice.
So, 6,500 people camped out to audition in Atlanta. So, what, like, one percent of them could probably make it? I like those odds. Bring the pain. Simon walks in late, grumpy in a low-cut v-neck sweater (I can see his boobies!), and spreads his bad mood around like hot peanut butter on crackers. He says he'll be judging people not just on their singing ability, but on how they walk into a room, and how they react to the judges' critiques. Or as Gene Simmons likes to put it (and I don't mean to hot blondes), The Total Package. One more thing: No Paula. The nice one ain't here. What, does she not want to hang out with Jermaine Dupree and Ludacris this weekend? No Paula means this should be all nasty, all the time. Bring it!
First up is Nickie Nicholson, from Georgia. First off, change the name. To Jackie. Alliteration is not always your friend, Nickie. Neither is a shirt with sleeves so long and fluted they resemble piano shawls. She sings well, belting out a version of "Lady Marmalade" and impressing Randy and Simon. She makes it to Hollywood, or Studio City, or whatever they want to call it. They might as well say, "Welcome to obscurity!" Another southern belle, Jessica, earns a yellow sheet and, cheating out to the camera, tells "y'all" that the judges are "not that bad" and "if you walk in and be yourself, they will respect you." Hey, Jessica? What if you suck? If you just walk in and are yourself, and yourself sucks -- do you get respect then? Hey, Jessica? Shut up. The VO Guy talks over her and reiterates my two points by introducing Johnny Lee, a stout young man in a baggy blue t-shirt who is convinced that he will be a star one day. A SUPASTAH. Honey, you're fabulous, but this is a talent competition, not televised confirmation of what your momma told you. His song is "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." Simon says that's his favorite song, and Johnny launches in. He doesn't even get to the chorus. He's not entirely off-key, but he is truly awful. I think I hate him most for saying "moun'-ain." I hate when people drop consonants. He sweeps his hands from side to side like he's making a bed. Perhaps, his day job? Simon holds up a hand imperiously (like he does everything else) and says that was his favorite song. Johnny, leave the chateau. Johnny isn't daunted, though, and says he'd do it again. Johnny? Don't. Then he says he won't give up his dream, no matter what those judges say! Johnny? Do.
Enter our metaphorical head on the virtual chopping block. Ooh, Omega. She's a dancer, or so she says. She calls this not an audition, but "performing." That's a good way to look at it. If you're not terrible. But what are the odds of that? She's in this rather unfortunate (and clearly homemade) outfit of black bell-leggings and a half-shirt with Burberry checks on the bodice and thigh, and those heinous-yet-popular sheer handkerchief sleeves. There's so much wrong with her outfit that it's almost not a requirement that we hear her sing. But it's not up to me.
Omega's performance is...spirited? She has a lot of energy and projects? Oh, why mince words: She's terrible. She hops back and forth like a football player warming up by running though tires. She's built a little like a football player, too. Solid. And she really belts out some kind of medley of "Fame" and "Born To Be Wild." It's not singing, it's shouting. Randy playfully bobs and weaves in his seat, trying to match her energy. Simon more or less hides. Omega ends with a big flourish on her knees, but not in a way that might make the judges sit up and take notice, if you know what I mean. Simon says wearily that the whole time she was performing, he kept thinking of how he would pay her to stop. Omega takes this with a smile. Simon says she was exhausting. She says she's a performer and "not a boring person." No one said you were boring, my dear. I'd say quite the opposite. But you saw who won last year, right? A sickeningly cutesy-poo singer. Not someone like you. The judges turn her down, and Omega makes a very polite statement to the tune of she "disagrees" and she "will be in Hollywood someday," at which point they can audition for her and she will tell them what she thinks. Hey, I like Omega. She gave it her all and had a lot of class. Too bad she sucked.
up, a twee, dweeby redhead. Simon looks dubious. Red says he thinks he could have been in the top ten. Simon is all, reeeally. Clay Aiken, the dweeb, sings the hell out of "Always and Forever." Does a great job. Strong, beautiful voice. Randy says the contrast between his look and his sound is "weird, wild." Randy, Johnny Carson is on line one. I think if Clay ditches the glasses and adds ten pounds to his lithe frame...actually, no. Clay, don't change a thing. I mean, Michael Bolton is fugly and had a mullet. Clay, you are neither fugly nor sporting bad hair. Just sing and be cool, you'll do fine. The judges say, "Welcome to Hollywood."
Hey, Ryan Seacrest? Shut up.
A few shots of rejectees fly by -- one rips up his audition number and says that's what he thinks of Paula right now, another says she's never been told she wasn't good enough EVER in her LIFE, one says, "Slimfast doesn't work for everybody" -- and we're back with Josh Reece, a decent R&B type singer. Rumble rumble. Did you hear that? It was a quiet storm. Simon stops him and says he's a cabaret singer, not a pop singer, and that he can see him "on a big boat in the Caribbean somewhere." Randy says, "Just keep working on it, dawg." The judges agree that he can make a living from his voice, but he gets no Hollywood bid. Josh begins to tick, then walks outside and kabooms. He rants at Le Seacrest for a bit. Then Simon stalks out, presumably to deepen his v-neck, and Josh lobs a few words at him. "You called me a boat singer!" Simon says he said Josh could make a living off his voice. Josh isn't having it. Simon is all, "Fine, don't work on a boat then." Josh says, "YOU don't work on a boat. I'm mad as hell." Hey, YOU don't work on a boat. No, YOU don't. Fine! Good! Boat! That rules. It's so much better than "leave the chateau."
Now, Maria Ward sings a song she wrote. It's a country ditty. She has long brown hair and really pretty eyes. She sings okay, but her song is actually pretty great. It's got more than two sections, and a great chorus. The song? "Take Forever and Shove It Up Your Ass." I love country songs like that. You know, like "If My Heart Had An Ass I'd Kick It For Loving You," by Gerald Collier. Or the album title I Shaved My Legs for This? Which is how I feel most times I go out. I'd go search right now for a song called "Wasn't Worth The Makeup," but it might make me feel better to just write it instead. Anyway, Maria gets a bid, then makes out with someone who works on the show. Her husband. Woo, nepotism. It's okay, she won't win.
, we have Mitchell Asa. He sings "Always and Forever" well enough, but he closes his eyes the whole time and is wearing a very ugly shirt. It's Seacrest-tested and Seacrest-ugly, and the judges tell him so. He gets a bid anyway. Ryan takes the shirt. Seacrest-approved! Ew.
Josh Strickland sings better than Mitchell, but, um, has on the butt-fugliest sweater ever made. It's like a turtleneck crossed with one of those baby t-shirts with the snaps down the side. Turtlenecks are bad enough these days, what with Vin Diesel and his league of wannabes making me say, "Turtle, turtle!" every time I see them out. But the baby snaps? What's their function, to avoid mussing the perfectly mussed-'n'-gelled hair? It's hiddy. The judges actually call La Seacrest and make them stand side-by-side. The resemblance is nauseating. Simon makes Josh swear he'll move away from the Seacrest look, and welcomes him to Hollywood.
We get a shot of audition-ees singing their own version of "Straight Up," then segue into another audition. Hey, it's a punk rocker chick! Please don't be fake. Oh, vain hopes, thy name is Alex Richmond. This chica has to be as real as Avril. Which is to say, not real at all. Oh, a sweater coat. With a furry collar. Sweater coats are not cool, and are totally not punk. You can pin leopard trim on the collar, you can write "MY MOM HATES ME" all over it, you can even wrap a dead yuppie around it, and it still won't be punk. Skirt over pants, that's just odd. This girl is punky. She's funky. She uses Punky Colour and shops at Hot Topic -- online. Whatever, she's probably cool and auditioning just to take the piss and see how far she can go. Right? She's singing "Bohemian Rhapsody," the song made famous by Mssrs. Wayne and Garth. Party on, punky chick. Vanessa can sing. She can't dress, but she can sing. The judges says yes, and she jumps around (I'd say she pogo-ed, but -- you know. Not punk!) in glee. Ryan says Vanessa impressed the judges with her voice and style, and that Atlanta "is quite the fashion capital with its spiked rockers, laid-back hipsters, and...that!"
Up is "that." Keith. Keith has to be doing this as a joke. He's tubby and has a Romulan haircut. He's right out of Fraggle Rock. And he really mangles "Like a Virgin." So nasal! So out of tune! So hilarious and entertaining. So worth rewinding. Randy giggles and hides his face behind a piece of paper. Simon actually smiles. Keith is so bad, he's good. My b.f. says from the kitchen, "I love that guy." Keith does look just like a Philly rocker, Brother J.T. But Brother J.T. can sing. Keith cannot. Simon stops him midway through his song and asks if he can sing another. Keith goes into "I Wanna Dance With Somebody," and it's the same nasal, off-key voice with bad dance moves. Simon stops him and brands him "the worst singer in the world." Randy says it's "horrific." Keith seems genuinely confused. He thinks he was okay! Randy asks if he likes to do anything else. Keith says he likes to dance. Randy says maybe get into that. Oh, Randy. Keith steps outside and says to La Seacrest that Simon is the "biggest jerk in the world." We know. He takes his backpack and goes home. Aww.
Some more people get bids to Hollywood. But we want to see the bad stuff. Oh, here it is. One young man attests to the fact that a chair is still a chair even when there's no one sitting there. But he draws it all out like, "Aaa chaaaaaiiir...is stiiiiiill a chaaaaaaaaiir...eveeeeenn...wheeen theere's nooooo oooone...siiittiiiing theeere...." Dude. Then we see a few people start to sing, then forget the words, which I love. I love seeing people's brains break. Especially when there's the fourth wall and you can't step in and finish their sentences for them. It's called "floundering." One guy in a checkered shirt is all, "Looo-siiing graow-wound!" Then he just stops. Hee! Another guy can only get out, "They say I'm...they say I'm..." They say you're tanking on American Idol, is what they're saying. A guy in a homemade argyle sweater and matching hat (!) says, "No more pain, no more pain, no more pain..." Simon stops him and says those were his thoughts exactly. Then we get clips of people walking out of the room the wrong way. Simon and Randy say, "Other way."
Then some blonde Aguilera wannabe, Stephanie Shultz, steps in and does a decent rendition of "Fallin'." But sadly, she can only afford half a shirt. Won't you help Stephanie buy a whole shirt? For just three dollars, the price of a soy latte, you can help Stephanie buy a Hanes Her Way cotton t-shirt. Just keep her away from the scissors and take away her DVD of Crossroads with the special features on how to make those annoying, ever-present half shirts and she will be saved. Seriously, this show is making me hate the bellybutton. GET A LONGER SHIRT, AMERICA. I'm adopting a zero-tolerance policy on the half-shirt. You hear me? She gets a bid and Simon drools all over her. Yeah, yeah, she and her bellybutton would make great pop stars -- whatever. Tell it to Britney. So could forty-six other people from Atlanta. Hooray for them.
Then there's a bit with La Seacrest and an eight-year-old girl. Who cares about this cutesy shit?
Last stop, Nashville. Land of singers and songwriters. And hey, Paula's back! The first auditioner is dressed in a bathrobe and plaid Elmer Fudd hat and has no shoes on. Just socks. He walks in and drinks from Paula's cup of water. She's all, "Did you ask?" He did not. He has CDs in his hand, but doesn't give them to the judges. Then he lurches into "Somebody To Love," By The Ship. I mean, "Starship." I mean, "Jefferson Airplane." He's not a terrible singer, but his presentation was the worst. He came off as an even bigger asshole than someone who takes this stuff seriously. Not an easy trick. While Paula and Randy do lots of chair-dancing to try and psych him out/egg him on, this dork sings right to Simon. Yeah, Simon needs somebody to love. That's his whole problem. Simon asks why he needs to say anything. Dude says, "Because! I rock." .
La Seacrest takes us through a clip show of more audition don'ts. One guy sings about beaver time and beaver heaven. The lesson is, no judge participation. up, don't argue with yourself. One guy turns his back and admonishes himself to "chill." Way to keep your cool, guy. One lady belches. Another squeals. A guy brings a cheat sheet he can't read off. One just sings, "I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you..." Over and over again. Oh my.
Finally, there's Rickey Smith, who has a lovely voice, even though he loses points for drawing a line down his face with one finger to mean "one last cry." He's twenty-two, but looks older. Paula says so. He says, "I can look much younger!" Sure you can. He takes off his glasses and already looks, oh, maybe thirty-eight. Randy says he can really sing, and welcome to Hollywood. Rickey laughs and claps his hands like a little kid, then snaps back into grandma mode by adding, "Hercules, Hercules, Hercules!" Hee! Paula dies laughing. Rickey rules. He runs out to greet his family so fast, he's like a blur in a yellow sweater. They are, of course, ecstatic. And there's a lot of them! I hope this audition was on a Saturday. Ryan Seacrest gets into the act.
All in all, twenty-nine people get picked from Atlanta. Simon says that none of the judges picked up on last year's winner "at this point." Randy disagrees, and all the judges start bickering with each other. Oh, god, SHUT UP. La Seacrest mugs for the camera and says, "It never ends." Oh, yes it does.