Tuesday
I hate Gene Simmons. I wish that were a non sequitur.
Tonight we visit New Orleans, LA, with our guest judge Gene Simmons, who is the KISS guy with the tongue. Paula is hella drunk (or maybe on the dolls). Everybody's kind of pissy, because that's what happens when you're stuck in a room with Gene Simmons.
The Good: David Brown (19, NOLA), gets unequivocal approval and a unanimous ticket to Hollywood; Randy says that he is the best they've seen in all the Season Four auditions, and Seacrest accompanies him to church, for real. Lindsey Cardinale (19, Ponchatoula, LA) comes from a funny-named place where they wear their underwear on the outside, and she sings beautifully. For one hundred years. Michael Luizza (22, NOLA) sings like a Muppet, and then they all agree that he is "reminiscent of the female singers from the early '50s," like Rosemary Clooney, and they are all tripping so they suddenly think that's the big thing. Jeffrey Johnson (27, Dallas) is hot and sings "In The Still Of The Night," and Gene Simmons perpetrates some random crap on him, but it's okay because Simon is deeply in love with him. Lamar and Jamar Jefferson (23, DeSoto, TX) have their twin act together, Gene Simmons is still an idiot, and Seacrest calls them "money." Only 16 people make it through to Hollywood, but this is mainly because Gene Simmons is an asshole, I think.
The Bad: Robert Solomon (26, Macon, GA) is a retro-nerd film projectionist who likes to "bellow" when he's alone, and his deal is that he's a real-life three-way split between Eugene from Grease, Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors, and Professor Frink from The Simpsons. I'd like to be charitable and say this is a massive joke, but I cannot with full authority or complete conviction do so. Reggie Brown (26, Jackson, MS) is not so great and that's really all I can say.
Sundeep Achreja (28, Metairie, LA) is good-looking, like an Indian Judd Nelson, he's sixteen feet tall, and he's totally Business Development, and watching him sing is like watching that one guy from the Nebraska office singing, like, a Paula Cole song karaoke style, only instead of a Paula Cole song, it's "Eye Of The Tiger," and somehow, that's worse. Daniel Durham (25, Kenner, LA) has a very church-camp vibe, and I like him, but he gives up immediately. Larenda Garrett (18, Kenner, LA), dresses and looks like the "tuppence a bag" lady, and sings in a boringly bad manner. Algua Isaac (26, Duncanville, TX) looks physically like the missing member of the Jackson Five, LeVar, but sings like nothing special. There are lots and lots more twins, twins, twins, from lots of seasons of this show, all of whom are very touchy-feely with each other. Especially Rich and J.P. Molfetta (27, New Windsor, NY), who sing "I'll Make Love To You," but, like, they sing it to each other. I don't think America is ready for them.
The Ugly: Bobby Barfoot (26, Fayetteville, NC) yodels -- pretty well, but still -- and gets blasted for it; but as a separate issue, he's a little bit creepy. Paula hits a downturn in the mood swings and starts crying when Daron Beck (28, Denton, TX) walks in, but not because he's scary-looking. Well, kind of: she starts crying because of how "original" he is before he even starts singing, because he's so "original"-looking. Then he sings like a freak, but that's okay because he really only wants to be on TV and they all know it.
The Unethical: Totally racist and awful montage of "The Incomprehensibles," a group of contestants for whom the English language is not necessarily a given, with those oh-so-funny subtitles at the bottom giving one possible take on what they're saying, i.e., what is clearly "miles and miles of empty spaces between us" becomes "Mys oh mys of empty spacers between hers." Also there is a bona fide crackhead. It's utter bullshit.
Wednesday: Kenny Loggins joins us in Las Vegas. Promises to be classy.
Wednesday
Welcome to Las Vegas. Guest judge: Kenny Loggins, looking like a dead person. We see an inordinate number of the 24 total winners out of the 9,000 auditioneers in this episode, which is both more and less fun, for lots of different reasons. Oh, and Paula's rocking a side ponytail and a giant red Canciones De Mi Papa flower in her hair, multiplying the amount of deranged she usually looks by a thousand.
The Good: Seacrest finally took a nap, and looks relatively fantastic. Boy was looking a mess. A "real Vegas showgirl" named Amanda Avila (23, The Vegas) hotties herself right into the judges' hearts, as if she even needed to sing. Twin Richard M. (the slightly hotter one) from last night comes back and sings gorgeously, in my opinion, which was all set to "snark." This year's first Punky Colors girl, Emily Neves (22, Houston), cutes on in and sings first a Cyndi Lauper and then a Linda Ronstadt song, winning me over easily, and she gets through on personality. Then a stereotypical 1970s streetwalker comes in and busts it right out, blowing everyone's mind, and she's great. Her name is Sharon Galvez (28), and the deal is that she's a Vegas cocktail waitress, so she unavoidably has Vegas all over her, and that's why she looks like that, but really she has a heart of gold. The lovely Jennifer Todd (27, Ontario, CA) makes it through based on her incredible voice, but unavoidable image issues will clearly preclude her moving forward from there. Finally, the last of the 24 Vegas people is Mario Vasquez (27, NYC), who is cool, and well-mannered, and nice-looking, and Paula barks right up that wrong, wrong tree, but we are unanimous on the awesomeness of Mario.
The Bad: Trevor (20, Winnemucca, NV) shamelessly sings "Footloose" to the writer/guest judge, and literally "kicks off his Sunday shoes." This pale, corpse-like girl sings Sarah MacLachlan, as usual. There's lots of high-pitched vibrato chipmunk singing and bullshit montages of bad singing, but not like notably bad, justâ¦not good. Vegas singers range mediocre-to-awesome, on the whole. This built Asian guy in a sleeveless jersey is not so good, and we don't even see this goth chick in Heidi braids perform, or a tired-looking old blonde porn star lady, just their disappointment. Dorky Christopher Tamura (25, The Vegas) wants to "represent Las Vegas" with his Elvis stylings. If you're auditioning in Vegas and you sing Elvis? You're fired. Christina Jordan (27, The Vegas) dances like there's an earthquake, but it's just her, losing her shit, and then Joey DeLovino (28, Seattle) makes Kenny giggle with his cheesiness. I mean to say that Kenny Loggins finds him cheesy.
Natasha Robinson (24, Chicago) comes in dressed as a giant choir lady with an Afro, and then strips off to this whole other outfit, and this gives Paula the fantods for some reason. Joshua Mareko (23, Kona, HI) sings and hums and moans and you eventually figure out that he's singing a Kate Bush song (albeit probably via the note-perfect Maxwell cover, but still). Lovely, awesome Karl Roberts (20, Fairfax, VA) "performs" "Superfreak," robo-Gary-Numan-style, while wearing plastic gloves of blue. Andrew Waffenschmidt (20, Holmen, WI) sings an Elvis song. Fired. Trevor Gordon (24, Medford, OR) refuses to get it together for me and sings only every other word of "I'm So Excited." The disarming Matthew Falber (21, Casper, WY) begs to be taken seriously as an artist, choosing a song from the Disney animated feature, The Lion King.
The Ugly: Technically she got through, but Mikalah Gordon (16, The Vegas) is so tore up I had to put her here. She is technically 16, but those eyes have seen things you've never imagined went on, even in your most grody mental moments. She gives me 128 different kinds of heebie-jeebies and really wants to buy her mom implants, okay, and to be black. Like, not in the JT or Eminem way where they don't really know the difference, but explicitly. She's like if you took that nasty chick from the Black-Eyed Peas and brainwashed her, this is how she would look on that last day when her resistance is completely gone. This stupid old man lies that he's 28, then caves under Simon's interrogation and reveals that he is 256 years old. Valentin Zamarripa (20, Merced, CA) sings all crappy, and then startles you by ripping off his wig just like Dr. Kimberly Shaw. Then Simon makes out with Paula. This whole episode does the Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, basically.
Moments I Won't Ever Get Back: Jeffrey "J.C." Gray (24, The Vegas) started life deaf, and then was miraculously cured by the closing credits of The Jazz Singer, and is now the cook at a mini-golf course. Randall Jason (16, The Vegas) isâ¦so many things are wrong here that I cannot describe it adequately to you right now, but suffice to say that I don't think these bastards should have put this kid on the TV because he's just 16 and hasn't even gotten dealt his cards yet, much less started putting together a decent hand. Merely through his presence the judges are driven to rampages and infighting, like the things you put in your yard that make moles stop digging and run.
Desi Yazzie (27, Kykotsmovi, AZ), the even gayer brother of Season Two's "Greatest Love Of All" guy, sings "I Have Nothing," and, having sucked, runs away. Sarah Woodall (27, The Vegas) sings Elvis. Fired. There's a lame psychic girl named "Bobie." Fired.
week: What I did not know until tonight was "The Home Of Rock & Roll," Cleveland, OH. With L.L. Cool J!
Tuesday
Welcome to New Orleans, home of crawfish, drag queens, nighttime magic, and breakdowns. Especially those Seacrest-specific: "Let's break it down: first Kelly, then Ruben, then of course Fantasia." Whew, I'm glad he broke it down for us. So what he's wondering is, "Could the American Idol be [in New Orleans]?" Short answer: No, sorry. Long answer: the hour of your life.
In New Orleans you might find trolley cars, Bourbon Street, the French Quarter, and Mardi Gras… Thanks to Ryan for explaining it all to us. (I thought my description of New Orleans, one of the few cities in America I've actually been to, was lame!) Then there is a freaky, freaky slow motion shot of Seacrest throwing beads off a balcony at an unknown, unseen figure. I feel all of a sudden like I'm in Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil and the deeds are unfolding and sins will be visited on the people. There's lots of pointless, boring footage of lots of pointless, boring New Orleans folks. Like, there's a girl eating a hot dog. That's it. Not doing anything weird or cool or loud or interesting. Just hungry, and having a hot dog. WOOO! So yeah, lots of that, and lots of shots of lots of people pronouncing "New Orleans" in lots of different ways.
Gene Simmons will be joining us, unfortunately, and because the 86 billion people apparently watching this season are like 14 years old, we have to talk about who he is exactly. Now, I don't care who Gene Simmons is, because I fucking despise him, so if you really care to find out, that's what Google is for. We then have a collectively weird moment where there's a short video of Gene Simmons and Simon Cowell utterly making out as Seacrest asks in voice-over, "What would happen to our contestants when the rocker with the world's longest tongue and the Brit with the world's sharpest tongue got together?" I don't know, but I'm fairly sure it's a [funny joke goes here]. I'm so bored with the prospect of the judges judging, Gene being there, auditioneers from New Orleans. I can't be bothered. And even by sitting here doing nothing but telling you how I'm opting out of this, I'm still funnier than what they come up with: a superimposed crappy graphic of some KISS makeup over Simon's face. Which is better than, I don't know, them licking each other. But we'll get to that soon enough.
David Brown (19, New Orleans, working the whole Mercutio vibe hardcore) walks in, and Gene is so convinced that he himself is a badass that he totally starts talking out his ass before anyone can even say hi -- he's like somebody's irritating dad who just assumes everybody wants his opinion first and foremost. But then I guess that's what happens when you spend fifty years getting blown every night by groupies. Even if they're KISS groupies, which is shudderiffic, but anyway I imagine it takes away your real reality just as much as any non-stop ass-licking rock and roll ride. Anyhow, David Brown is lovely, he has great manners, and he sings awesomely and naturally. Gene Simmons is still the boss of everybody on earth, in his own mind. David sings Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come" perfectly and beautifully and they all spaz out unanimously, Randy going so far as to say that David is the best person so far to audition for Season Four, and I agree, maybe. I'd know for sure, except we've seen so few of the audition-round winners that I don't really have the necessary information. Because the point of all this is not good singing, it's laughing at people for being something other than what we're used to being sold. More irritating horrible Gene Simmons. Where the eff is Mark McGrath?
Introducing Bobby Barfoot (26, Fayetteville, NC) involves Seacrest debasing himself by signing an autograph for a little boy who throws it on the ground because he thought Ryan was Clay Aiken, and Ryan says it's not the first time that has happened. For shame. Everybody knows that Annette Bening is the new Clay Aiken. But also, for shame anyway, because this is dumb, and the only good thing about it is how it postpones Bobby Barfoot. Who when he does appear looks like a hobbit who does drag shows on the weekends. Honestly, that's the only way to describe it. Well, like a bullfrog too.
He's wearing a shiny, shiny shirt, which Seacrest points out looks like a Seacrest shirt. How much of a joke do you have to be to make jokes about yourself? And get a laugh? Also from yourself? Poor Ryan. And already I hate Bobby Barfoot (dude, he even has a hobbit name) because he has brought a three-ring binder of all of his AI collector's cards, of which thing I did not previously know, and the existence of which additionally makes me want to punch a baby in the face, to the auditions just in case one of the pictured people was at the auditions, which makes no damn sense except for how there was that girl who fell down that one time and came back the year as the girl Seacrest. Well, girlier Seacrest.
Anyway, Bilbo Barfoot yodels, and it's gross and gender-nonspecific, and just like you think it was. I can barely look at him, like, nice choker, dude. Paula tells him he has a "real good voice," and Simon and I both ask, "Where?" So since Paula is drunk and on a handful of dolls throughout this episode -- and I mean we're getting the full-on Janice Dickinson here -- she goes on her first wobbler of the episode and bitches Simon out for a while. Simon calls the performance (Bilbo's, not Paula's, although he would not be exactly wrong) "a cross between a rodeo and La Cage Aux Folles," and I feel weird about agreeing with Simon all the time. I mean, I know I'm right, but he has this rep for being a dick and I don't think I am also a dick, but who knows? Time for another informal poll, I guess.
So anyway then Paula says, "You're not happy with his image," which is her lemonade-flavored way of saying Bilbo's a fat drag queen, and Simon does not deny this, but adds that he also hates Bilbo's voice. Hee! Then Paula tries to pass the lemonade to Bilbo, saying, "It's your…it's your image," like he doesn't know what that means. As they fight about it and Simon keeps trying to justify it by saying that he hates, like, everything about this kid, not just "image" but also like, what lies behind the image, Bilbo looks bummed to learn that he is in fact a fat hobbit drag queen, because previously he thought he was…I don't know. Patsy Cline. Wait, that's redundant. Dale Evans.
Randy and Gene laugh and laugh and Simon and Paula tell him directly that he is a drag queen hobbit, only Paula thinks it's some kind of apology, like, "You'd be great if not for your outward appearance, which is so creepy that you've confused Simon here as to the quality of your voice," and when Bobby says he can work on being less of this thing he totally is and always will be, Simon sends him behind a wall to prove the point that his voice is horrible, and actually it's a bit better behind the screen, because he's less nervous, but no matter what it's a shit thing to do. "Let's see if I like your voice more if I don't have to look at your face at all."
Drunk Paula yells to Bobby behind the screen, "Bobby, this is Paula, well, obviously, bllearrgh!" because she's crunked up tonight, I don't know if I mentioned that, and she asks him to sing Stevie Wonder or "something else" from "the charts today," so he sings "Lately" by Stevie Wonder. And he sings it just like Britney Spears would, only on pitch, while Gene Simmons openly mocks him, and they all just carry on conversations while he's singing. And he comes out from behind the curtain and Simon's like, "See? You suck!" And then Paula criticizes his song choice -- even though he sang what she told him to -- and then says the following words: "It was very nasally up in your nasal." Ladies and gents, Paula Abdul. Can we confirm there's nothing up in her nasal tonight?
So she tells him that while he does suck, she's not agreeing with Simon, and fails to sell that he's the more important part of that sentence. Gene mocks him some more and talks some shit, and then everybody outside hugs him and Seacrest points out that Bilbo's getting comfort from "complete strangers," which is a heartwrecking thing to say, if you think about it, considering there's nobody else there. After commercials, there will be a pretty girl, a creepy dude, and someone Seacrest describes as "crunked out," and yeah, it's as natural-sounding as you think. Like Ryan calling Simon his "Boo."
Idiotic Seacrestiana about the "darker side of New Orleans," over, like, fucking shrunken heads and bullshit like that. If I'm this irritated by that crap, can you imagine what it's like for people who grew up there? Like, you're trying to get through life and the Goth girl in the cubicle is all, "Did you ever go to Anne Rice's house? Did you ever eat a tarantula?" All of this is in service of our introduction to Daron Beck (28, Denton, TX), who says he wants to "make music less disposable," but actually he means "bluff my way in and make a mockery of American Idol, because it is gay." He also thinks Gene Simmons will like him, and he's crazy lucky that he's wrong.
So he walks in, and Paula literally starts crying for some drug-related reason. Get some sleep, Paula. She says, before he's even found his mark, "You look tremendously different and unique already, which is a great thing!" Daron replies that "that's kind of what I'm going for." But it's not true, because really it's the opposite of original: It's Goth night bullshit and the Robert Smith concept hair and soul-patch-plus-pencil mustache and the plastic rose in the breast pocket and the natty black ensemble, and the whole thing is A) played and B) calculated to distract you from the fact that he's on the slightly-less-attractive side of the X axis. I mean, it works, he is much better-looking because of it, and it emphasizes his very beautiful eyes, so I'm glad he found the Goth scene, but I just checked my calendar and it turns out it's now 2005.
He's like the guy who wears the shirt of the band to the show of the band, only the show of the band is, like, his life. You know? And in his head he's in slow motion in the mist and this constant wave of Interpol songs and like, the Rainbow Goblins and their antics and whatever, that he carries with him everywhere he goes. Along with his darkness.
He sings Tom Jones's "Delilah" just awfully and everyone -- including maybe him -- immediately comes to understand that he is here on a dare or something, so of course they let him play it out because of the billions of fans who don't understand that this is a joke on them, and think it's the usual AI crap, where they are supposed to laugh because the whole joke is that he's kind of a fag. Which is not at all what is going on here, although it is humorous in its own way. So Paula pretends to shoot herself in the head and then Daron sings the "I'll Put A Spell On You" song from that jeans commercial where the mannequin follows the guy to his house which, side note, is what put me back in therapy. Paula can't tell the difference between the two songs. Then he does this weird, hiccupping, coughing, Gollum thing and they crack up. It's all part of the image, which is that he is a tubercular funeral attendant standing in the rain, thinking about how he'd like to try absinthe one day, who has committed the works of Neil Gaiman to memory. Which is not a diss on Mr. Gaiman, or on Daron really, who I am starting to really like, or any of my numerous friends who fit this stereotype. It's just an observation about the image we're trying to create here, which is both adorable and played, as I said, but cool nonetheless, because really it's an act of an act, which makes it all concept and meta, but you already knew that based on his hair. Which has like its own sense of self. So he shrieks and freaks and…how can you not know that this is a joke? Gene Simmons doesn't get it.
Fucking Siouxsie Sioux could kick Gene Simmons's ass. I wish she would. I would give her five dollars to do so. In macabre money.
Then we get an angle on what it's like in Simon's life when he tells Daron that he'd be very good in a certain kind of weird Gothic cabaret club, which is true, and would actually be pretty enjoyable -- albeit as a vacation from what I'm all about, personally. He thanks Simon, and Simon does not want the thanks, but Randy and Paula think it's cool, because it's true. Which means everybody is into the reality of this -- even though it's got nothing to do with the show, which is called American Idol, that we are watching -- except for Simon, because the kind of club he's apparently talking about involves Daron wearing "ladies' underwear and red lipstick in a cabaret," which is confusing for everybody, because nobody knows about those clubs except for Simon. Daron's response to this is very classy and I take it back, he's actually quite attractive. I'm fickle. Gene Simmons talks about some shit, but who cares, he's a jerkface. I think Daron is pretty damned awesome, when all is said and done. If I had any intention whatsoever of EVER ending up in Denton fucking Texas, I'd be sure to check out his show. So he comes out and says, "They said I should wear panties and red lipstick -- I think they've seen my act!" and he laughs and the people in the foyer laugh, and I laugh, and then Seacrest rules in voice-over: "I'm sure the Brit has!"
Meet Lindsey Cardinale (19, Ponchatoula, LA, pronounced "Cardinelli," wearing two lacy chemises, one on top of the other, as though she's going to bed right after this, twice, or lost her real shirt on the way here), who sings so very much like a freaking angel that the judges forget where they are, or to stop her, so entranced are they with the magic spell she is casting upon them. Paula stares and babbles. I grow old, marry, foster children, and die. All while Lindsey is singing. Simon calls her "without question, one of the best," and they kind of don't say anything else. She comes out into the bullpen and everyone claps, claps, claps.
Robert Solomon (26, Macon, GA) tools it up so hardcore, and I'll say it again: he's the true-life geeked-out solution x to the problem (E+S+2F/3)+g+h-m=x, where E = Eugene from Grease, S = Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors, F = Professor Frink from The Simpsons, g = Coke-bottle glasses, h = high-waters, and m = size, because he's your classic pre-"Hero Of The Beach" 98-Pound Weakling, with the sand in the face and that slutty Janet. I don't know what he's trying to accomplish here, but he's darling and would make a good friend for someone, somewhere. I do so hope he finds himself one sometime. He's River Phoenix in Explorers, or Jerry O'Connell in Stand By Me (albeit -m, again). Maybe it's a joke! That would be nice. For me and for him, and for you.
You know, I'd care so much more about him and his life if not for Adam Pratt last week, but they're like puppies: you can't save them all. Robert spends a lot of time alone, as a projectionist, which "allows me to work on my singing, or reading, or…" (this is all Robert does, so he can't think of anything else). "I've, you know, bellowed in the projection booth a few times." It sounds kind of dirty. Then he starts singing "Dancing In The Streets," and it's so spastic and weird and cool. He's even dressed like Eugene, okay, with like brown Dickies pants and a classic white t-shirt. He's got like a Blackberry or a giant brick cell phone or a kid in his pocket or something. It's bulgy in his hip area. He calls Paula's motion to stop "interesting," and mimics it. He's weird! What can ya do? I like him.
Back from commercial, Ryan says "Nawlins" again, and I want to slap his little face. He's riding a trolley this time. The people are from Mississippi, and Seacrest notes that only two people total have gotten through so far from "Randy's home state." But we don't get to know necessarily who those people are. I love how they explained to us about how the auditions were going to go on for six months or whatever, and were like, this will help the audience forge a bond and find their favorites earlier in the competition, and it was all just such deception and lies because all we have been focusing on the last two weeks is retards and crazy people, punctuated with people we've never seen before being jubilant about how they're going to Hollywood, and then vanishing. So anyway, here's somebody from Mississippi who didn't make it: Reggie Brown (26, Jackson, MS), who I find overdone and untalented in a particularly uninteresting way, but he has a big old silver cable necklace and a pretty cool industrial-looking black shirt with white stitching, a look I always like. Well, it's oversized and made of very hardy, stiff fabric -- again, very Dickies. Um. This way-too-detailed fashion review courtesy of the boringness of Reggie Brown. He shakes his hands around and his face goes terribly, terribly wrong as he sings, and it's not good. Like John Mayer-level not good, in terms of face actions, and just as interesting as anything else you can compare to John Mayer. Randy laughs aloud.
The two are from Kenner, LA: Daniel Durham (25) is big and blond and seems nice. His singing is not nice. Paula blows out her cheeks and stares at him angrily. (Uh oh! Here comes another mood swing!) He realizes in the middle of his singing that he can't sing, says, "Fuck," and disappears, which is awesome. Then comes Larenda Garrett (18), the one dressed like the "tuppence a bag" lady, but it's not fair to leave it at that, because it's flaw-concealing, this gauzy shirt/shawl/cape thing, and it matches her pink fedora (how did I miss this trend last summer?) and a drawstring neckline, but…does not look sucky! Her singing, however, does, and it sounds it too. The judges make fun of her to her face. Algua Isaac (26, Duncanville, TX) looks like LeVar Burton disguised in an afro wig and paisley shirt to resemble little Michael Jackson before all the things started happening to him. Sadly, the resemblance ends there: he sings like he's doing a bad impression of the amazing lead choir boy from Romeo + Juliet. In the same register. Oof. Which is kind of creepy when it's that little kid, because eunuchs are totally illegal in the here and now, but is way more creepy if you're a grown man.
We meet a coworker of Sundeep Achreja (28, Metairie, LA), a woman named Jeannie who seems like the type who has a lot of funky cute picture frames with doggies and grandchildren and Regis Philbin all over her desk, who says without breathing or stopping, "When we dress up for Halloween Sundeep dresses up for Halloween would you like me to tell you what he was the last time he dressed up? He was a punk." Then she looks away, thinks for a second, and corrects herself: "No that's not it, he was a pimp. Excuse me." It's freaking adorable. Except for the disturbing implication that she's somehow surprised that Sundeep celebrates deeply religious Christian American holidays like Halloween, I think she's awesome.
Sundeep is: good-looking, with spazzy Accounts Payable hair and a really cool pale-yellow necktie under his conservatively-cut but very nice and kind of daring true-black suit, he is sixteen hundred feet tall, and the Very Model of a Middle-Managerial. He tells us he draws a thick line between his professional environment (where he's an accountant) and his performance environment (where, sadly, he is…an accountant). Jeannie returns to tell us that Sundeep "sang a couple of times for us yesterday [here she fugues out for a sec and grasps at some lemonade fixins]…but I think he was nervous? And a little scared? But he sounded pretty good." And then she ruins it with, "But I don't know anything about singing talent." And the self-satisfied, snarky face with which she says this makes me think she's not so fond of good old Sundeep, but whether that's because he has the job she bitterly wants, or because she is suspicious that he might be one of those Arabs Rumsfeld warned her about, I cannot say. Either would not surprise me. She's kind of red-statey?
I hate that he's a curiosity in his office, but like, it's Metairie, Louisiana, population somewhat less than 150,000, so I'm sure he can weather it. Out in the bullpen, which seems like the lobby of a very nice and relaxing hotel (if you discount the American Idol delusioneers and the camera crews), he does a little shadowboxing. Is that a clue? Yes. Does it mean he's going to sing something by Fiona Apple? (Maybe "Paper Bag," with a little soft-shoe? That would be hot.) No. In fact it's "Eye Of The Tiger." Oh dear. He spends ages preparing himself and dancing weirdly, and then starts singing so very crappily and clearly he's hugely nervous. Gene Simmons is a messed-up amount of identical to Pauly Shore in this part. The judges ask if he's ever seen the show before, and he just mumbles Fantasia's name like it's a magic spell. When asked how he did, he responds that he got the words right, but he means the pitch, but the judges prefer to agree with the letter and not the spirit of what he's saying, since what he's actually saying is a damned untruth. Simon tells him, "Sundeep, the calculator beckons. It's a no," which might be the coolest thing Simon's ever said as a brush-off. "The calculator beckons." Heh. Outside, Sundeep kind of cries outside and says some nonsense.
The infinitely fratty-and-likeable Michael Luizza (22, New Orleans) teaches us a little bit of what Seacrest tries to sell as "New Orleans history," so pay attention: once there was this lady singing at a now-pink bar on the corner of Les Rues Bourbon et Toulouse, and she got into a fight with her band and quit, and then she ran across the street to another bar (which today is orange), because it's Bourbon Street and that's all there is, bars, and there was a piano player there, and they fell in love, and her hair was GIGANTIC, and 22 years ago, they gave up their musical careers and had a boy…named Michael. Not so much history as some story his parents tell when they're drinking.
His parents are nice, I like them. I love that he was raised in a musical environment; I think it's important to expose children to the gift of music early and often. (Well, good music.) So Michael comes into the audition room (and again -- ooh, the suspense, considering we had to jump in a Wayback Machine with Seacrest and meet this kid's parents and play "Johnny B. Goode" on the guitar so they could fall in love and conceive Michael before we could see the audition) and he's just great. I like him. He is easily four feet across, with a fullback build, and a huge, honest smile. I think he will make a good dad one day, or like a camp counselor or something. He comforts me with his very presence. He says nonsense things about how the "world is an evil place" and he would like to "give some good love around." Is he speaking Cajun? NOPE! Paula totally gets what he means, all, "I hear ya!" Which is hilarious. They're on that Brigitte/Flavor Flav wavelength of shared crazy-talk. "I'm Nonsensical! Who are you? / Are you -- Nonsensical -- too?"
He sings "Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?" (a song written before the advent of weird parenthetical titles), which was taught to him by his grandmother. He sings in the style of a Muppet, itself singing in the style of a white Billie Holiday, singing in the style of Louis Armstrong. It's a heady gumbo. They are so into it. Randy smiles wordlessly and blankly like he's in a CGI movie looking at something they haven't drawn yet. Gene Simmons -- who now only looks to me like Pauly Shore with his hair dyed black -- says, and they all agree, that he is "reminiscent of the female singers from the early '50s," like Rosemary Clooney. Huh?
Then everybody except Randy talks crazy. Gene: "I really like you. I have to say 'No.'" Paula of course leads the pack of crazy: "You need to work on your image. You need to pack up some clothes and have fun." And then she attacks Simon drunkenly. And Simon talks crazy about how Paula is acting like she's on Antiques Roadshow, must-see viewing for all the straight dudes, even Brits, because she's going on and on about this and that, and he knows all Michael cares about is, "How much is it worth?" It's a pretty good analogy, except that the blah blah blah on that show is about teaching us about the history of objects, while the blah blah blah of Paula is about teaching us that sometimes grownups take leave of their senses altogether. "You need to pack up some clothes and have fun," is what she said to this kid. Then they confront him and ask if he'd rather hear about how Paula has been made "joyful" or about how he's going to Hollywood or not. And because he's cool, Michael's like, "I appreciate the honesty of all of your viewpoints equally." Well, maybe not the Gene Simmons viewpoint that he is a woman from the '50s, but whatever. Simon sends him to Hollywood and Paula freaks out on Simon some more while Michael runs screaming straight out into the street. He screams and screams and wiggles all around. I am so happy.
Back from commercial, there's the terrible "Incomprehensibles" montage, where a bunch of people sing in English poorly. It's so funny! There's even a subtitled guy, where they spell out the words that he singing phonetically, even though it's obvious what he's actually singing. But the most mirthful part of this, besides whacked-out, jacked-up Leroy, whom we'll meet in a second, is when they make the fresh and exciting point that people who are raised surrounded primarily by one or more of the literal thousands of East Asian dialects sometimes switch the /r/ and the /l/ phonemes in speech, because the hardwiring for certain sound pairs happens in infancy and is one of the first steps toward learning a language, so that the distinction between that particular sound pair, for instance, becomes vestigial and is literally erased in the brain's speech center during language acquisition in a person's first few years of life, and can only rarely be fully retrained! Isn't that "hirarious?" Oh, simple fucking neurobiology. You give us racism. Thanks!
Now meet Leroy Wells (22, Grand Bay, AL), who is deeply fucking compromised. He runs in yelling at them, "Can ya dig it!" and then wanders around the room, grabs himself, starts stepping and stomping and singing "Got Your Money" (by ODB, of course -- and featuring my girl Kelis) so infectiously that the judges spontaneously start clapping along, and it's awesome, and then the literally goddamned Gene Simmons steps on everybody's buzz and makes him stop and introduce himself. Like it fucking matters! He's clearly not going to Hollywood, so why not let him go for it? He's more fun than anyone else tonight, as of right now. I hate you, Gene Simmons. You are an assclown of the highest order. Simon is the guy, here. Not you. Sit back and let Simon drive, or else there will be trouble.
And speaking of driving, don't yell at Leroy while you're driving, because he will shoot you. And the reason that I know that is because poor wonderful Leroy had to watch this episode from jail, having missed his court date. Anyway, Leroy introduces himself and then mumbles and talks crazy for many minutes. He's like a jittery salad of Pootie Tang, something from Chappelle's Show, and the old Buckwheat sketches from SNL, plus methamphetamines for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He dances freaky and Randy tries to deal with him on a real level, which is of course doomed, and then back to the "Got Your Money" again, and then he puts in some fronts over his teeth (the gleaming white ones that prove he's not actually a crackhead, just in need of some social work and a Ritalin drip) and all hell breaks loose and the judges get up and dance around. It's like that Gloria Estefan song, and the rhythm has officially "gotten" them. He's like the crunk Pied Piper. The judges sit down and talk amongst themselves, and he continues to jump around and yell and act a mess. Paula holds out her hands for Pauly Shore and Simon Cowell to comfort her, but they're so entranced and slack-jawed that they don't notice so she looks like she's meditating. He starts yelling at them about Jesus and Randy baits him into yelling at Simon that he needs to "put Jesus first" and they're all having just such fun, once he figures out which one Simon is.
Randy asks if he can sing, and the guy just stares at him, confused, and Paula (the voice of reason as usual with folks like this) explains that it is, in fact, a singing competition. Aaand straight back into "Got Your Money" which, every time he starts it, I get a little more excited. And they stop him and suggest James Brown, so he goes into "I Feel Good," which he screams precisely like "Got Your Money," and he capers about and Randy finally figures out that Leroy is, at the heart of things, a stepper. Which I kind of figured out from his crappy, yelly voice and the constant, complex rhythmic stomping around. If you don't know about stepping, go find out all about it right this second. It's totally freaking awesome.
Leroy suggests that Simon get crunk and bob his head, and Simon rolls his eyes and is so not into this at all, which is not very cool on his part. Randy puts forth the idea that Simon might be better off with some crunk teeth like Leroy's, and Leroy obligingly pops the gold fronts in and out a few more times and explains that his metal teeth are for the TV, while his regular teeth are for "your mommy and daddy." They all crack up, even Simon a little. Normally I think that panhandling is an indication that you've had to give up some ground, at some point -- that you missed an important opportunity along the way -- but honestly, this guy could make a killing. He's so utterly engaging and funny and weird. Sadly, he's also the kind of guy that will shoot you, though, but nobody's perfect. Randy explains that, while he is nothing like an appropriate contestant for AI, they have all fallen madly in love with him, and Paula concurs that he has a wonderful energy or whatever. She's like, "Now Leroy, you know that this isn't the right competition for you," in this, like, "level with me, Leroy" way that is so misguided because, you know, it's just Leroy all the way down. You can't bottom-line it with him.
They reassure him that he is definitely going to be on television, which yeah, and then he opines that they are scared to take him to Hollywood because they know he will "take over." I bask in the beauty of imaginary Hollywood under the power of Leroy for a few minutes -- I cannot think of anything more delightful. Crunk teeth for everyone. Christmas every day. Simon jokes that the prospect of seeing Leroy on the couch with Jay Leno the day after the season ends is almost reason enough to put Leroy through. I hate Jay Leno, too. But there's this: While I love the idea of a world where Leroy is in charge of Hollywood, I hate the idea of a world where AI viewers would have the option of voting Leroy to the top of the show -- because they just might, out of viciousness. Look at Nikki McKibbin. ["No." -- Sars]
I'm having that weird Mary Roach feeling again, because the judges and I are in love with his exuberance and the spectacle of Leroy Wells, the actuality of him and possible being friends with him of it all, but it's at odds with the aims of the gross producers, who want us to laugh at the funny, funny crackhead retard. And you have to ask yourself which side you're on, and which side the majority of Americans are on, I guess. I mean, you have to wonder where FOX and 19E got the idea that it's smartest to appeal to the LCD with stuff like this. Follow the money, is all I'm saying.
After the judges reassure Leroy a few more times that they can "dig it," the show producers gives us their own take on all this by giving subtitles to his ramblings: "Well, I have to say it went terribly well, I looked splendid on TV…" and the like. Which was not funny one hundred years ago with the "jive translations" in the execrable Airplane!, and is not funny now. It's just gross and hateful and serves to demonstrate where we stand, at the dawn of a new millennium: the majority of our entertainment still comes from rotten old fucked-up white men who hate everyone that's not just like them, and want to fuck half-naked adolescent girls, and if you unthinkingly consume enough of it, you too will become rotten and old and fucked-up and a white man, inside, and you too will hate anything that's not just like them. Even yourself. How fucked up is that?
But so we're not even done, because now Seacrest is walking down a crazy New Orleans rue, talking all this "This town is debauched -- I've seen things here that would make my hair stand on end…without the product!" and that's a quote, people. So Seacrestiana about how this is hardly the place for Jeffrey Johnson (27, Dallas) who is hot and white and quote "a clean-living young man." Okay? Do you see the voodoo going on here? This is like Starship Troopers, this load of horseshit. Like during semifinals they're going to seat the farm girl from last week to a crack whore with a needle sticking out of her arm and tumors on her face, or like, Angelina Jolie clubbing seals and Jennifer Aniston with her Cambodian baby while locked in a bisexual embrace with aforementioned tumor-ridden crackwhore.
But that doesn't remove the fact that Jeff is great. He tells us, "I'm in the ministry, and lead praise and worship for a living." Which, I don't really know what any of that means, but I'm pretty sure I'm guessing right. "Coming here the first time…it's been kind of…a shock, just going down Bourbon Street and seeing drag queens and strip clubs and everything else -- it's definitely new to me." Ugh. I'm so sure they made him say that. Dallas is not a small farm community, you bastards. He's not been raised in a cage, or the Amish. Poor Jeff. I don't mind being lied to and manipulated, necessarily, I just like the wool to be pulled over my eyes in a way that takes my intelligence into account, instead of insulting it. Then he leads some "praise and worship" in the bullpen all about how Jesus should make the people in the prayer circle the American Idol or something.
In his audition he sings "In The Still Of The Night," beautifully. Which is nice, since they've basically sent us all a telegram that he's going to win this whole thing four months from now. Gene Simmons talks directly out of his stupid Pauly-Shore-looking ass about how pop music is about "sexuality" and how being a man of God, or in fact to have any spirituality worth mentioning, Jeff must needs remain asexual to keep the respect of his flock. Which is sickening on every level, because it makes me hate Gene Simmons even more, but also stings a little bit because it's often very much true.
But the thing is that it's all well and good for Gene Simmons to pull this "we're so worldly, and you're so quaint and sexless" bullshit, except that he totally would not have a fucking career if it weren't for those PTC types back fifty years ago when his ugly, pompous ass was relevant. At least, like, Marilyn Manson acknowledges his debt to the repressed, instead of hating on guys like Jeff, whose aims here are so different from those of KISS that it might as well be a completely different industry: one built on technical proficiency and performance, rather than on the ability to dress up like a superhero and give uninspired, commonplace voice to the sexual frustration of every teenage boy that ever lived in a trailer home or drove a Firebird. Not that he'll be assured of mainstream respect -- quite the contrary, it will be twice as hard for Jeff to get his props once he wins this, look at Clay -- but just that what he's trying to do is in a whole other country from what Gene's talking about. It's like the members of, I don't know, A Simple Plan acting all condescending towards Rivers Cuomo. It does not compute.
So Randy and Paula come to the rescue, noting that pop music is also about "demons" and "long tongues," which quite nicely makes the point that Gene Simmons should go right to hell because he's talking for no reason again. Luckily, Simon is deeply in love with Jeff and has no time for Gene's madonna/whore crap, so Paula and Simon say yes, Gene says no, and Jeff gives Randy the most devastating puppy-dogs I have ever seen, including the bonus points lip quiver, which wasn't necessary because Randy was already going to say yes, but hey, I'm not complaining. Paula yells some nonsense at him as he runs out to embrace his beautiful matching blonde girlfriend or wife or whatever. Jeff's awesome. She is too. Like, even their overbites match.
Other winners we don't get to see yet include: a screaming black girl in a yellow shirt with an obvious weave, a tiny person in a suit jacket filmed from too far away to tell anything about him or her, a tall boy in a gray shirt and flat-top, and a cute girl with Dallasite highlight/lowlight hair stripes and a green shirt hugging a boy in a pink candy-stripe metro fitted shirt, spastically. Seacrest accompanies David (from the beginning of the episode) to his church, where they announce the good news that he is going to Hollywood. Chaos. David cries and snorfles and it's very sweet; he's so great. Too bad we won't see any of these people for a couple of weeks! Long enough to forget who the hell they are, at least.
Black and white montage of twins past, both good and bad, and also scary bad. Subliminal montage of twins touching each other inappropriately -- that's what you call foreshadowing. So there are two sets of twins still waiting, as the bullpen thins out. First up are Lamar and Jamar Jefferson (23, DeSoto, TX). I don't know what we're getting into at first, because they're totally gimmicky with the matching outfits and matching sideways hats, okay, but once they start it is totally awesome. Lamar (or whatever, the one on the left, I assume it says it right on the screen) has less personality but a nicer voice. Jamar has better moves and more presence. That's my take, anyway, but we'll have to ask the judges since really what we're seeing now is an awesome double act, which is so well-choreographed and smooth that it's basically worthless for purposes of determining whether either of them should go to Hollywood. Simon likes them, Gene likes them. Gene at this point does something so ass-faced, so Gallagher-esque, so completely, tellingly horrible, that I can't even be gleeful as I tell you that he says, "You've got that certain -- I don't know how to put it into words…" and as he's saying this, he's sliding on these big Humpty-looking glasses that are giant gold dollar signs. Like he's at your mom's New Year's Eve party. Oh, the hate. She consumes me. Anyway, they both get put through, unanimously, and Paula throws some gang signs in for good measure, because she is a lunatic.
Then we meet Rich and J.P. Molfetta (27, New Windsor, NY), whom Seacrest describes as having "a game plan that was…different." And I think "different" in this case means "illegal in every state of the union." They're like blandly good-looking versions of a pox on guys named Jonathan everywhere, with nice bodies and well-groomed eyebrows and that certain air, the one that girls cannot avoid, it's almost indefinable, but it says something like, "I tantalize the ladies because I seem to be gay…and I pique your curiosity because I seem to have sex with my brother on a regular basis. The gay kind." They talk about how they don't ever dress alike and how they hate being stereotyped as a gimmick -- and then go perform their audition together. Hmm. They jointly confessionalize about the fact that the barely-noticeably-less-hot one (J.P. -- white thermal henley under a brown and orange Urban Outfitters polo) would be "furious" if one got through and the other didn't, but the barely-noticeably-more-hot one (Rich -- sleeveless maroon shirt and wrist cuff and guns out to here) would be like, "What can ya do?"
When either of them is talking to the camera, the other one stares adoringly at him, his lips moving and working silently. I am not kidding about this. I am not trying to freak you out, I'm just trying to do my job. Please don't hate me, I'm confused and unhappy and bewildered enough right now as it is. I'm either appalled or, like, the sickest person, and I really don't want to look closely enough at it to find out.
I hate reality TV because in regular life, I would never have to worry about stuff like this. I must hold the image of Adam Pratt in my mind until the Molfettas go away. So they sing and it's the same double-act thing as before, although they don't overlap all cool like the Jeffersons above, and then the Adam Pratt in my mind explodes like bees through a stained glass window as they turn to each other and sing "I'll make love to you, if you want me to," and Simon stops them because he has issues, and now everybody has issues that saw this, and Paula wants it to go on and on because she actually is a pervert, and the boys promise to give her a "private performance" later on, and none of the guy judges can handle any of this at all, so they just say the first thing that comes to mind even if it's unrelated.
Randy finds it odd that they sang…a Boyz II Men song. That's what he finds weird about all this. And Gene Simmons, with his head so far up his own ass you can barely hear him, says that they are too old to be singing in such a boy-band fashion. Which, whatever, I can kind of see where he's going with that. But, like, guys? Aren't we avoiding the big pink elephant incest currently happening in the room? Paula says that it all shows their "talent," and Simon and Gene think that if they hadn't come in together they wouldn't be that memorable. Which I don't like, because it gives tacit approval to the twin gimmick that people try every year, no matter what the judges finally decide here. Randy gives a yes because he thinks they can sing, and also he wants us to know that this is a singing competition, and he makes the point like it needs to be made, that this is a singing competition. Gene says an unequivocal no and Paula gives them both a yes. Even she is like, "Of course, you know what I'm going to say." Simon -- who's apparently the tiebreaker in cases like this -- sides with Gene Simmons, citing the fact that individually they are not as strong as they need to be. I thought they sounded okay, but there was a lot going on while they were singing, and I admit I might have been a little distracted.
Then Paula invites Simon to force a Sophie's on her, so he does, saying that he does think that one is better than the other. He puts Rich (the marginally hotter one in the sleeveless shirt and wrist cuff and the arms) up first, and Paula says no to him, while Randy says yes again, so Rich is out. Then J.P. (brown-and-orange polo over white sleeves), to whom Randy and Paula again say yes, but Simon says no, so he's out too. And a lot of people agreed with Paula, that this was a cruel thing to do, but having watched it a bunch of times, I think what it actually all means is that Simon actually would've okayed Rich, I think, if Paula had stayed strong, but we know Simon well enough to know that he speaks the language of arms and a body like that, because they sell, and that's why he liked Rich better. Look at the Top 40, people. Is that about talent? Like you're hearing their actual unmodified voices 87% of the time anyway. I'm with Simon. Actually, for you I made the sacrifice of going back and sitting through that again, and I do prefer Rich's voice -- during the harmony he takes the bottom position, by which I mean the bass clef, and it's much stronger at that point than J.P.'s harmony, which is thin. I do think that without the shtick they wouldn't be all that amazing enough to get through in the first place. Well, maybe Rich, but I wonder how often they've even sung separately. I don't know. Whatever.
So they're both out, and now there's pandemonium at this point, because everybody is freaking out in their own way. Paula is screaming at Simon that he did this for cruelty's sake, Randy is laughing even though he's grossed out too, Gene Simmons is a disgusting geezer, the boys are having some weird indecipherable twin-language problem up front, and Simon is half-trying to justify the whole thing. So I still think I'm right about Simon preferring Rich, but that's some difficult math for Paula, who today of all days is having trouble sitting upright. So Paula and Randy, incensed, leave the room, and Rich starts yelling about how "plenty of cats" who can't even "hold his jock" have gotten through, and he half-assedly keeps himself from obviously motioning directly toward his own crotch as he says this. If you could somehow magically enter the pages of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, this is what life would be like: a bunch of homoerotic innuendoes and "did they/didn't they" bullshit twisting up your brain, surrounded by half-naked hotties with high voices, "cats" holding other people's "jocks" and such. If they were not brothers, would it be less upsetting? Probably. I cannot say.
Outside, Rich explains that they were forced to audition together, and that they tried to enter the competition separately, and that's interesting -- and puts their first confessional in much starker perspective, since they'd already figured out there was a chance they would get screwed on this -- and then he further explains that American Idol is bullshit, and continues a stream of invective all the way down the hall to the confessional about what a farce it was trying to audition separately, and basically makes the point that American Idol is faked-out, jacked-up bullshit. And this is a point that should be made often, but, like, this seems to be coming as a shock to him. Then more flirting of the brothers and licking of the lips and then J.P. drags him off-camera, I know not where. I think maybe Rich just unconsciously does that sexy staring and mouth stuff all the time, and I'm sure it serves him quite well and will continue to do so for a long while. In any case, it's much harder to take his rage seriously when his voice is higher than my twelve-year-old brother's.
We see the Molfettas leaving, all in a huff, and then Randy storming down a hallway, because it's totally a cliffhanger if Paula and Randy will come back after what Simon has perpetrated, and then we see some of the only 16 people that made it through this week (I'm guessing this is mostly because Gene Simmons is a jackhole), including yellow shirt and weave girl, grey shirt and flattop dude, this girl with lots of wavy dark hair and monster earrings and breasts, this girl in pink with a dramatic, large red mouth, a tired-looking young person with frazzled hair and a light blue plaid polyester shirt, and a baby-faced gay dude in a orange striped shirt and very particular unmoving hair who looks like a chubbier Trey Parker. Then Seacrest lets Wednesday's Kenny Loggins/Vegas cat out of the bag, and we see a grip of people in stupid costumes, a "showgirl," and…Richard Molfetta again, indefatigable, now wearing a suede jacket cut in the Members Only style. Paula will continue on her rampage against Simon's baiting, there will be Elvii both in and out of costume, an insane Neil Diamond freak, some irrelevant drag queens, and this girl who looks remarkably like a corpse in a pink cowboy hat and jutting hips. Grand.
Wednesday
Seacrest, still surprisingly fetching, actually keeps it short and sweet tonight. He welcomes us to Las Vegas, and we cut to credits, and after, he calls Vegas "a 24/7 nonstop neon nightmare to some, to others a party paradise." Purple prose indeed. And Paula's got the side ponytail and giant Linda Ronstadt flower in her hair. The Blue Man Group and Charo menace the 9,000 auditioneers in line, and Kenny Loggins shows up and looks dead. Then we have to learn who he is, because we are teenagers watching this, remember, so we learn about Footloose, and how he's the "godfather of soundtrack anthems," and has 26 gold and platinum albums, and we also learn that in his life he has taken many, many twee pictures where he's sitting with like jungle cats all airbrushed, or controlling magical balls of light, or whatever. He's a wizard or something.
Trevor Hansen (20, Winnemucca, NV) is our first brief victim: blond emo hair, brown pinstripe pants, black jacket, hot in a Crossroads way, and the problem with him is twofold: first, he sings "Footloose," and second, at the point in the song where you "kick off your Sunday shoes," he literally kicks off his shoes. Kenny Loggins yells, "Somebody shoot me!" Yeah.
Then there's this scary, scary girl with tore-up hair and a scary face and a lot of dead skin cells begging for exfoliation. Her lips are all puffed up and her eyebrows look like they signify that she is violent if cornered and she tells us straight away, "I bit off my acrylics, so I'm way sick." And if you asked me what I thought went on in Las Vegas, this is about right. She's got almost a pretty face under there, kind of trashy like how Lindsay Lohan might turn out, but so old and broken I wonder if she's even young enough to get in. Meet Mikalah Gordon, a Vegas lifer. She is sixteen years old and is the Platonic ideal of the forty miles of bad road, put away wet, shiny new penny that Starting Over wishes they could put on display. The judges find out how old she is and they all go, "Whoa."
Mikalah sings "Lullaby of Birdland," and I guess she does a good job. I can't identify a tune of any kind. She's livestrong, with the yellow meaningless bracelet, which since I live in Austin irritates me. She's wearing kind of underwear up top, and jeans with those spotty bleach stains. Randy says she has spot-on pitch, and that she was born to do this. "Do you feel me, dawg?" she screams at him. "I might be white, but it's just a birthmark!" Jesus. I'm so glad I'm not black so I don't have to go to her house and beat her down. Not worth the hassle. Randy takes it well. Kenny likes "the way she worked us." Paula calls her "an old soul." Yeah, that's one way to say it. It's unanimous. She's a whore. I always thought that slutty chick from the Black Eyed Peas and Tara Reid were the easiest on-sight calls, as far as whoredom, but she's up there. She comes out and says that Simon gave her a little wink, and I swear to you she says hopefully that maybe one day she will be able to buy her mom "those implants she's always wanted." The grossest thing you've ever thought of, she will let you do it, and her mom will watch. I look back on the gay incest twins from last night almost nostalgically, at this point. How much a day can change a person! This is exactly what I thought the Vegas would bring.
There's this chubby balding blond guy now, who was deaf when he was a baby, and then the first thing he ever heard was "America," at the end of The Jazz Singer. That's also one of the first things I remember, but it didn't do anything miraculous for me personally. This is Jeffrey "J.C." Gray (24, the Vegas), and Simon quickly clears his resume -- he's a cook at a mini-golf course, aspires to be a chef, loves "America," and has never met Neil Diamond, but worships him. And it's kind of homoerotic, this love, but, like, wouldn't you? He totally cured his deafness. He's like Adam Pratt with my inability to love or show emotional vulnerability. Jeffrey's eyeballs bug out like a bomb.
So he sings "America," of course, and the awesome thing with that is that he totally forgets the words. He's really weird and simply will not blink, no matter how much I beg. "Are you aware that when you sing you do a stabbing motion?" asks Simon, once he's done. Jeff's totally aware of this. Paula: "Some people snap, some people stab." It's all the same to her. Randy says no. Kenny tells him to keep doing what he's doing, but that he's not right for the competition, to which Paula agrees. Simon decides to go with one of his premeditated bits and asks, "Do you know why I live in Los Angeles?" in this obviously rhetorical way. But so then Jeffrey goes, "Yes," and Simon's like, whatever, I'm not even going to waste the bit on you, and for spite's sake gives him the single yes vote, since it's irrelevant now. And "J.C." informs Simon that his mom thinks he is great, and then leaves.
Then there are some losers: a guy doing splits, this girl who looks kind of like Lorelai making this silly face. A chubby guy dancing all around. This tool guy on a hobby horse. Yuck. Some guy shrieking, and then a pale girl with low self-esteem singing a Sarah MacLachlan song, due to her determination to be the cliché that she is to the greatest possible degree. This guy doing weird dancing and a creepy falsetto. Guy in a suit jacket doing nothing good. This very freaky girl in a shawl singing like a vibrato chipmunk again. A sleeveless built Asian guy singing a song badly, and getting told by Kenny Loggins that he's "used to rejection," which makes rejecting him easier. The silly face girl giving the judges a thumbs down. This Goth girl with Heidi braids saying that the judges were wrong, and finally a worn out blonde chick who looks like a porn star, who says that they're "missing a good thing." After commercial, there will be a showgirl, and then Simon will pretend to make out with Paula.
Meet Amanda Avila (23, the Vegas), "a real Vegas showgirl!" See her dancing around half-naked on a pirate ship. See her telling us how much she wants to win. See her walk in wearing a pink tank top with huge letters spelling ME, and then awkwardly pointing out her choker with letter beads that says PICK. She sings "I Wanna Love You Forever," and to me, it's all very Jessica Simpson. And honestly? Look at her. Like she even needed to sing, at this point. This is dumb. She walked in and that's how she made it to Hollywood. She's hot without coming off as trashy or stupid, and that's a feat sometimes. They're all watching her, but not so much the face part of her. She builds up over the course of this song to a place of total freak-out. Simon stops her, and asks her if, should she make it to Hollywood, her buddies will be coming to visit. Paula laughs and says yes, explaining that normally when the boys get all horndoggy and embarrassing, it's with girls who cannot sing, and Amanda can. Amanda yells and is happy, and runs out and hugs a girl who weighs 28 pounds.
Christopher Tamura (25, the Vegas) wants to represent Las Vegas with his Elvis style. He's dorky and has black frame rectangle glasses. He sings, and it's awkward and spazzy and his giant jeans are very shiny, and he won't stop. The judges kind of groan, and finally Randy asks, "That's what Vegas is all about, huh?" Unanimous no. Richard Molfetta from last night comes in alone, explaining that J.P. is back in New York, and requests to sing "I Who Have Nothing" for the judges. He modulates the volume an awesome amount as he sings, and personally I think it's really pretty. There's a wordless part that is just gorgeous, and demonstrates his ability to make pretty noises. Kenny points out his control. Randy finds him overconfident and false, and Rich responds that he's just very nervous, which I find valid. They're horrible and intimidating enough just the once. Simon calls him very bad nightclub, and Paula, shockingly, talks crazy. Simon says Paula just wants to be right because of last night's tension, but then Kenny comes over to Paula and Randy's side, and Richard makes it in, and they've made enough of a big deal about it that by this point I'm kind of excited about that.
On Day Two in the Vegas, we meet Emily Neves (22, Houston), who looks kind of like Kristen fromEntourage, and who giggles and laughs and has all kinds of pixie stuff happening all the time, and everybody in line loves her except this one dorky guy, and blah blah blah Amy Vanessa-cakes. She's that one girl every year with pink hair and ballsy quirkiness. Her hair sticks up all crazy. They say she reminds them of Cyndi Lauper, of course, which she loves, of course, and so she obligingly sings "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and Simon calls it nails on a blackboard, but I wouldn't go that far. Paula asks for something else, so then she sings "Different Drum," which is absolutely one of my favorite songs in the entire world, in addition to being a Linda Ronstadt song, meaning that I've officially namechecked Linda Ronstadt on this website, and maybe in this recap, more times than anyone I actually care about, besides Buffy, who after all is fictional. But she's a smartypants, our Emily, because she sings it directly to Simon, really pushing the line about how he "can't see the forest for the trees." This is pleasing to Randy and Paula, even though in the actual singing she's got the nervous vibrato shivers, but then, I think she's just too nervous and it's making her voice sucky, and I bet they feel the same. Randy likes her personality, and Kenny Loggins, for some obscure inner reason, would really like to hear her sing with instrumental accompaniment. That's what he says. Paula murmurs breathlessly, "I…love you," and that's that: she's through.
An old, old man walks in and lies that he is 28. Simon grins at him disbelievingly, and it's pretty cute. He asks over and over how old the guy is, going so far as to surprise him with a quiz, asking if he saw the moon landing. This man has a mullet and looks like a total HITG, and then he blows his spot by recognizing Kenny Loggins, and all this time Simon is still all Cold Case on his ass. They all just laugh and Paula rolls around in her chair. This man is Joseph Land (Mesa, AZ), and the data at the bottom, hilariously, lists his age as "28." Which is not only funny in context, but reminds me about "Kristy" from America's Top Model, and the awesome recaps thereof, and that's a whole other kind of pleasure that has to do with television that is, you know, enjoyable to watch. He sings "Young Girl," which is the worst possible song for this guy to sing, because it's creepy anyway and I have always heard that it's the #1 Top Ten Hit for like every pedophile ever, but also it points out again how creepy and ancient this man is. Simon says he himself is 44, and that Joseph is older than he is, and finally Joseph comes clean and says that indeed he is 44 years of age, and starts to give a speech about something, and Simon throws him out. Kenny calls it a "deposition" rather than an "audition." Um, what the fuck was that?
Lots of people who apparently auditioned before, settling on the "Greatest Love Of All" guy from Season 2, and I groan a little, but no, it's his brother that is coming. Quoth Seacrest, working that tongue like it's never been worked before, I am sure, "Will Desi Yazzie do as bad as Dino Yazzie did?" And the answer is a simple, "Worse." Desi (27, Kykotsmovi, AZ) sings "I Have Nothing," and is eerily exactly the same as Dino, but gayer. Whoa. Make that vastly gayer. Randy says no. Desi knows he did terribly and runs out of the room.
Christina Jordan (27, the Vegas) is a big girl in a big red ripped-up shirt dancing around like her shoes are on fire or the floor is moving around. Joey DeLovino (28, Seattle) is cheesy and does not enunciate. Or sing well. Kenny kind of giggles at that guy. Then Natasha Robinson (24, Chicago), dressed in a giant black and yellow choir robe with an afro that's about two feet in diameter, comes in and mid-song rips off all the things just mentioned while yelling tunelessly that she is the American Idol, and underneath the clothing is a diagonal-striped shirt in all the colors of 2004 Old Navy and very pretty, wavy hair. FAKE-OUT! Paula's like, "That was…weird." If you weird out Paula Abdul, you are not the American Idol. You are trouble. Then there's Joshua Mareko (23, Kona, HI), who sings creepily…oh my god, he's singing Kate Bush. He's moaning that Kate Bush song that the guy covered a couple of years ago. "This Woman's Worth." So much information coming at you all at once. He's quite big and singing falsetto all "Pray God you can cope…" It's like somebody pushed the Everything button and now it's all happening at once.
Then Karl Roberts (20, Fairfax, VA) sing-talks "Superfreak" in a nervous-but-on-purpose monotone, and it's delicious. He's hot and he's Devo and he's got blue gloves on like Firefly. Of course, since this is the only moment of the entire episode that I've enjoyed, he lasts two seconds. Randy disagrees with Simon about something and they argue about it as Karl looks on. I have no idea what they could disagree about here. Paula and Kenny kind of giggle embarrassedly while all of this is going on. Bye, Karl. Make way for Andrew Waffenschmidt (20, Holmen, WI) singing Elvis not that poorly, but it's Elvis, so fuck you, Mr. Waffenschmidt. Don't sing Elvis in Vegas, it's too easy. Plus he looks like Jim Breuer. Now it's Trevor Gordon (24, Medford, OR) who is going for the Bowie look circa Thin White Duke, I guess, but with the shitty red hair of some other Bowie era. Or maybe he wants to look like Annie Lennox. I don't know. I don't get Trevor Gordon. One of these days he might grow into his face and be nice-looking, but right now it's all ears and Adam's apple for old Trevor. He sings "I'm So Excited" but forgets every other word. I'm very unexcited by Trevor. Then Paula goes on a fucking wobbler and starts randomly yelling at Randy, but then immediately quiets down again.
Then there's Randall Jason (16, the Vegas), and…where do I start. Unfortunate skin, creepy features, scary voice, demonic eyebrows, weird mouth movements. Horrifying Tiny Tim voice crossed with someone doing a less-than-perfect Morrissey, with that mucus in the back of the throat sound to it. It's the worst thing I've seen yet, this performance, and he's singing some kind of, like, madrigal about "the first day of January, 1892," in this creepy high voice. He reminds me of the aliens I saw on this TV show one time, where there were these aliens and this guy was a cop or something, only he worked for/with the aliens, and some of them were bad guy aliens, but his boss was a good guy alien. And all the human beings had these things on their wrists that shot out lasers but I think they were alive. That's what he reminds me of. Sex versus non-sex versus parasite. Paula just watches him coyly and with a bit of trepidation, and then sadness. Simon: "Oh, wonderful."
Paula makes some drugged-out lemonade: "I bet you he could do Kermit the Frog very well, because you have that kind of like nasal tone." Did we miss part of this? The part that puts this in context or makes it matter? Simon says, "So Randall, I don't want to be rude, but…" at which Kenny immediately looks over at Randy for support during whatever's going to happen , and they both start giggling. "Did you turn up at this audition today to be told by Paula Abdul, 'You could do Kermit the Frog'?" And Paula freaks out again and this is the same rat job thing from last week, or at least that is what she was going for a second ago, but serotonin is a bitch, so now she's just angry as hell and goes on another rampage and screams at him to shut up, over and over.
Cut to the auditioneer, a sighing nondescript fellow in jeans and a stripy shirt who looks like every IT guy at your company, but with hair like Ben Stiller in The Royal Tenenbaums. Simon's exasperated already for some reason, and shouting, "Anything, anything, anything you want. Sing whatever song, in the world, you want. Now." Paula, ever helpful and demented, is like, "Christina. Any Christina." Oh, man. I love that part where Damian walks out and goes, "Don't look at me…" and then starts singing "Beautiful." Mean Girls is the best movie in the universe. Valentin Zamarripa (20, Merced, CA) opts for "Thriller," rather than the Xtina. He sings like…a baby. Like a person pretending to be an infant. It's fucked up. He pronounces words the way the Rugrats do, but instead of going to the rat job place yet again, Simon just…gets up and leaves. The rest of them just stare at Valentin. Who then removes his hair like Dr. Kimberly Shaw Mancini. Then Simon comes back and makes out with Paula. What the hell is going on with this episode?
Sarah Woodall (27, the Vegas) does her best cutesy Elvis "Viva Las Vegas" with the snapping and moving around and it's tiring to even look at her because she's so wiggly, but also her outfit is really busy with, like, pink cowboy hat and hair all stringy and 3/4-length sleeves and midriff-baring shirttails tied into a gigantic floppy bow and arms all over the place and shiny pink cowboy pants with a matching belt. Oh, but she cannot sing and does a lot of acting with her hat and wearing bullshit ugly shoes and having of cameltoe and screaming her stupid face off. So the judges call bullshit that she just wants to be on TV, and Simon winks at her and sends her out. She then confessionalizes that he was right, but that she's proud of her performance nonetheless. Which is pretty rad.
After the break, "great voices come in two completely different packages." In this case, a prostitute and a daycare worker.
We meet Sharon Galvez (Pinai, 28, the Vegas, clearly). Simon immediately gapes, "God, you are a Vegas girl, aren't you?" There's nothing else you can say. She looks tired, like this Klute, Hollywood idea of a prostitute: vagina skirt, strappy underwear top, hoop earrings well in excess of four inches in diameter, fake blonde hair…she's like, "Sure am! I'm a cocktail waitress!" Simon's like, "What are you going to drink? I mean, sing?" and everybody laughs. He's tired and he needs a drink. Why not just help himself to the Marissa Cooper-level lighter fluid sure to be found in Paula's product placement glass? Sharon sings 'Saving All My Love For You,' and she busts it OUT. It's great. She's singing about sex, basically, while looking like a donkey show, but somehow it's not dirty, just fabulous and completely balls out. She's great. She's a howler. Good upper register. She's a lot prettier once you've heard her sing and can look past the ravages of growing up in Vegas. They all congratulate her on her final high note, and they all clearly love her. Unanimous.
This albino guy comes in after doing some kind of Scooby Doo thing outside. Paula needs a second, she tells him, to get over the last performance. I get that. Matthew Falber (21, Casper, WY -- so people do live in Wyoming now! Awesome! So far I like them! Wyoming people rock!) wants to sing "I Just Can't Wait To Be King." From The Lion King. An animated Disney feature, I hasten to point out, which featured as its breakout hit a song performed by a warthog which was about flatulence. Even Paula's like, "Okay…?" Matthew has smart eyes and I like him even though he's so smurfy. He does the scatting of the song, with which I am not terribly familiar, but it's not that horrifying. He sings exactly like the song, including the different voices. How could this possibly get him into the position of being the American Idol? Matthew, what were you thinking?
The voices are perfect, it's fucking eerie. But entertaining as hell, even if you hate Disney and all its works, as I do. Except "Kiss the Girl," which rocks. Simon goes out of his mind, but it's not that interesting. Matt offers to sing something more contemporary, and Simon thanks him for not singing, like…Kenny Loggins has to supply what he's thinking, which is Mariah Carey songs, and then Kenny laughs his ass off, and Simon's like, yeah, exactly: Mariah, Whitney, Josh Groban. Kenny tells him to head for musical theatre, and Randy says he's not quite right. Paula hands him a glass of cool refreshing lemonade and says to try again, but some other time. He comes out smiling like a prince. You know, he rules. He knows that what did him in was the part where he didn't get to sing the second, actual song, but he's cool with that.
This unfortunate psychic, named -- unfortunately -- Bobie May (22, LVNV), says that she is going to end up in the top ten, then does some half-hearted asthmatic warm-ups. She's wearing an embroidered crushed-velour purple choir dress and some frowsy hair and glasses. She tells the judges her age, and again Simon is disbelieving. He asks her if her psychic powers have said whether she gets through. She says she's going to Hollywood. Simon and Randy are like, well okay then. She sings "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You." It's terrible, she bounces at random from note to note and key to key. It's painful. It does not end. With a name like Bobie, you're questionable anyway, but especially if you sound like there's some competing song in your braces that's throwing you off. Also she pronounces things like a teamster, like she can't help falling "In Love Wit Youse." She gets to the bridge, then abandons it midway for a third round of the chorus. Randy finally, finally stops her. Simon tells her she's not a very good psychic. She disagrees because her psychic powers tell her that he's wrong. Kenny tells her that she has now ended two careers at once. Nice one, Footloose. Outside, this other lady with eyebrows like Mrs. Turnblad explains that the numeral "10" that Bobie psychically saw actually meant that she ended up in the #10 seat. Oh, it's that John Edwards style psychicism. Now I see. Like there's someone in the building who was once ten years old, and that's what she was psychically seeing. They somehow come off as haughty as they walk off into their delusion.
Seacrest looking good for five seconds, then this giant child-care-looking gal telling us she's self-conscious about her weight. She has this whole Camryn Manheim in Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion vibe, and I mean that as a compliment. She giggles in a way where you know she'd do your homework for you if you asked. Not even to make you like her, no. Just to be nice. She sings that one diner song, the one that isn't the other one, by Alicia Keys. Urghh. Jennifer Todd (27, Ontario, CA) has a lovely voice, which will suck when Simon rejects her out of hand. Dick. She gets to the high part…man, she can blow. She's got a great voice, and not trying too hard to be Alicia Keys, for which I would hate on her.
You're not going to believe this, but my cell phone rings in the middle of this song. I wouldn't lie to you. This is so fucked up. Sadly, it's not a bald waitress from my local diner calling to tell me she's stalking me. Although as a personal joke, I did say at one point to the person, "Can you hear me now?" Which you might think is lame, but that cutie in the glasses totally appeared a few minutes later and handed me $5 and mumbled something about "viral marketing." I'm so freaked out, though, because what if I'm psychic and can make Alicia Keys songs happen in my life just by thinking about it? And what if that means I end up on a women's chain gang? And will Martha be there?
Simon loves her, Paula is proud of her and got goose bumps, Randy loves her. Kenny calls it an "image issue," and she makes her own private lemonade by offering to let them do whatever they want to her. Then Kenny names all the fat famous people he can think of: Ruben and Aretha, and...and there's an embarrassing silence, because God, Kenny. She Toby Walters giggles again and Simon comes across and says it's unanimous. Then she comes out of the room and these other girls jump all over her bones and scream and it's awesome, and she yells into a phone and she yells at the camera.
Mario Vasquez (27, NYC) is pretty much a Latino JT in his style. Oh, also in the singing. He has a nice body and dances very nicely with it while he sings. He's a lip-licker, between like every line. Paula loves it, to the point that she is without words. No, I mean without more words than normal. Honey, he's wearing a newsboy cap and it says "DIESEL" across the front of it. No Mario for you. Simon says that he's one of the best we've had this season, which means all three of them have said that this week, and Kenny gives a quiet yes, so it's unanimous. Mario's cool. He confessionalizes a hello to his buddies back home, making the total going from Vegas to Hollywood 24. Then more fetching Seacrestiana. He's boring in these early ones but it's easier when he's not looking like Mumm-Ra.
week: L.L. Cool J accompanies us to the Home of Rock and Roll, Cleveland, OH. There's a big girl with curly hair who yells and punches the camera in excitement. Some freak with his Kriss Kross wear turned back around powers out a note in that way where they have to bend their knees almost completely in half. Yelling punching girl walking with a white sash around her waist, violating all rules of flattering fashion in the book. Horrible suicide girl wearing a menacingly Willy Wonka-esque, vertigo-inducing confabulation of stripes and horror and a dog chain around her neck and stupid blue hair. I hope she's the lowest possible age you can be, or else there's no excuse for this kind of behavior. Then there will be a crazy worn-out lady who loves Janis and Tina Turner and talks like a toothless Loretta Lynn, even though she has all her teeth, who causes Randy to fall out with the craziness of her talking. This Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club girl with six chopsticks at weird angles through her hair honks and moans like she's a Jim Carrey bit. Some people fight in the hallways but the clip looks like they're dancing. I always wondered what Cleveland was like. Now I know. Seacrest out.