Tuesday
After a perfunctory reference to Constantine's departure as object lesson for the importance of voting in a democratic society, we learn our dual theme: Lieber and Stoller, who wrote "Hound Dog" and "Yakity Yak" and every other song ever, and of course Bo knows them intimately, as he was in the war with them, and -- get this -- any old song from this week's Top 40. The theme is, therefore: "Step One, Irritate The Fuck Out Of Jacob. Step Two, Sing: A Song."
A-Fed sings "Poison Ivy," a favorite of mine when I was little, and he's simply terrible. This wouldn't have gotten him to Hollywood, I'll tell you that much. No Golden Ticket for you. Which is too bad, because he's going home. The judges uniformly hate it, except for Paula, who is nonsensical.
Scott sings "On Broadway," and apart from some push notes that he can't really hit due to the usual shortness of breath, it's fantastic. Probably the best he's ever done. Damn him. He even looks better, relatively, than he has previously. Guess somebody got scared. The judges, sadly, are forced to agree.
Vonzell sings "Treat Me Nice," kind ofâ¦horribly. I mean, I know she'll be okay, and even on her worst night she's still adorable and great, but it's just not good to hear -- the required range is a little beyond her, and transposing it so she can hit her pretty high notes still means that the lower parts are nearly silent. Yuck. The judges tell huge lies, because she's got to be in the Final Three or Elton John will start the race riots.
Bo sings "Stand By Me" somewhat listlessly, but it's good. He has such a lovely voice. He looks really nice this week too, especially after last week's dreadful monstrosity. The judges agree it was a good idea, so much so that the dead-eyed performance isn't so much an issue. I agree. Even better is how that they don't feel the need to talk about how hardcore he is, and just compliment him for things they should.
Carrie sings "Trouble" adorably and robotically, and her voice is really on for the majority of it. Carrie is not so much an evil, tortured honky-tonk barfly, obviously, but it's fun to see her try. I like this, even though she's wearing a black half-slip over her jeans. What the hell is that about, exactly? The judges overlook the weird outfit for the most part, beyond lifting the half-slip the better to kiss her ass more effectively.
On the second run-through, A-Fed sings "Incomplete," by the reunited Backstreet Boys, a song I've never heard. Well, in one way. In another way, we've all heard it before. He does a better job with this one, since it's in his yelly-ballady-cheesy-love song wheelhouse, and pretty much perfect for him. Which makes the bad notes all the more painful. The judges, to their credit, are regretful about telling him he's going home. Simon's nice about it, but then, like, boy bands are his life.
Scott sings "Every Time You Go Away," by Brian McKnight, and again, I'm not familiar, but I kind of really am. Man, I love Brian McKnight. Scott thanks his fashion coordinator for making him so very fucking "appealing." It's not great like his first song, there is a flatness, but it's still better than he has been. Damn him. The judges love it, and give him a long leash as far as thinking he's great, although Simon delivers a smackdown about the flatness and the ego-tripping that is somewhat wonderful.
Then Vonzell sings the Tsingle, "When You Tell Me That You Love Me," and it's nice, but, like, what the hell she's thinking, singing a song that we already heard fifteen times this season? There's a certain sophisticated humor at work here: You know what I'm going to sing? The #1 single I, um, sang. It's boringly lovely in exactly the way that this song is lovely, though, so it makes up for before. Randy calls it "perfect," Simon doesn't, and begs for votes, and Paula calls it "overbearing," but she means it as a compliment, because she doesn't know what the hell that word means.
Bo sings maybe my least favorite song of the last year, "Heaven" by Los Lonely Boys, and is Bo some more, which means that it's awesome again, and his voice is pretty much flawless again, and he looks like Charlie Manson and Neil Young had a very hairy, very talented baby. Which is, if you think about the way people act around him, exactly what he is. The judges are not immune to the wonder of Bo, of course, and love him. He turned the disinterest from the first song into what the people call "comfortable."
Carrie finishes up with "Bless the Broken Road," so I'm two for five as far as knowing this week's Top 40, and that's including the Vonzell cheat. Maybe if this show weren't on all the damn time I could spend some time with the radio. The song is awesome, as a song. I wouldn't buy it on a CD, but I would sign the person that wrote it. Good call, whoever. The judges love it, and Simon calls her "robotic," all of a sudden.
To review: A-Fed looking like he wandered in from outside and accidentally got onstage, then being pretty awesome, but still going home. Scott singing all awesome and sounding fantastic, twice. Vonzell screeching, then singing a song that haunts my nightmares, but still being beautiful and great. Bo singing perfectly and without any feeling whatsoever, then singing the biggest pothead song in the universe, and perfectly at home doing it. Carrie being a kitten being a tiger some more, and then singing the ultimate Carrie song. Hey, if you see my sense of suspense lying around, email me. I seem to have misplaced it.
Wednesday
Last night: Lieber, Stoller, and Paula armwrestled for who's been more screwed and defamed this week, and we heard songs from this week's Top 40. What we learned: everyone who ever wrote a song is a giant hack, and music as we know it is over. Like this show doesn't teach us that every week.
A-Fed sucked it through a straw while poorly dressed, then rocked a BSB song yelly and well, not to mention blind. Carrie was "evil," if by evil you mean cute and kind of pointless, then she was awesome, if you mean awesome as in note-perfect and very lifelike. Bo looked better than he's ever looked, and first apologized ("Stand By Me"), then celebrated ("Heaven") how he's a huge pothead, and of course he was very good, but a little tired. Vonzell took her whole "tsinging a tsong you've heard a million times" thing to an unimagined level, and did a great job, but only after maybe her worst performance. Scott was a huge mess and a jerk to boot, and sang both his songs pretty-to-really well. The judges refused at any time to make any damned sense at all, and should be slapped, except for when Scott took his Hubris Fairlane out for a spin and got a moving violation from Simon. That part was friggin' awesome.
Tonight: Ryan looks his personal best even in his weirdly-fitting suit; Carrie's cute and her smile is realistic; Bo is still hot, although he's wearing idiotic Charlie's Angels-era Kate Jackson shades that make him look like Megaman; Scott's looking particularly slow tonight; Vonzell is tres Vonzell; and A-Fed looks bummed and terrified. Me too! Then Bo and his American Idol Backup Band sing what we're I guess calling the Michael W. Smith classic "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Is it any wonder I know nothing about music? Lies, lies. All the time. The Idols harmonize hideously, thanks to Vonzell, who's really off this week, and Scott keeps petting Bo like a bunny, George.
Then Carrie and Vonzell book it downstage to give Paula some huge bouquets, in solidarity. So that's how we're handling that, huh? It's nice for this show to actually show some class, for once. Too bad nobody knew for sure ahead of time that the ABC thing was going to be about the crappiest, cheesiest, most self-indicting, dumb-as-hell, amateurish, tabloid piece of trash since Little Dorrit was published. I'll tell you all about it in the recap, but trust me, if you didn't see it? You win. Worthless.
Ryan couchifies A-Fed, who says aloud (while doing the Gilbert Grape DiCaprio): "It's not over." Because he knows where he belongs, and that this makes the couch the bad, and not the good, place. I do this all day long, so I can't blame him for giving himself a little pep talk. I remember it's his birthday (it's my job to know stuff like that) and I get really sad, because it is, A-Fed. It is over. Ryan tells Vonzell to remain on the stage, and the one-third of the audience that is not as smart as A-Fed starts booing, because they think she's in the bottom two. Fools.
Scott is encouched, thanks Fake Jesus fifteen ways, and heads over to gloat with Anthony about their good fortune. "Wow, wow, wow," he says; he just can't believe his good luck. His ass is dumb as a box of nail clippings. Anthony tries desperately to save Scott from looking like the total asshat he is, shaking his head on the DL and trying to tell him to chill without moving his lips, because Anthony is fantastic. Scott is that mean kid in special classes that you don't want to piss off because he has the strength of an ape.
Bo and Carrieâ¦fuck it. There's only so many ways to word it. Even they are bored by this. They and Vonzell are the top three, Scott doesn't even have the sense to be ashamed about his ridiculously unobservant and embarrassing behavior moments ago, and A-Fed, as usual, finds the whole thing hilarious. Scott sings the McKnight song, worse than last night, and then A-Fed sings the Backstreet, and his crotch takes it out on us. Somewhere in there, Randy says that the right people are safe this week, which: agreed, and then Ryan and Simon get all catty and in total gay love with each other.
They show the Ukrainian Immigrant Contingent and I get kind of chokey because I'll really miss the little tyke. Scott laughs and stares and giggles and talks to himself about how funny all this is, his blinding success on American Idol, and how hilariously unstoppable he is. If he could spell the word "farce," he might bust it out at this time, because we're all just going through the motions. I'd be pissed if I weren't busy getting pre-sad about little Anthony.
Who isâ¦safe! Happy fucking birthday, you adorable little pumpkin. Constantine's departure was carefully choreographed so it got to even me, all the most shocking dramatically-lit romantic downfall of all time, and it was freaking amazing. This week? Also carefully choreographed, so that Scott's inarticulate shock and rage are not given voice. A-Fed's safe/Video Journey/"On Broadway." No hateration! No talking of any kind!
There's a tiny amount of sad part where he bites his lip to keep from crying, and I felt a little bad, but mostly I was just looking forward to him ripping off Ryan's little arm and beating A-Fed to death with it before running rampant through the crowd on a crack-fueled rage and climbing up to the top of a radio tower with Paula Abdul clutched in his meaty fist. Throwing phones like barrels you have to jump over.
Man. That rules. Did I say I was burned out? Surely that was not me.
"It's off the chain. Before you hit the clicker, don't be the poser in your shack. Grip the 411 when pimpin' hotties spit the verbage."
See, this is why I'm ambivalent about Fox having a news organ, because on the one hand, it's evil and not real news, but on the other hand, the local Fox affiliate affords us gems like the above. I want to get that shit tattooed on myself so I can refer to it whenever the kids these days talk their crazy slang. Isn't that awesome? I want to meet the person who approved that, and the person that wrote the copy for that ad, and the guy that pitched the idea in the first place, and the news reader who said that shit to me just now -- I want to get all these people together in one room, and then I want to do horrible things to them and make them cry because clearly they're just a titch too pleased with themselves. I'd hit that, in other words. Over and over again.
Tuesday
I know that the synthetic dirt that is now a part of Ryan's jeans is probably really expensive. I read about it in this month's Esquire. He's adorable getting everybody to scream and telling us that "it's all about the singing, but yours is the voice that matters." These poetic interludes send me. He acknowledges that Constantine is gone, and to the booing he relies, "You mean you cared?" because you ought to have voted, I think, is once again the implication. Ryan's like the League of Women Voters for this show. Get out and VOTE!
Paula looks high, Simon looks weird, and then Ryan seems very sincerely proud of them for making it to the final five, and then fakely asks if they are familiar with the songwriting duo Lieber and Stoller, and of course: Scott looks idiotic for a second, Carrie looks insecure and helpful, and Bo knows all about them and can name all their songs. Just in case you forgot who everybody was, here's your fake summary. I swear to you that this show actually is wrestling. The second theme is any song off the Top 40 charts for this week. Anthony is happy about that, you betcha. Lieber and Stoller looked like Ronald Reagan and Richard Kind, and they used to be hot, but now they're old as the hills, if not deceased. Those are pearls that were their songs, et cetera.
A-Fed explains that he will be singing, for his Lieber and Stoller choice, "Poison Ivy," which my uncle John used to sing to me all the time. I thought it was about botanical safety. I think Anthony thinks that. Like a merit badge or something. The thing is that my uncle John is awesome and hilarious, and I know for sure that he just liked singing a song about VD to a tiny child who would never know the difference, and I'd love Anthony so much more if he seemed to enjoy the idea of singing this on American Idol for that reason, but you and I both know he's not giving it that much thought.
He hops around and does the sexy cocky thing but follows it up with a bounce or a giggle, and it's very confusing, because clearly one or the other is an act and maybe the whole point of him is that we'll never know which. What is not confusing, though, is his voice, because his voice is horrible and sounds like total hell. It's the worst performance of the Top Twelve, I think. It's complete ass. He sure is cute, though.
There's this line of L.A. hotties (my tattoo says they are "pimpin' hotties," but my tattoo makes no damn sense) in the audience clapping for him and the screen mistakenly says, "Scott's friends." Nope. Come on.
I also noticed something else: He's ugly in exactly the same way as Fitty.
Scott's not happy that there were bad notes from Randy, but Randy ends with some props. Paula praises his "moxie." That's what she's calling it. (Well, she would.) She talks completely insane talk. Simon praises him for having "more escapes than Houdini." There's a very cute guy behind Simon, and to him is the pretty red-headed wife from Significant Others whose husband cheated on her with her sister. I love that show. Simon calls it his best performance ever and then Ryan holds Scott's hand -- I think it was Jane this month that had an article on celebrity hand-holding; Ryan's my fashion-forward little guy as usual -- for one second and Scott cannot handle it and jerks it away like a hot potato. I don't think he gets what Ryan's all about. I would like to see Ryan try that shit with Eminem. Or even just a conversation. I'm sure that's happened, he's like the most important DJ in the country. I should check that out. I bet there was no hand-holding. During the phone number Scott makes this effed-up face like, "That's right, bitches." He's a monster.
If Ryan Seacrest tried to hold my hand, I wouldn't care. And what's weird is, I don't think it would surprise me enough to notice one way of the other. It seems so in character that he would want to hold your hand, the same way that equestrians all make that one sound with their mouths and pat, pat, pat horses on the belly and the side and the neck. That's all he's doing. Hush, little Scotty. We'll watch Wheel Of Fortune as soon as this is all over. I know that Vanna's pretty, in her sparkly dress.
Vonzell introduces "Treat Me Nice," a song of which I'm neither overly fond, nor with which am I all that familiar, by saying that it's fun and that she's going to have fun. But what she does is not fun, as I understand the word. There are some lovely phrases; I mean, she's got a good voice, but I don't ever want to hear it again. I like the idea of Elvis singing "run your big strong fingers through my hair," but I imagine there's been some lyrical gerrymandering there. She finishes up pretty strong, and her friends and family are all dressed insane and she does all the dimpling and kiss-blowing and Vonzell, I love you, but please cut it out.
Randy calls it the best vocal he's ever heard and thinks she will win. Huge lies. Paula decides to try on the "musical theatre geek" costume and name-drops Smokey Joe's Café and says nothing of import. Vonzell smiles, a little hurt, as Simon calls it "a mess" and "cutesy." Vonzell giggles and wiggles and gives a shout-out to the United States Postal Service. Maybe it's my hangover talking, but I'm feeling kind of sour on the Vonzell issue tonight. There's a little bit of a shut up in there for her, and I don't feel good about it.
Bo sings the Bo version of the Vonzell cliché song, "Stand By Me," with not complete disinterest, but a sort of pensive proficiency that seems to be utterly without passion. He looks better than he has yet in the competition, so that part is nice, but it's weird and soulless in a way I've not seen from good old Bo ever before. There's a sign that says, "You can't spell Bodacious without Bo." Too true.
Randy calls it great, Paula giggles and says, "It's always great when you pick a song that young and old know the song they can sing along and you know it's a song that you keep re-refrain 'stand by me' but you go all over and color it all up with Bo you you know there's no reason to critique you you I just feel like we just need to enjoy you."
There's no need to critique him, you see, because he "colors it all up with Bo." I love Paula Abdul. She colors it all up with Paula, doesn't she. Simon simply agrees that he picked the best song. Then Ryan and Bo have an awfully awkward embrace where they try to hug without touching and then hold hands for a second.
Carrie sings "Trouble," a "really sassy" song. And she's very sassy and funny as she sings it, all about how she's "eeeeeevil" and growls and grunts and wears some underwear outside her clothes and then kicks the mic stand over all bratty and "evil." Her voice sounds lovely, and she's very much acting like she knows what she's singing about, even though she doesn't. She's wearing a complicated black necklace that's a snake, because she's evil.
Randy tells her it was perfect, lying some more. Paula calls all this "a whole different side" of her, and lies that this was her best performance yet. Simon agrees with Randy's lies, but puts a spin on it by saying that she gave her fans exactly what they want. Think about what that actually means.
Awesome, fantastic Angela Peel from a season sings a song in a commercial for a certain soda pop product, and there is no Jim Verraros to be seen. I always liked that guy. I'm trying to be honest with you, and I don't want to make a whole list because you'll hate me, because the list is, like, Jim Verraros, Matt beard guy (Rogers?), Josh Gracin, everybody that is hated. And now Carmen, as we'll see. I'm the worst fan of this show ever. Then, unending ads for The O.C. prompt me to write an open letter:
Look, Kirsten, if you drink a bottle of wine a day, but then suddenly switching to vodka makes you an alcoholic, then I guess I turn into an alcoholic twice a week, and I'm sure I'll be hit by a truck sometime soon. It's not that you're not an alcoholic, it's that you always have been, and your husband is an idiot for suddenly freaking out about it. When you found out about Lindsey and hid in the closet and all you ate was Power Bars, it was my friend Marla who noted that this was because you couldn't fit a glass of Chardonnay under the door. You smell like Marissa, and you both need a fucking sandwich. You used to be the prettiest mom this side of Patty Chase and now you just look hungry. Canadians should not starve, it makes you look like Americans.
A-Fed tells a content-free story about life on the red carpet, having mistaken Idol fame for, like, actual fame. Don't tell him! It's really sweet. I'd like to head up a "convince Anthony he's the biggest star ever" contingent and just follow him to Luby's or Starbucks or whatever, just so he'd be happy and think he'd made it. He sings the Backstreet comeback ballad "Incomplete," and the awesomeness is about 60% him, 30% the song, and 10% the band, ruling on it. And this is where the obligatory "the band is fucking awesome and the backup singers are the fucking best and make every song work" portion of the recap comes in. The snapping they do on Bo's song is priceless. I love them more than some of this year's contestants. A-Fed's five times as comfortable onstage as he was for the first song, and clearly enjoys singing the song a great deal. It's fairly awesome to watch. There are some bad notes and you know how his voice is, there's no room for error because it's so unadorned and yelly and operatic or whatever, clear, so bad notes don't have anywhere to run.
Randy calls it "five out of ten," which is like the worst thing he's ever said on this show, and everyone in the audience looks physically sickened, like Randy just nailed him in the blowhole from ten yards with a puppy. Paula says the mistake was choosing a group song, but that he did overall a good job. I couldn't even tell it was a group song. Simon says it was a disastrous start with "Poison Ivy," and tonight he might have had a real problem, but that this was awesome. A-Fed's super-happy about that, and then he and Ryan play a complicated, jumpy game of touching/not-touching while unending Seacrestiana occurs regarding I know not what.
Scott talks about how he's capable of dressing himself (okay?) but that now he's lucky to have a fashion coordinator to make him "more appealing to people." This part is so oblivious that I come closer to my original feelings of sympathy than I have in weeks. And yes, on the first performance this week, as I said, he was more appealing, and the clothes played a part, but I think what he needs is a face coordinator, because it's his flat affect that is so disturbing. Not his clothing. I know I always talk about this, but he really needs to spend some time talking into the mirror, trying things out, because there are thousands of visual cues that people use to communicate non-verbally and he seems to have missed all of them, so he just comes off mean and slow and scary. You need to think, sometimes, about the muscles in your face, and what they are doing, so that you can fool people into thinking you're something other than you are. Let your face learn the tricks your personality can't do.
It's not even that his face really comes alive when he's singing, either, but there is at least something going on. Even if it's scary stuff. This is what I was talking about, when I kept going on about how he was lazy: Stagecraft is a skill. Performance is a skill. Being charming and charismatic is a skill, which anybody can learn, and he clearly does not feel that it is necessary for him to learn these things. When common sense would dictate that he become better at that stuff than somebody gifted with physical beauty, to level the playing field. But instead, he thinks his pop-perfect vocal tics make him so fucking awesome that none of the other rules apply. If this really is your dream, then you should be doing every single thing that you can to make it happen, or else shut up about it. This is not Extreme Makeover I'm talking about: I'm talking a little smile here, some eye contact, making sure your face doesn't accidentally come off angry when you're trying to be funny, monitoring your tone of voice so that you don't sound weirdly defensive talking about value-neutral stuff like your apparel. Posture. Being aware of your body and what it's up to. Three-quarters of schizophrenia is not acting appropriate. I know you can hear what you sound like, it's like your one thing you can do really well, so how come you talk like that when you talk? I don't want to hate you. I never did.
Scott sings "Every Time You Go Away," by Brian McKnight, whom I told you a million times I love, and there are flat bits, but he sounds great again. I said first that I was pleased he was able to master such complicated syncopated phrases, what with his usual shortness of breath, until Anna pointed out that those phrases are all concentrated on spitting out the last word. Diddidit-ditdit-diddidit-ditdit-BAH. It's such a pretty song, and he keeps the vibrato much cleaner than he has previously, to his credit. That's generally where he's shown himself to be more ragged than he needs to be. Randy loves it; Paula loves it and derived "so much joy" and calls it his best night of the whole competition. It's interesting that tonight, one of the worst episodes of the season across the board, she's told more than one person this lie.
Then things get…awkward. Play proceeds to the left, but before Simon can speak, Scott lurches in there with a horrible psycho grin on his face, all, "But you know what? Know what, Paula? Did you know I only did it for Simon? I sang good for Simon." The thing is that he does this after Simon looks at Paula like she's an idiot, so you know he didn't like it, but Scott never sees stuff like this, stuff that's plain to you and me, so he always comes off more boorish than I think he should. The whole "I did this for Simon" is predicated on a world where Paula told him he did a great job and the whole crowd agreed with her, but it's Paula, she already said this to somebody else, and plus, don't believe her anyway. And Simon's a tosser, so he's going to mess with Scott about it instead of being straightforward. He smiles really mean, like a snake, and then shakes his head. "You did what?"
"I had to come up here and do my thing, man, I'm not going home!" And he's going for "we're all in this together and collectively we can now thank Fake Jesus that I did such a great job," but Simon hated it, so it's just getting worse. Point being that anybody else would have seen this and shut up about it. Simon springs on him that he was more flat than in tune, and it's pretty rough to see the total change on Scott's face, because once again he's ego-tripped and gotten smacked for it. And let me tell you that this is way less satisfying the fifteenth time you see it, and it's just really sad, because that's the worst feeling in the world. Remember Mikalah and The Look? Same deal, and it makes me like him a little, and in the same way, although not to the same degree. Paula slurs and mumbles about how she liked it and it was good, and Scott just gets really chilled out. Ryan asks how tomorrow is going to go, and Scott says -- with a professional football kind of quiet menace -- that he'll be thinking about his songs for week. Then Ryan and Scott giggle a whole lot but I don't know why.
After some Ryan-grabbing by Randy (weird), Vonzell sings the Tsunami Tsingle, "When You Tell Me That You Love Me" (over it), and it's not like she's cheating, but it's just weird. She's already sung this song twice, on the show itself, and there's a self-congratulatory theme (on the part of the show itself) where the reason this fits the theme is that it's the number one single, of the Top Twelve singing it. So I'm going to hear this song which I've already heard and I'm going to pick up my phone and vote for this song which I've already heard on the same show which is now using it as a legitimate song even though it made the song happen in the first place. And now my head hurts. I hate this show so much, because I spent the whole song in this Philip K. Dick paranoia place where I was like, "Why do I know this song? Where did this song come from? Why does this one line in the song make me sick and angry? Why am I thinking about Constantine all of a sudden? What's with this song?" And I didn't figure it out until the very end of the song, because we don't focus in on her hand like we did every time they sang those stupid songs. This is dumb. When I go on American Idol, I want to sing the theme song: "Ooooh-ah-ha-ha-oo-whoa-oo-whoa-oh." Know what I mean? Too bad the theme song is not as good as the America's Top Model theme song, which rocks. "Na na-na-na-na-na, na na-na-na-na." I could blast off with that one. That's what's happening here, even if she's great with it.
She ends up in the dark with white lights coming down, and her posture is sad and I think she's sad about the tsunami, but then the lights come up, and the dimples, and she blows a kiss, and I think maybe this has been true for a while and I just couldn't admit it, but I'm getting kind of tired of the cuteness of Vonzell. And that sucks, because there's nothing she can do about it, because that's really how she is, whereas Constantine could and would, rarely, drop the act for a sec, but she can't, because Vonzell is Vonzell all the time. Which means I will eventually hate her, I'm afraid, and I hate that. I think more than anything it's just a factor of the burnout with this show, where I'm just sick of looking at them. At their little faces, singing. I feel like Miss Hannigan. Or Brooke Shields. Heh.
This is why I stopped watching the show in the first place: after sixteen thousand weeks of Ruben and Clay, Ruben and Clay, Ruben and Clay, I hated them both and wished them ill and didn't care who won or lost, I was just sick of their fucking faces. They both seem like terribly nice guys, and don't deserve my ill will, but that's why I didn't see the end of that season or any of last year, and missed out on the Fantasia thing altogether: because I was sick to death of Ruben and Clay. And it's nowhere near that with Vonzell, and it never will be, but I was reminded of that this week. That's sad.
Randy calls it "perfect," a "perfect vocal," and Paula praises her for choosing a group song -- the exact opposite of what she just told A-Fed -- because it's "overbearing when we're sitting here hearing one voice and hearing your voice Vonzell sing it." Um. Simon says that it wasn't a perfect vocal, and then tells everybody to get on the phones because she's had a hard night tonight. Vonzell yells at us to go buy the tsingle, okay, and then Ryan calls her "memorizing" but he means "mesmerizing," and that's a nice thing to say.
Bo talks about the vagaries of fame while a mysterious off-camera person runs her fingers through a single lock of his hair, over and over and over again. It's creepy. He tells yet another cornpone story about how before, the only people that wanted his signature were "the bank and the mortgage company." Stunningly original, he follows this with "Heaven," by Los Lonely Boys, and my God. Until you have lived in Austin, Texas you don't know what it is to hate this song. I don't even know if I can explain it.
There's a certain person, a certain kind of outdoorsy person, that smokes a lot of pot and drinks a lot of beer and likes to talk about philosophy and practice the guitar. And they smell like patchouli and leather, and it's not a bad smell, but, like, you never see them move, never see them walking, they just teleport and materialize onto each other's couches and boats and curbs and they just sit there for hours and they like people who look just like them and they want a Big Gulp and they don't wash their hair a whole lot. They don't hike, although they do have dogs, and they don't seem to do anything, but they do enjoy swimming and they seem to eat, and their eyes having nothing behind them except for sex and clouds of pot smoke and Wayne's World and a weird hatred of cops. And there's some Alice in Chains happening there, and a whole lot of old Dave Matthews Band, and some Floyd and some Zep, and sometimes there are dreads. And their girls wear flares and tube tops and have lots and lots of hair and they buy organic food but they also smoke cigarettes. They're not exactly hippies; they're just inert. They get to the age of 30 and then I don't know what happens to them. They work in tattoo shops or they sell concert t-shirts. I don't have anything against them, not really, but they know and I know that it's best that we not interact with each other. And this is their mecca, and "Heaven" by Los Lonely Boys is their song.
Anyway, Bo's got a little bit of energy back, but he's still kind of in this biker bar gig place, with free beer, and this thing is happening where the whole long-haired hippie thing is substituting for actual sexiness, so there's no connection, just singing really really well, because he's awesome, but it's like, if you've seen him really, really into it, you know what that's like, and this is not that. It's all gestures tonight, instead of the actual thing that I love about him. He's so good at what he does that you could be fooled, but I'm not fooled because I've seen him out of his mind with it, many times before. Jon-Peter Lewis is out in the audience and he looks, as usual, both stunning and stunned, and I see that his transformation into Eric Mabius is almost complete.
Randy gives Bo a made-up position in his made-up organization, naming him "captain of the Dawg Pound," and everybody cheers because everybody's out of it and thinks this means something. Paula tells him he rules, and Simon tells him he's had a good night tonight, that he's acting and performing like the real thing and making some of the others (A-Fed) look like amateurs. Bo reacts to this perfectly, with a simple "wow" face, because that's really all about painting you into a corner with no proper response, isn't it? And then he and Ryan hold hands. Was this hand-holding specific to this week only or what? I've never really noticed it before. Maybe it's an L.A. thing.
Carrie finishes up with "God Bless the Broken Road," a really good song made up of stitched-together good parts from five other songs. It's awesome. It was written by Marcus Hummon, Bobby Boyd, and Jeff Hanna, and Cherryll, who wrote to me about this, said that Jeff Hanna is one of the founding members of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, and is married to Matraca Berg, who quote "is to non-mainstream country fans what Heather Locklear is to you," which made me laugh. I got kind of obsessed with this Berg lady after the email, because it's totally interesting, her horrible life and her prolific and successful songwriting and everything, and so thanks to Cherryll for that. Point being that, in the recaplet, I offered to sign the person who wrote this song, and it turns out that my fictitious label does not have that kind of clout. Carrie Underwood's voice continues to be eerily perfect, and she's quite lifelike. I love her interviews so much more than watching her onstage, even though she's a good performer, because there is zero personality when she's singing.
No, that's not true, there's a personality that comes through, but it's not hers. Or realistic. She's this weird, beautiful, funny, smart girl that likes Star Trek and sings to cows and loves her mom. But when she gets onstage, she's this…thing. This really good-at-singing thing. I can't even find it creepy, anymore, but I don't exactly like it. But I'm torn, because she sings songs I have no reason to like or ever listen to, but it's amazing watching her do it, because it's a thing she's really good at. She's like a spelling bee kid, or a chess kid, I think. She's a Dakota Fanning, which is way better than being the JonBenet I thought she was. History is full of machines of loving grace like this who turned into something awesome: Alanis Morissette is the first example I can think of, and look where she ended up.
Randy calls it "perfect," again, Paula takes us on a little journey that for once echoes our own, how within the first few bars you're like, "Oh, country. Another little Carrie song." But that once she starts singing, you kind of shut your trap because she's quite good. She describes it as "eloquent," which, this is not Paula's week for vocabulary, but I think I know what she means. No, I'm lying. I have no idea what she means this time. Simon calls it robotic and beautiful and this hurts her a little, but she immediately paints her smile on -- she's still wearing the snake necklace, by the way -- and then there's review.
A-Fed wiggling around looking like he got separated from his class on a studio tour, somehow got drunk, and then was handed a microphone; then A-Fed looking completely in control of himself, the stage, his voice, and my heart. Scott blinking and twitching and then yelling at me about love. Vonzell hitting the one good note of her first song, then overacting with her body singing the damn tsingle again. Bo caring less than I do, then singing some damn pothead song, and still being better than everyone else by a long shot. Carrie being adorable and not evil, then being note- and letter-perfect singing yet another song she doesn't have the capacity to truly understand. Ryan explains the lesson of Constantine: no one is safe. Not even A-Fed.
Fallen Idol: Prolonging the Magic
Well, this is a piece of crap and we're not going to waste too much time on it because it's stupid. ABC is having a fucking banner year and then they pull shit like this and you remember why nobody cared about them for so long. And, speaking of? Eva Longoria, you have got to shut up. Bree's my favorite, but Gabrielle is the one who does what I would do, makes the same choices I would make in any given circumstance (sad), and much like Marissa Cooper (sadder), that makes me feel something special for you, but the thing is that I would eventually like to see a magazine without your beautiful fucking face on it, because I would like to one day buy a magazine knowing that I won't find myself having yet another conversation with you about your first orgasm and seemingly constant masturbation. I get it, you're sexually liberated and that's awesome, but if you tell me one more time, I will start to think you're actually the opposite, which hurts me in the feminism.
John Quinones tells us how we've all spent the last week obsessing on the "explosive claims" of former contestant Corey "Craggle" Clark (saddest), who alleges that Paula coached him and boned him or something. But the only direction this is coming from is ABC, and Corey Clark, so it's more like Primetime Live has spent the last week obsessed with these "claims." Corey sings this shitty, kind of catchy song about his love affair with Paula Abdul, in which there's a heavily-featured backup voice of him going "Straight up!" at certain points. That tells you all you need to know, and we're only five minutes in.
Here's what I remember about Corey Clark: he was always ghetto, he was one of those that was a cautionary tale in the Hollywood round, ringleading that "let's stay up and party while the ants gather food for the winter" bullshit that happens every year, he beat up his sister, and Paula was constantly on his jock and vice versa. He had a weird high voice, a creepy, arrogant vibe, and was not very intelligent. There was nothing specifically unattractive about him, and in fact, in terms of biology he is quite beautiful, but put it all together and you just see trouble and the kind of person that will lift a twenty from your wallet and forget he even did it.
Here's what I now know about Corey Clark: it's all true to the billionth power, and he has spent the last two years learning to suck even more than he used to. Also, his parents are gross and seem to think he's not an embarrassment. THE HATED FAKE CONTACTS. He pled nolo to beating up his sister but didn't tell the show, so Seacrest -- with ridiculous A&F 2003 metro haystack happening -- had to kick him off, and man, I thought actually watching this show was kind of boring, but watching John Quinones remember all the highlights of Corey Clark's life on AI is the most boring thing in the world. Corey Clark sings "Kiss From A Rose" to Paula and it's stupid, already the stupidest song ever and now made stupider by his forgetting the words to the song and replacing them with "Paula" and getting all Constantine up on her and kissing her hand and then somebody gives Corey a phone number and it's stupid. He still has the phone number, this sad little box-top with her number on it. For the second time, we hear the Paula song. Remember, it's now two.
He thought the phone number was a joke. He sings about this part, about how he was unsure what would happen if he called the number. It's ridiculous. This song is very concrete. Like it goes, "This is Corey Clark," he said. He's a literal-minded chap.
Then he sings what I think is another, different, awful song, also about Paula and their secret love. In this song he gets on a bus and then thinks for a while. Oh, no, it's the same song. Effing fascinating. So she answers the phone and tells him that she's going to help him out on song choice and stuff -- "Like I'm your mom" -- and he's okay with that, which: creepy, and then, "…Well, like your sister," and he's like, "Awesome, so I can beat you up then," and then she's like, "…Uh, more like a special friend." Which is code for NAMBLA shit going down and I bet he made that up, but I admit I kind of like the sort of mind that would do that, make up that kind of slippery-slope story of sexual harassment.
Corey and John Quinones drive around in the Hollywood Hills, driving by Paula's house, which is totally creepy and dumb, and John says, "How many times did you come up here?" And I shit you not, he goes, "I can't even count: it was multiple times." And in that second, I kind of believe him, because that's a match made in heaven right there. Then he and John stare at her house all Star Maps-style. Everyone is such an asshole that I feel partially responsible for this happening even though as far as I know I am not involved. Just ashamed.
So you've got two things going on: Paula offering him advice, which she's been open about doing -- she gave Ryan Starr her cell phone number, for example, although I don't know if she advised her on wardrobe; the whole "courting the escaped-from-wild-dogs vote" thing is my favorite thing Shack ever said -- and possibly sleeping with him. And both of things earn a big "so fucking what" from me. The dude was 22 years old, and I'm on record saying she's still hot, to this day. In fact, full disclosure demands that I admit that she, in conjunction with Alyssa Milano, was my last bastion before Judge Reinhold and Billy from Fifteen ruined me for the ladies for good. ["First the Beek, and now this. I…am speechless." -- Sars] I'll tell you this once: There was a time when I thought I was going to marry Paula Abdul. I'm not entirely convinced that some serendipitous, bizarre shit does not still lie in store for the two of us. We are reasonably young, after all.
Then they went to the cell-phone store to activate a phone. This is some startling and upsetting shit right here. We interview his friends, who are total class with some crackhead teeth and some really uneventful things to say, and then Corey shows us some of his phone bills, including calls to her house lasting up to 155 minutes. He's so boring and inarticulate, and she's so completely out of her nut, that I can imagine a 155-minute phone call in which nothing of import, much less the good dirty stuff, even came up. Then she told him which songs to sing, gave him money for clothes, bought him CDs for reference, and gave him scrip cough syrup in her name. He saved this bottle, which is nothing compared to, say, a blue dress, but creepy and lame in the same way. If I learned anything from Diff'rent Strokes, it's that you don't share prescription medications, but that's still not the scandal that John Quinones seems to think it is. I'm no closer to figuring out what the big fucking deal is, but I'm sure he sings about the cough syrup on his album. What rhymes with "promethazine"?
Oh, and she paid for a haircut. Corey, ever the wordsmith, calls this "polishing off that dust off a dirty diamond and helping me shine a little bit." He has the "know what I'm saying?" disease where he appears to need constant acknowledgement that you know what he's saying. This is a sign of being an idiot. Eventually he started feeling hit on by her. Then we hear the song. Again. I'm serious. Straight up.
Then she kissed him in her car, and he found this to be "dope." A few weeks later, they made out and that was the first night they had "ever been together" and do you know what he's saying? I think you do. John Quinones calls him a "naïve and perpetually broke young man of no fixed address who didn't own a car or even a cell phone" and, like, he was fucking TWENTY-TWO and, according to him, sleeping with like half of the Idols anyway, so it's hard to see where we're going with this whole Oliver Twist "no fixed address" thing, and John takes pains to point out that she has been divorced twice, too. This is bullshit. Do I even have to tell you that this is bullshit? How old does a man have to be before he makes his own choices? Twenty-three? And obviously, if she's been divorced twice, she's some kind of insane Sadeian whore that can bend men's minds to her will, especially if they're tender young innocent boys of twenty-fucking-two.
Then Corey tells us some specific details about her house, and since she lives in a castle surrounded by a moat and nobody's allowed in or out except for the Oompa-Loompas, that's compelling evidence right there. I'm no closer to figuring out who the hell cares about this. Then his crackhead friends met Paula at this club, and everybody believed him finally because they engaged in "eye contact," "hand-touching," and "unnecessary giggles." Have they ever seen her? She does that to, like, parking meters.
Mom and Dad were bothered because he was 22, practically a baby, but they didn't do anything about it. We revisit the phone bills some more, and Mom talks about how Paula Abdul constantly called their house, including one time when Paula told her to keep mum with the tabloids, and Mom felt that she cared deeply for Corey. Unrelated but obligatory: Dude, Josh Gracin is so cute. Whatever, I have no shame. This is the week I finally gave in and added "JonBenet" to my Word dictionary. We go back to how Paula helped him with song choice and I start realizing that nothing is ever, ever going to happen with this. We now know everything they're going to say and the only mystery is how many times they're going to say it.
Except then the only cool thing happens of the whole hour, which is concert footage of Steve Perry jamming out with Randy Jackson, who is huge, Gheri-curled, and wearing the tightest leather pants. He looks like a total freak superhero and it is awesome. The point is that she told him to sing a Journey song because of his affiliation with Journey. Because only Paula Abdul knows about that, because Randy Jackson is like the Jerrica of his Jem rockstar self and it's a total secret that he was involved in the music industry and he simply refuses to bring it up, even though he's given ample opportunity over the course of every Tuesday night.
At this point, Corey is voted into the finals. By the viewers. And this story stops being interesting, even to the degree that it was, because at that point she stops mattering, even to the degree that she ever did. You know what I'm saying? Even Carmen Rasmusen is like, "It's not like sleeping with her helped him on the show," which is what made me like Carmen Rasmusen. This world is a mystery to me.
Then we meet seven creepy people I don't remember at all, who are people who never would have made it onto the show in the first place, but who all of a sudden are totally bitter about how two years ago something might have happened between some unrelated people that had nothing to do with them getting eliminated. Hadas Shalev is beautiful and looks like Sandra Bullock's little sister; Nasheka Siddall is pretty and has a great voice, but is kind of a pigeonhead; I may be in love with Samantha Cohen because she thinks this is as stupid as I do; Patrick Fortson is a fucking mess and a half; and the other ones don't even rate me mentioning them because I still wouldn't remember them if I saw them again. In the midst of Nasheka going on and on about how choosing the right clothing is what can assure you a place in the Top Ten, we see Corey in his mesh shirt. Okay? Yeah, she was really "helping" him. 'Sup, nipples? John Quinones, get to the point. This is a total piece of trash. The losers pretend to care about this one way or the other. I'm done with these people. It was two years ago. You should be famous by now on your own merits.
John and Corey agree that Corey slept with Paula Abdul and that it was a terrible, terrible thing. Which it wasn't, because it's not that big a deal, but is also kind of gross, because he's gross. He sings the song fucking again. Corey "turns the tables" on John Quinones, asking what he'd do in his position. John laughs indulgently. There is footage of Corey staring at his cell from various angles. This was weird and like a really bad Lars Von Trier movie. Oh, that's redundant? So is this. So is this. So is this. So is this.
we will learn some things they already said eight times, and then hear a voicemail message from Paula. He sings the song again, too. Poorly. The song? Is called "Paulatics." Which is almost so awesome as to be cool, frankly, but it's just so pathetic. Equally, Corey went on Howard Stern that same week and said some shit that was just unnecessary and gross as hell and it was kind of grand in its grotesquerie. So pathetic it's nearly cool, but some things I don't need in my head. Screw that guy.
He took two years to get here? He's just this outraged? All of John Quinones's questions are answered with non sequiturs. "Are you doing this for publicity?" "I'm trying to tell the truth." He's also trying to get a tell-all published. Smart move, accomplished poorly. This whole thing is a commercial for a CD and a book that don't even exist yet. How I hate him.
The voicemail from Paula Abdul goes like this: "Hi, it's Paula. Call me back. Listen, if the press is trying to talk to you, you say absolutely nothing. That's all you do. These people are crazy. I don't know what it's regarding, but something's going on. Okay? I hope you're doing well." And this is very direct and well-said, especially considering the source, but it's exactly the message you'd leave if you saw an obvious idiot like Corey Clark offering himself to the lions like this. He doesn't know what he's getting into, he's already looking like total trash, and she has twenty years on him of dealing with this shit. Not particularly well, but she's giving him proper, and caring, advice: "You're in over your head. Do not deal with these people, they are trying to sell you out." Damn! Damn, he's dumb. He acts like this is just proof of what a user she is, because he's swallowed his own line and is busily hooking himself up out the water, bleeding. Some people, including her people I think, are saying that these voicemail quotes are taken out of context or something, but honestly, if that was the message she left, it would actually make total sense. That's very Paula, to assume that this is originating not in his gross little head, but that somebody's trying to make a meal out of him. That's making lemonade of her own life, and it's one of the main reasons I like her.
But Corey doesn't see it this way, because he thinks he's the maestro here, talking about how her people kept calling him: "They're trying to calm me down like I'm tripping, and I'm like, I'm not tripping...I'm not the one hyperventilating, you know what I'm saying?" Yeah, that's exactly what's going on here, moron. John Quinones characterizes this as them trying to silence him, because somehow John Quinones is feeling this bullshit for real. He's won like actual awards, people. On the John Stossel Scale of Crazy People On TV that I use, he's only at like a three, even now.
Every time Corey alleges a phone call, the song from those awful Jamster commercials plays on the soundtrack. It's horrible and oh-so-ghetto and I bet that's his actual ringtone, too. He talks about how Paula was like, "You're a talented kid and this and that and I don't want you to get yourself in trouble, you need to focus on the positive," but he was like, "How am I going to get myself in trouble? You know what I'm saying?" And if he honestly -- the face that he makes during this part is so telling, because it's all eyebrows and thinking she's just the stupidest thing in the world for telling him not to crash and burn like this. You know John Q. is off-camera making that same face so he'll keep going and they can have their little Brotherhood of Girls Are Dumb meeting and oh, the irony that she was trying to keep him from making a fool of himself, and he's recycled that into the labor of making an even greater fool of himself.
Corey's whole deal is that he just has to tell the truth. And any time a person says that, I call total bullshit, because if you've let it go for two years, clearly this whole telling the truth thing wasn't that big a deal, but now it's two years later and you've got a record deal and a book proposal and your record and your book are supposedly about this affair? Like, you feel so passionately about the truth that you have to tell the truth that you're going to do a media blitz, an album, and a book about it? All of which hinge on the fame of someone who is not you? Did anything else ever happen to you in your life? Why don't you write a book about beating up your sister until the cops came, you stupid fuck? Write a song about that. You know what I'm saying?
Mom reads the lyrics to "Paulatics" and all of a sudden she feels "angry" and "hurt" and pretends to cry, and then Corey sings the song while his mom reads the lyrics aloud. Like he even fucking wrote the song. Like this isn't getting Svengalied out to here. Like any of this was his idea. The guy's a moron and he's being exploited like crazy, and I can't even feel bad for him, because he's a bad guy. He's a dick, and he deserves what he's getting. And then he sings the song two more times and then it's finally over. Just like his career, except for how that was over before it began, and if only that had been true here too.
Wednesday
Ryan looks great and his white suit looks weird, everybody looks tired and blank, and Bo is wearing some stupid-ass Bono sunglasses indoors. I hate that shit. I try to love, because he's A) the best, and B) I don't want to be alone, but then he does this. It makes him look like he has crazy cartoon eyeballs, and even if they weren't idiotic in several different ways, you're still wearing sunglasses indoors, which is ridiculous and always looks stupid as hell, because you're selling something I should have already bought.
The finale is three weeks away. None of the Idols seems happy to be here, and Ryan tells us that the judges don't know the results. Ryan and Simon stare at each other for awhile and we remember all that happened last night: the horrors of Anthony singing about VD; Evil Carrie in her underwear over jeans; Bo being perfect; Vonzell sang her second song really well and got a huge standing ovation, but Simon and Randy disagreed about her; and Scott did a great job and then ruined it with his Other Sister bullshit.
Michael W. Smith took this arrangement of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" all the way to #28 in Adult Contemporary, and I'm told this was also the arrangement that Clay used. It's boring as hell, of course. Bo is the superstar, which means constant having to look at his stupid sunglasses and everybody trying to touch him, and then A-Fed takes center stage, meaning he's going home. I say that every week and it's never true, but I worry; last week it was Vonzell. Bo and Scott take the a little duet trip on their own, and then A-Fed, Vonzell, and Carrie sing in a terrible harmony, and originally I thought this was Vonzell's fault, but the posters (specifically bip2dixon and StickyKeys) pointed out how she did the classic choir "hand on the shoulder" to A-Fed a couple of times to try to get him in tune, and watching it that way, I can see where and why I got confused. It's also become like my favorite thing ever, because it's one of those curiously intimate-slash-professional things that makes me like Ryan so much. "No, baby, listen to me. Match this." Love that, and thanks for pointing it out.
Carrie and Vonzell book it to bring down huge bouquets for Paula, handing them to Randy and Simon in such a way that everybody's confused about what's going on and they have to explain that they're for Paula, and she smiles very intelligently and graciously, and we act out on that. That's like the classiest thing this show has done all season. Keeping your trap shut and not having to over-explain every goddamn thing and speak to the lowest common denominator. A show of support for a lady, and we're done with it. Nice. I wish I could do the same, bring her some (you know it) Gerbera daisies and a charm necklace with something silly and gay and well-thought-out on it, but the only thing that I can do is say that I love Paula, even when she's talking complete bollocks, and it's clear who's cool and who's drool in this instance. You're beautiful, you're a lady, and this show would be eight times as pointless without you. Thanks for that. And, he says for the sixteenth consecutive week, for Spellbound. You and Belinda Carlisle's solo career know a fucking awesome song when you see it, and that's a skill few people have. I adore you and I always will.
Then there's the worst, dumbest, most pointless pimpomercial yet, where they sing badly a Specials song (!) and try to get this dog to give them the keys to an ugly car and the dog gives them the keys and nobody comes off well except for Vonzell and Carrie because the boys all overact their lines and, like, they're singing to a dog. Fuck that. The really bad ones from before were at least totally fucked up, but this was just annoying and embarrassing.
Ryan wishes A-Fed a happy birthday, he's 20 tonight, and then sends him to the couch. The crowd goes wild and A-Fed does not, just stares at nothing and mutters to himself and then says -- we're live, his mic is live -- "It's not over." Good boy. Vonzell is told to stay onstage, and some people in the crowd start booing even though that's clearly not how it's going down this week. She just smiles, pretty vacant, and lets it ride. Scott is sent to the couch, thanks Fake Jesus, smiles and gloats and says "wow" a lot, and A-Fed goes, "Scott. Scott, no." He shakes his head like a cool kid trying to protect and chill out the less-cool kid before he embarrasses himself. Which is exactly what's happening. It's not 100% sweet, because there's an undercurrent of "how can you be this fucking dumb" in there, but come on. I'm not deducting points for that. Once Bo is told to stay onstage, everybody figures it out, so we can skip to the part where Bo, Carrie, and Vonzell are obviously the top three, but the crowd still has to scream and fuck around and act weird. Scott finally grasps what's going on, and Anthony laughs because he's in the bottom group every single week, and every single week it's hilarious. Not to mention that's like the coolest possible response, and even though he and Vonzell are both sweet and dorky to a crazy extreme, it makes me like them an awful lot when they do this.
Scott and Anthony both sing their Top 40 songs ("Every Time You Go Away" and "Incomplete"). Scott is not as good as last night, plus chest hair poking out of a madras shirt, okay, but A-Fed is twice as crotchy, so it evens out or something. Randy says the correct people are safe this week, and nobody can disagree, and then Simon tells Ryan he can't take him seriously in his big boy suit, and without skipping a beat Ryan spits, "I can't take you seriously in a baby tee." Which is the best exchange those two have ever shared, and I am happy we were here to see it. I heard that they have pictures of each other in their dressing rooms. Like, framed? It's intense and I can't stay away from it. I am like a moth to a flame with that shit, ask anybody. Their relationship is epic, and I'll never have the whole story and it kills me because I think they are more alike than not, and I know they like each other a lot, but they're so George and Martha with each other all the time.
At this point they show the whole Fedorov slew and I get sad because he's clearly going home, and it bums me out because his dad would make anybody cry because he's darling and I, for one, have never loved anything as much as A-Fed's parents love him. Maybe that Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper commercial where the guy goes ma-num-a-num, or possibly Vanessa the Orbit Gum Lady, but neither of them are my child. That I know of. I'm okay with it being his time to go and all, but I'm sad about the concept. Randy tells us that you have to sing like it's your last chance every time, and Anthony looks sad and Scott laughs and stares creepily into space. It's his birthday, you guys! It's so sad!
"Anthony, I'm afraid it's bad news. We forgot to give you a birthday card but we do have a gift. You're…safe." I should confess that I kind of screamed at this point, because I was so upset about how well Scott did this week and hated that he deserved to be here another week. But on the other hand, fuck it, I'm not complaining. Scott starts eating his upper lip and crushes A-Fed a little bit. There's Video Journey of him and his mom, and him singing my song, "Superstar," and speaking awkwardly about his dreams. And for the first time since he appeared, I remember how I felt about him the first time, how I was so sickened that the show would build up this obviously developmentally challenged young man all "the voice you won't believe" style and I got totally enraged, and then he opened his mouth, and these beautiful sounds came out, and I felt grace.
I honestly have not thought about that since that day, because he immediately started short-selling all his stock in me with his weird attitude and his not needing to practice and his completely flat, psychotic affect and his one-note Rocky vibe and all that "blaze it up" shit, but yeah, it's been complicated, and we all got to feel like good people because we rooted for him, but then his voice degraded week by week and his personality got more and more hideous, and, like, in the fullness of time, yeah, real men don't go to the violence place, but that's the symptom and not the cause, because adversity provokes one of two responses: you either turn inward and get nasty, or you fucking display adaptability and make the negatives into positives, but instead he just sat on his beautiful voice and defended it like fucking Gollum without trying to move out, or ahead, or make himself better by building on it. I'm not going to throw stones in the fat house, but at some point you must understand that charisma is all, and that there's no dream you can't realize by creating yourself in the image of your dream, and this is the thing that he's refused to do, and that pisses me off. Which sounded very Paula, I realize, but I don't know how else to describe it. You get better, is what you do. Because the second you start expecting it for free, you start to rot.
You thought you were the Pippa, but you're the Geri Jewell. Thanks for being cool about it. The lip-biting in the corner of the screen is really hardcore and makes me sad, because that's not a response I have in this situation, and it's always weird to see people cope in a different way, and there are a lot of pictures of him and his baby, Brandon, who is gorgeous, and then he sings "On Broadway," but the most interesting part is that there's no rundown from the judges about what he could have done differently, and no chance for him to respond. Ryan just gets us through the Journey and then the song starts. And that was wise on many levels, because I think having any kind of emotional moment would probably kill him because of macho bullshit, so it's nice for him, but there's also the chance that he would flip out all ninja v. pirate and kill everybody in the studio, or have a full-on meltdown, which would be awesome but not classy, so it's the best call all around.
Which means A-Fed's safe, which makes me happy, but not really for competition reasons -- I just like him. I think he's a cool kid, and I honestly just dislike Scott on a person-to-person basis, but on the other hand, we need to consider something about the three weeks. It's a list of people. Are you ready?
Bo. Carrie. Vonzell. A-Fed.
You know what I mean? All four of them are talented, all four of them seem to honestly be lovely people, all four of them have their quirks that keep them from being as totally boring as they ought to be, but it's still four people I couldn't really care less about, and far be it from me to pretend I know what's going to happen, since clearly I'm not great at that, but week Anthony will leave, and then Vonzell, and then it will be Bo and Carrie, and…yeah. Talented, nice, quirky, fun. And a billion years of filler and some stuff happening and no more scandals, I think. But considering Nadia, and Constantine, and just-departed Scott, it feels a whole lot like it's going to be in black and white, when it should be in color. You know what I'm saying? Ryan's going to have to dress up very nicely indeed to keep my attention going through the end of sweeps. Either that or Paula needs to pull an on-air freak-out or something. It's not a snark thing, it's an enjoying TV thing, and separately, it's not about the hate (as the self-hating Constantine flip-flop proves, and don't think I'm not still feeling the incongruity there like a bruise), it's about having something to think about, talk about, get excited about. Lots of good singing, plus A-Fed, is the only thing we're guaranteed to get from here on out, and that, my friends, is absolutely not why I am here.
Seacrest out.