By Baby Jebus
First of all, a big thanks to Shack (EEEEEEEEE!) for taking a pass on this assignment. Or, as he put it, "I have no intention of attending a performance of the American Idol tour any more than I intend to chop off my toes and swallow them whole." (If you are arriving after intermission, read his, because he's like Sean Connery, and I'm sort of the equivalent of George Lazenby.)
So Baby Jebus got to go to Lawn Guyland for the Missed-New-York-City-by-about-forty-miles stop of the American Idol Live! Tour. Several weeks of phoning and faxing for press credentials finally brought the response: "We are unable to accomodate [sic] wire/Internet service requests." So I shelled out approximately $460 dollars ($35 for ticket, $300 Ticketmonster handling charge, $24 facilities fee, $18 West Nile virus prevention tax, $47 snarkage, $6.84 Star Wars defense system surtax, $16 flu shot, and $13.20 lacrosse tax) for a floor seat at Nassau Coliseum to see in person ten people I'd seen for free on the cool fire all summer. About 18,000 other people joined me.
Long lines stretched from metal barriers all around the arena; the crowd seemed heavy on the under-sixteen girls, frequently in packs, either with their moms or dropped off by their moms. There were a few dads. Bless them. I had a dad like that.
Inside, the concourse was lined with souvenir stands and wandering vendors, offering everything from American Idol glowsticks ($5), to glossies of all the finalists, to color programs ($20) in which a printed enclosure explained that A.J. was really EJay, regardless of the names under their pictures. There were teddy bears and posters, keychains, and other tchotchkes (but I already have my Idol Tubey coffee cup, so I'm good to go). There were many different shirts, with Kelly, or Justin, or all their headshots in orbit around the blue neon AI logo.
Lots more of the faithful had made their own shirts. About three rows ahead of me was a posse of about eight girls, all in shades, each of whom wore a glitter AMERICAN IDOL HARDCORE FAN shirt, with their favorite's name on the back (three Justins, four Kellys, one Tamyra). The floor seats were rows of folding chairs on the cement floor of the arena. The boards separating the rink area from the in-the-round seating showed the scars of a lot of hockey contact. Many flags commemorating famous NY Islanders hung in the rafters. Also one for Billy Joel.
Just ahead of me, one under-ten who'd hung two glowsticks in her hair recounted to her father the virtues of the various Js. Dad seemed glad they were selling alcohol. Her older sibling was too cool for school with what looked liked Kool-Aid blue streaks in his hair. The number of little boys in attendance surprised me.
I was also surprised to see many adults without children: girls with their boyfriends (I assumed it was the girls' idea); a sprinkling of gay male couples; and a significant number of adult women. (Maybe gay, maybe straight, you really can't tell by their hair on Long Island.)
There was a lot of chatter and waving and kids talking to their friends across the arena on cell phones, until two large video screens on either side of the stage started showing commercials at about 6:45 PM.
PopTarts Snak-Stix campaigned to be the latest reason why 61 percent of Americans are obese. There were a lot of video/computer game ads, promos for Extreme Sports shows, and two videos by a singer named Amy Studt, who looks anemic and has bee-stung lips. She seems to be one of those artists who are so post-feminist they've gone all the way round back to pre-feminist: very styled, overproduced, heavily made up and costumed, songs and videos about how she's "Just A Little Girl," and she's weak and strong, and love her for who she is blah blah blah Alanis-rip-off-cakes. In one video, she is tortured and ridiculed by even taller, more beautiful girls, and she climbs on top of a cabinet and they throw things at her, but in the end she has her revenge when many glamorous people, led by a couple of gay men all in black, come to her school and make HER famous. And all the other girls just DIE of jealousy. I block it by thinking of how I once bonded with Janis Ian's "At Seventeen," the all-time great bummed-out loser teenage girl song, and take comfort that Janis and I are both much happier now that we've found the love of a good woman.
The commercials go on and on as it approaches 7:30 (with a 7 PM scheduled start). Union stagehands happily look forward to mucho overtime. Many mommies are on a food run when the lights finally dim and the huge, huge face of Randy Jackson appears on the video screen to introduce a clip segment that reprises the brief AI career of the "very talented EJay."
Then some guy comes onstage, and it takes me a minute to realize that it actually is EJay, with his hair all long and blonde. It's as if Rick James dyed his hair platinum, though he's not accompanied by the Mary J. girls. They're still backstage. The Artist Formerly Known As E-Jaw wears a long black coat with many pins and decorations; singing Janet Jackson's "Black Cat," he tries to extend his range past The Hardest-Working Man At Six Flags. I think he should embrace his inner freak, because it's far more interesting than anything he did in his dash across The Octagon of Judgment.
EJay points and waves, dashing up and down the two sets of curved stairs that embrace a live band and real back-up singers at center stage. At the top of the stairs is a screen displaying the same cheesy screensaver background from the TV show. Soon, we will find out, there are dry ice and pyrotechnics. (Top that, Up With People!)
Out of breath, E-Jay introduces Jim Verraros, who emerges from the floor, all in white and lying on a park bench, to intone "Easy." A shriek of "JIM! I LOVE YOU!" from close behind me nearly rips my ear off. Poor, poor girl; it's not so much that her adolescent affection is misplaced because he's gay, but because he's...Jim, and all he doesn't stand for, like talent and singing lessons.
Then Jim calls A.J. Gil "the Latin sensation!" (and I'm Amelia Earhart. At least, a psychic once told me I was in another life). They give us a clip show of crying A.J., wincing A.J., A.J., National Anthem Singing A.J., and all his variations of Unfortunate Facial Hair (UFH) that at least one member of every boy band is required by law to grow. A.J. dances down the stairs in a fedora that dreams of being a pimp hat, a seashell choker, a trademark silver cross on a long chain, and shearling jacket, along with big workboots, mangling Stevie Wonder. He's wearing lots of make-up. He takes off the jacket to reveal a wifebeater, and the girls scream.
I need to take a moment to protest the wanton sleevelessness. If the boys (excepting Ejay, a little bit) don't have Tokyo Stompers (tm Miss Alli), cover those little sticks up.
When he's done, A.J. gives us the clip show of the child-woman who went from Tiffany Montgomery to Ryan Starr: Ryan with a big 103 across her chest (insert your own boob joke here), Ryan with her Playboy Bunny style bowtie, Ryan in various shredwear. In real life, Ryan belts "If You Really Love Me," wearing a top that covers her left arm and stretches across her assets, and I suddenly think of the drag queen who hosted karaoke when we were in Provincetown a couple weeks ago. Ryan's voice is powerful, but somewhat tuneless, and you can almost see her lips moving as she counts her steps.
She stumbles a bit on the introduction of the performer, and calls her "Miss...Chris...Christina…" leaving out her last name, which must be really hard to remember, because it doesn't sound anything like Christina.
Christina Christian is also all in white, and gets her guaranteed round of applause by announcing that she was born in Brooklyn. The band goes into a reggae beat as she sings "Ain't No Sunshine," in a voice that's both brittle and thin. Shack used to complain about her "bleating," but even with stacks of speakers, her voice still sounds small, rather than baaaaad. On Amateur Night at the Apollo, the crowd would let her make it through the song, but she wouldn't win (probably losing to a Big Girl with a Big Voice, because on Showtime at the Apollo, they let Big Girls sing).
The biggest blast of little-girl lung power thus far (at a far higher frequency than for A.J. or Jim) comes with the appearance of R.J. Helton, with his amazing pristine eyebrows, and the clip show is mean enough to show him in his ice cream suit on the night he forgot the words to "Can't Dance." And he really can't. Dance, that is. I didn't get his appeal then, and it's still not apparent when we're in the same room. Though, as pointed out on the forums, he'd make an adorable baby dyke. He doesn't move onstage -- he schleps, with a few pelvic thrusts thrown in. And around me, girls are weeping, holding up signs proclaiming their devotion. I wait for them to grow up and get some taste. It could happen. My first concert was the Osmonds. Now I like obscure, talented artists and rail at the rampant commercialism of major labels.
But when R.J. introduces Tamyra Gray, suddenly there's talent in the room.
"I'm Every Woman" is Tamyra's first song, and she moves among the musicians in the band as she sings, working and playing with them. She owns the stage and fills the arena, and she'd be a pleasure to see on her own, but the contrast between her presence and that of the performers is almost cruel. She's cool and beautiful in a young Diahann Carroll sort of way.
And then the lords of chaos rule once more, as Tamyra gives way to Nikki McKibbin doing "Piece Of My Heart." Nikki's been on my shit list since the beginning, because you have to have far more ovaries and vocal chords than she does to cover Janis Joplin (we won't even discuss Faith Hill's version), and because she let herself be cast as the TV version of a rocker while claiming not to know one of Pat Benatar's biggest hits, and because, no matter what song she sings, she's always about a half tone flat.
But the forums worked on me: the TWoP community of obsessive observers, passengers on the Nikki train, and friends-of-friends did its thing creating the heroes and villains, spinning out insights, and filling in backstory. Television With-OUT Pity gave me far more empathy for the pink-haired Texan than the actual show did. It really is hard to hate a plucky single mom who held on long after she should have been gone, and just toughed it out. It's so...American.
She's been working on the flat singing, and she's obviously enjoying herself. She plays right to the cameraman crouching at her feet, and her exquisite (right) profile is thrown up on the huge video screens. She's a very pretty girl. But then she hits one of her patented Nikki BIG notes that just sort of explode into sonic dysfunction, and I have a sinus infection, and I swear the note goes right up behind my eye and pokes me like a red hot nail. Two words, Nikki: nursing school.
But the evening rights itself again as Justin Guarini and his hair make the world safe for little girls with crushes (and their mommies). He rises out of the floor, starting from that same splay-footed stance that makes it look like he's riding a horse. He sings "Get Here" to each and every person, beckoning, winking, turning away. The large stage gives him a chance to really move, and he does it well. He takes the stairs unafraid (the others keep a good hold of the rail -- apparently more than one of the singers has taken a header off them).
More than any of the others, Justin looks like he could hold his own in musical theater. He doesn't have Tamyra's vocal range or strength, but he knows that song selection is key important (tm Paula Abdul), and given the right songs, he's a keeper. He was also completely gracious when he got run over by the Kelly train, and it won him a lot of respect. I never felt the Justin (EEEEEEE), but I sure picked up on the Justin (AWWWWW). And he's delighted and thrilled (along with the rest of us) to introduce "Miss" Kelly Clarkson.
With a "duh," I realize that that's why all the grown-ups are here, as Kelly percolates down the stairs to "Respect." I recall from the recaps that Shack liked her early, but didn't give her a chance to win. Who did, in the first couple of weeks? A cute kid from Texas with a big voice and a goofy smile, with real curves and very nice junk in the trunk, no matter how fresh and appealing, was just not the sort of person who gets signed to record deals -- you know, like Amy Studt. Except that Kelly did win, and in Hempstead, New York, 18,000 people were happily joining in her victory lap around the country.
Then there was some more group singing and careful negotiation of the stairs and bad screensaver backgrounds, and then it was intermission.
A lot of the little kids went home (it was a school night), but most of the crowd filed back in for a second helping that gave us a bit too much more group sing for my taste, but also more of the heavy hitters.
The boys start it off with "Dirty Pop," and as A.J. descends the stairs, I wonder why he's wearing a bicycle helmet. A little more study reveals that it's just a huge, hideous black and white cap, but I realize we have yet to see A.J. without head covering. Perhaps his UFH is an attempt to compensate for a URH (Unfortunate Receding Hairline).
Justin can dance well, and EJay also has some moves; the other three are basically cannon fodder. Then the girls rise from the floor to sing "Free Your Mind." Kelly, Nikki, and Ryan dance like white girls. A portion of the screensaver disappears, so it's waves and sparks and fireworks or something and a patch of white noise.
Justin gets another solo with "For Once In My Life," followed by Kelly rising from the stage, wearing a hat and a slinky black suit for "Natural Woman." Kelly gets to introduce the band: a lead guitarist, keyboards, drummer, a musical director, and three backup singers.
Then they haul out the Motown, because it's getting late and if everyone is singing, we won't fall asleep. The girls sing "My Guy," and the boys sing "My Girl." In my imaginary, more interesting show, I have Tamyra sing it to Kelly. And then we all go out for a drink.
But wait -- there's more!
Nikki, in a shawl at the top of the stairs, sings "Rhiannon," but does not twirl nearly enough for a Stevie Nicks cover.
Tamyra, rising from the floor, seated on a black leather couch, begins "A House Is Not A Home," and while the forums and Shack felt the judges overpraised her for that one on TV, I got the goose bumps then, and I get the goose bumps now.
What could top that? Only a disco medley!
The costumes have been bizarre all night, but wardrobe's take on the disco era is almost hallucinatory. Nikki in neon green shredwear! A.J. in a full head wrap with little mirrors on it that makes him look like Dread Disco Pirate! Tamyra in white leather pants with a blood-spatter pattern! And a giant mirror ball lowered from the ceiling. I was disappointed they didn't put anyone on roller skates.
The medley includes "Celebrate" and "We Are Family," because those songs aren't played nearly enough in stadiums and arenas. Also, "Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now" (at least the talented ones), "Love Machine," and "Boogie Wonderland."
Justin gets one more solo, and he's not really old enough to sing "Let's Stay Together." Give him a few years, a few busted relationships, and a real-deal marriage where he tells People magazine that he's finally found true love with Paula, and then he can sing that song with feeling.
Then Kelly gets to sing one of the McSongs that was her "prize" for winning the whole shebang. Of the two songs on the CD single (which I ordered the moment it was available), "A Moment Like This" is slightly more interesting (and ubiquitous. I heard it in the bank this morning). But she didn't sing that. Apparently, it's too hard on her voice. Nice job, McSongwriters! Instead, we hear her do her damnedest to make "Before Your Love" sound like it means something. The entire audience sings along. I am disappointed in us. Desmond Child, you can do better!
Kelly Kelly Kelly gives it her all, and you know she's going to be filling arenas on her own someday, if she gets the right material. We loved her more during "Respect" and "Natural Woman," because they are much better songs. (I hope someone at 19 Management has had the bright idea of calling Carole King before they go into the studio to record Kelly's hastily-produced first album, which she will disavow after she sues to get out of her indentured servitude and takes control of her own career.)
Then the whole gang troops down for "That's What Friends Are For (But Please Don't Call Me When You Return To Obscurity)", with a Justin/Kelly "I'll Be There" thrown in, a last eruption of the smoke machine, and a huge shower of sparks shooting down onto the stage.
Then the minivans pull out of the parking lot, and thousands of little girls try to convince their mothers to let them get a nose piercing like Kelly's, and little boys who can't sing dream of being famous, and they won't realize they're gay for years.