...And so then they were Four, and this was them.
A version of Carrie Underwood born in a parallel universe without prenatal vitamins. Just here to have fun. Just tryin' to do her best. Provides aid and succor to the survivors of tragedies through her gift of song, which teaches that it's okay to try to feel okay no matter how hard the situation. The human equivalent of a creamy potluck gelatin-mold with wrong things floating in it, like bananas and walnuts. Like bits of meat.
The Chace Crawford to Adam Lambert's Ian Somerhalder, the Ke$ha to his Gaga: A charming, muddled weirdness in the corner, doing its own little thing. If Adam and DAUGHTRY had a pair of twins, Durbin would be the one with markedly less potential, that everybody dotes on because the elephant must never be mentioned. He's here to do what he does, and he's the best at what he does, but only because nobody's ever sought to do it and nobody ever will again.
George Walker Bushbaby. Danny Gokey's "soul" in Alfred E. Neuman's body, as redesigned by the child-sexualizing people at Bratz. A mercenary made only more dangerous by the fact that he doesn't understand what he's doing is disgusting. Talks to God, loves Jesus. A simple singer of songs. An evanescent Max Headroom collection of American semiotics cooked up in the same lab of codged-together signifiers that brought us David Archuleta. There is no there, there: There is gone. There is only America.
And the girl who thought America, and Steven Tyler, knew what they were talking about. On the first night of Randy Jackson being right, she believed them when they said that he was wrong. The girl who was cruisin' for a bruisin', until Lady Gaga told her to do something right, and then she turned it all around.
Or did she?
JAMES DURBIN HAS DISCOVERED FEAR
It's unsettling. Lauren is standing there like the scary Phantom Zone chick, and Scotty knows he's going to win, and Haley is probably still angry for no reason. But James Durbin looks like he's going to cry. So often, these days, James Durbin is poised to cry.
The Judges are all wearing the same Chico's outfit, and Ryan is resplendent in pale blue. The signs in the audience follow the same trends as in the last big political dustup: Signs supporting Haley and Ryan Seacrest look professionally made and handed out, while the signs for Lauren and Scotty are misspelled, poorly kerned, and very upset about Obama's takeover of the Social Security system.
Tonight, we will be visited by spirits three: Lady Gaga, Jordin Sparks, and Enrique Iglesias. There will be a fourth performance, but it will not be mentioned in this recap or watched by this guy right here. For her performance, one assumes Gaga will be singing "Judas," which will cause Scott to once again kiss his crucifix. Jordin Sparks will sing "No Air," while poking Jacob Lusk in his stupid eye over and over. And Enrique Iglesias will sing "Tonight (I Am Fucking You)," God willing, if only because he has written the best-titled song of all time and deserves to enjoy it.
I LOVE JESUS & I TALK TO GOD
The big group number tonight -- as introduced by Durbin's swinging hips and Scotty's wacky giggles -- will have to wait, because first we have to remember what happened. Durbin played Karaoke Star in your face, but it was even better with the sound off. Lauren and Scotty celebrated death and murder, which Steven Tyler loved, because he is a stone sucka. Haley squatted out a mess, but nobody seemed to hear or understand the critique she earned.
That part went like this, spinning out into the news cycle for most of today:
Haley: "I'm not going to let it get me down."
Jacob: "Yes, but are you going to comprehend what they were saying."
Haley: "I felt judged."
Jacob: "Um, by the Judges?"
Haley: "I felt criticized."
Jacob: "By their critique?"
Guess what, being better is literally your only job on this earth. Becoming magnificent is your only task. Everything else happens on the way. That kind of behavior is for people less talented than Haley. You know what's the mark of a truly intelligent, or talented, or beautiful person? They know it. They don't defend their ground, because their ground is what they're standing on.
But she was punished, both by having to watch her tacky ass do all of this in a few weeks' or months' time, but also by the Wonderwall, who made her pretend to "forgive" the Judges for shit they had no reason to apologize for, which was super awkward for everybody. You know that nothing will take Randy Jackson out of this equation, but I think the total railroading last night might have pissed J. Lo off enough that she'll quit, and then it will just be Steven Fucking Tyler and Randy Fucking Jackson and like, Pete Best. And not even Ryan can keep me around for that. Not with Simon's loving arms just a few steps away, Paula Abdul crawling around on him like a jungle gym. No sir.
Anyway, then Lauren admitted that she is evil. Scotty was just sleazy and stupid everywhere, and Steven Tyler decided that was an appropriate reason to talk about Lady Gaga's vagina. James Durbin just pissed everybody off, and then Haley was totally incredible and turned in one of the best things you've ever seen on this show.
AND THAT'S WHAT YOU MISSED ON GLEE
The boys come out to sing some kind of country song, with an electric guitar ripping around nonsensically behind it so that James Durbin will feel more comfortable. But guess what, James Durbin will never ever feel more comfortable.
On the other hand, they're the only guys in the Top 13 besides Casey that can even attempt to harmonize, so it's by default the best group performance all year, despite Durbin's pitch issues pulling Scotty off a few times, and of course the song being about beer or guitars or whatever stupid Scotty crap.
Seacrest: "Nobody is going to watch this show year, but if you did here are some of the cities we'll be making fun of January."
Durbin: "I tried to kiss the strange old substitute teacher that lives in my house, and she poked me in the eye. So now I am crying for two reasons."
Seacrest: "I'll explain how kissing works later."
AND THAT'S WHAT YOU MISSED ON GLEE
Lauren and Haley come out to stare into the camera and ignore each other and sing in weird country twangs and do a Miranda Lambert song that I assume was originally written by Martina McBride because it's about murdering abusive men, and graphic both about the abuse and about the murdering, but in a glib hilarious way.
I just don't understand country music. It's like a Hallmark card, just totally devoid of thought or feelings, right, but then you open it up and somebody's getting raped.
AND THAT'S WHAT YOU MISSED ON GLEE
Everybody Skypes with their people, instead of going home quite yet, and it's so boring.
Lauren and Scotty think the internet is a witch, and when the laptop goes in the pool it floats, so I guess maybe they're right.
Seacrest: "Everybody's going home week, but only three of them will enjoy the experience. The fourth will wish they were dead."
Lauren goes immediately sailing into the Top Three -- first the omelet thing, now this, everything's coming up Lauren -- and stomps her dumb feet and hugs everybody and Steven Tyler plays with his hair and she and her mom both look like Gordon Ramsey when they cry.
Then, more technology. This part I don't understand at all. We watch the Idols sit down on a couch, and then we watch them watch a Lady Gaga concert.
Yo dawg I heard you like boring songs and awkward people so I put a Lady Gaga show in your music show so you can listen to boring songs by awkward people while you listen to boring songs by awkward people.
TONIGHT (I AM NOT FUCKING YOU)
Enrique takes the stage with a light show and cocked hip that would give my sister a literal aneurysm, and Ryan says something about it being a medley or two songs or something, and the second one is like my favorite song of all time. But I'm sure the first one will be good too. A fuzzy fellow with quite a haircut sings on the screens behind, and first I thought it was Usher and then I thought, no, probably I am being racist, and then he took off his sunglasses so I knew it wasn't Usher, but I still secretly think maybe it was Usher, so either way guess what: I am a racist.
The second part of the song goes better for everybody. Enrique gets out in the crowd where you can see him being totally hot and singing "I Like It," which, I don't know if you feel this way about the song, but I feel a spiritual connection to the song. My buddy Brad played it for me, the first time, and I Facebooked my sister about "I was so fucking wrong, I apologize" and my Dad immediately jumped on there and was like, "I bet five dollars you are referring to Enrique Iglesias." It's just so good. Why is it so good? I feel like he's just singing to me alone. Like he got out his Ouija board and talked to El Debarge about me, and they wrote a little ditty. It feels like a birthday present, every time. Do you feel me on this at all?
The other thing is that I went to this bar and they were having karaoke night and this guy started singing this Hal Ketchum song, this was several months ago, and I had my back to the stage because you know that karaoke makes me nervous, but when I heard this person start singing, my back went straight like I was being electrocuted, and I instantly decided that this person was the best singer I had ever heard. Which, I'm a drinker, this happens not-so-rarely; Brad and Stove were facing the stage, so they could see what I was not seeing, and they were both like, "Yep. This is happening." But then:
Jacob: "Can you read the crawler on that sign? I think it says his first name."
Brad: "[Dude's name.]"
Jacob: "Is that his letter jacket on that chair over there? Will you go get me a drink and see what school it's from and what his last name is?"
Brad: "Done."
ibid., on returning: "So you like this song? It's called 'Past The Point Of...'"
Jacob: "-- And now he is my Facebook friend."
Brad: "You are... What? He's not even done singing the song yet."
Jacob: "Yes, I do like this song. And no, he has not confirmed yet, but he will."
Brad: "But... What? You're scary."
Jacob: "No, I'm drinking vodka and Sugar-Free Red Bull. The word you're looking for is efficient."
Brad: "The word you are looking for is stalker."
Jacob: "...And he just confirmed it. Now we look at pictures. There are 496 at this time."
All 496 of them were of this guy, being carried around by giant co-eds, which: That's what I'm talking about, I knew the dude's bio before I turned around and saw it written on his face, but Brad was still tickled.
Brad: "Does he have a family? Or was he just... Raised by girls?"
So then, of course, I had to learn Hal Ketchum's entire back catalog so that I would be able to sing along at any point if I was ever required to do so. It was kind of a dark time, but it gave me something on which to focus. I practice back catalogs in the shower, it makes me feel like I'm doing something while I'm in there instead of just becoming less filthy. This week it is Big Star, last week it was The National. I had what I'd come for.
But a few weeks ago, I get what I think is a pocket call from Brad, but then no, he's actually trying to notify me of something very important, and I can't hear him, and it sounds like he's in the middle of a fireworks demonstration, so I hang up. And this is literally the text message I got, I saved it for you:
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I'm at [same venue]. [Person] is here. He's singing "I Like It" ALL BETS are OFF I have 16 poorly recorded dim seconds of video
THAT'S MY BOY.
Ryan tries to be whimsical and bounce one of Enrique's giant Prisoner balloons into the audience, but because Ryan going off book is basically just summoning chaos itself to come fuck you over, he ends up jumping off the stage and then lurching into the audience -- still jumping for the balloon, okay -- and then landing on top of this giant dude's head and then he recovers, runs back to camera, and gives you some jazz hands.
Durbin bounces one of them in his lap in a way I think he thinks looks nonchalant but in fact looks exactly like what it is, repetitive calming movements, and Scotty's holding it like a teddy bear and bouncing his jaw off of it, and finally Ryan knocks both of their balloons away for distracting him, and Durbin's face starts up again.
Then it's Jordin time, which involves lots of pomp and circumstance and a whole video journey of her post-show life, which guess what it's about three seconds long, and then the performance? It's all very dramatic, and the song starts like ten times so that when the song actually starts, you don't trust it. The song is about how she is Woman. She performs very professionally, especially for an Idol Alumna, but... Again, Jordin? "I Am Woman"?
WHY DOES LOVE ALWAYS HEAR ME ROAR IN NUMBERS TOO BIG TO A BATTLEFIELD?
Do you think Jordin knows? I think it's equally possible that she has never heard the songs she thinks she's writing or she doesn't see the problem. But the fact that the Ford Focus song was "Fireflies," I guess being accused of musical fanfic in this day and age isn't really a concern. I can't wait for her single, "Muskrat Affection." "Good Morning, Moonshine." "Portions For Badgers."
BORN TO BE IMPERTINENT
But it occurs to me that I'm not really being fair. I mean, it's common knowledge that DAUGHTRY's entire career is actually just Live b-sides, and even our darling Cookie Monster's basically just minding the farm for Lifemouse and Sparkledick and Twistfoot and whatever. Which, given that this show is pretend, I don't know why that would even surprise, or be a negative.
Oh, by the way, this show is pretend. I don't know if you knew that, but I feel like we've discussed this before. That's why it's weird -- this year, every year, every year this happens -- to be all TEAM HALEY and get weirdly aggressive about James Durbin, like it's one or the other, like any of this actually matters. Like it's Kelly and Kim Richards and one of them has to be a bad guy. I certainly don't much care for Durbin's subject matter or performances, I just think he's awesome, which makes watching him sing enjoyable. I thank him for this activity, as Ryan would say.
Like: You know that I love Casey Abrams, very much. Love him, like, more than a lot of people I actually know at all. But his fate on this dumb game show was never really like a huge issue, for me or for Reality. Or frankly for Casey. It's a TV show, it's pretend. It's like fantasy football, but even more of a fantasy. Fantasy lingerie football. That's the level that makes sense to me. I like Cougar Town, but I don't put a lot of thought into what Courtney Cox would do with a record contract. And if I did express an opinion about that irrelevant concept, I doubt you'd really be sending me weird emails about it.
Q: "TEAM HALEY! What's the deal with your hard-on for James Durbin?"
A: "Um, it is literal."
NOT THAT COMPLICATED, FOLKS
I am a simple singer of songs, y'all! I'm just happy to be here. Anyway, it occurs to me that it's probably good to go over that, because I don't really pay attention to the fan conversation or the forums or anything until it starts cutting into my sitting-around time, so the fact that I was disgruntlingly involved in James Durbin's situation -- a situation about which I have literally no thoughts -- came, as it does every year, as a bit of a surprise.*
Do you remember Blake? I sure do, I freakin' loved that guy. Do you remember his last name? I do not. I reach for that information and I come up with Blake Nelson, former Sassy writer and author of the seminal novel Girl. Who, possibly he's a great beatboxer I have no idea, but he's definitely not the one we're thinking of.
*(I have received at this time no communication from the fans of Lauren or Scotty, although clearly they are legion. I have a few theories on why this is the case -- the illiterate, bigoted hatemail from Taylor Hicks fans being something I treasured a great deal, ditto Bucky -- but I think we all know, so let's not go there.)
So I apologize for being nice about Jason Durbin. Apparently that's me being a dick. Apparently pointing out that he has gained weight since January will make Lauren a size two. Apparently he is ruining this show.
APPARENTLY THIS SHOW CAN BE RUINED
...But not tonight. That thing we're not talking about? Bleep-bloop. Through the fast-forwarding, it seems to concern mostly the misadventures of an ugly witch as she casts spells on beautiful women that make them go jetskiing in their underwear. There is also a vulture, because even a blind squirrel.
Ryan watches Steven Tyler drink the attention of the crowd like a drowning vampire, and Ryan says he wants to go jetskiing with the naked ladies too. Him and Randy. Imagine if you will that you have somehow made such terrible choices that you are out on a yacht with Randy Jackson and Steven Tyler, and then who should arrive on a jetski, possibly toting some muffins, but one Mr. Ryan Seacrest. My question for you is this: Are you relieved? Or do you think, "Things are about to get real weird."
I WOULD THINK BOTH
Five seconds left, and there's still three of these dicks... And then Haley goes through. That's awesome! I really thought she was going home. I sure hope she takes the advice of seasoned professionals into account when she's... Just kidding! She won't.
So now it's super suspenseful because it's down to Scotty -- who is going to win, mind you -- and Durbin, who... Doesn't even go to this school.
After the break, Durbin's just weeping with dread and the obviousness of all of this, and thinking about how he's kind of the DAUGHTRY -- if you squint at it, which of course he is -- and that this is when DAUGHTRY went home, and then of course he goes home. Scotty throws himself on our weird little fella, and then goes over for a smug little moment with Lauren while J. Lo loses her marbles about it.
I'm sad. Sure. Somebody had to go, and it had to be him, but that's sad. Sad like knowing you have to donate blood because it's the right thing to do, or that Michael Cera is getting older the more people hate him. Sad like thinking about how Leslie Knope, or Iorek Byrnison, or Serena van der Woodsen, are no less fictional than this show is. Sanjay Gupta. I am sad, and will be sad for at least ten minutes. Well. Seven. At least seven minutes. Casey Abrams is very real to me, David Petraeus is real. Even Ryan Seacrest, kind of. Andy Cohen, essentially, is a real person. And that's what I'll be thinking about, and then I won't be sad any more. But yes, a little touched with sadness.
...But not sad enough to sit through his weird, sad, baby-filled, Post-it noted, multiply afflicted sob story. Not again. The dude is awesome, I don't really see a reason to feel sorry for him. Not for this, certainly not for all that. Not even really for J. Lo, squeezing out her single diamond tear. The chain-walletiness of the person he's chosen to be, that's a little tough to take but it's something I can embrace. I see people like that bars and I always think they seem like nice people, like nice South Austin folks. Certainly nothing to mourn him for, at this time.
...Mmmmmaybe the wrestling thing. That makes me a little sad when I think about it. And the rock horns, they never look right on him. And the whole scarf deal. Mostly I just want to make out with him, and that's the kind of musically irrelevant rock and roll that never dies. Except when I forget his name in ten minutes and then I guess it will. Eternal Sunshine of This Show Has ADD.
Anyway, see you week, and I thank you for this activity.