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Tuesday
The Good, But Boring: Mecca Madison (18, Las Vegas NV) has some teeth and a likeable voice, but mostly teeth. Ryan Hart is not good, but not boring, and I think he's awesome. Purple hair, awful voice, scary skreeeeagh voice and a bad attitude. Simon's immediately taken and quite creepy with Heather Ward (28, Salisbury MD), who wows the judges completely in her cowboy hat and crocheted dress and counterintuitive redneck singing. Taylor "The Silver Foxx" Hicks (29, Birmingham) is awesome, if a little post-stroke DeNiro around the face when he gets going.
The Bad, But Boring: Alexia "Dylon" Lincheta (23, Bakersfield, CA) is horrible and everybody hates him and his fake-ass Rasta vibe, even Paula, who's usually easier to fool. The Pearson Twins seem sweet and I like them but they'll kill you with sleepiness. Haggai Yedidya is too cool a person to be a Weird Audition, even though he's meanly played that way, so he goes here. Hyper-American shirt, Hyper-American song, Pan-Euro Hottie looks, Latka-squared accent. Rebecca Brewer is screamy and awful but seems nice enough.
The Boring & Unpleasant: The psychic chick from last year accompanies her sister and tries to take over the whole audition, and it sucks. Jason Andino reveals his incredibly irritating alter ego, gondola-steering Mario Bro "Pepi," not to mention a less than special voice. Lame Mr. Grey-Brown Sweater can't sing, has 75 animals, is a largish-type person, and believes in himself to a gross degree. David Stripy Shirt Guy is low-functioning and the judges laugh right in his face, and it is gross.
Montages Of Boring: Bad people wiggling around and singing badly with some dumb joke about how they're going to Musical Jail or something. Then "I Will Survive," then: Hair. For real. Shots of people with one thing in common: they have hair on their heads. Or even just heads on their necks. Also, people from past auditions that you probably don't remember. The "stabbing motion" guy from last year now has a mullet. There's Sarah Sue Kelly and Bobby Effing Barfoot, and somebody's going down once I figure out who to blame for instantly knowing their names.
Tomorrow...But Boring?: Austin makes me oh so fricking proud.
Wednesday The Good: Funeral director Jason Horn (28, Longview TX) shows all the sparkling personality you might think, then sings pretty well, if tricksy and mannered. Music major Ricky Hayes (21, Bedford TX) sings awesome and seems to be nice. William Makar (16, Houston -- okay, "The Woodlands" -- TX) takes his living-embodiment-of-Seth-Cohen vibe and shoves it straight into your heart. All in all, there were 12 through. At least two of them were sickening.*
The Bad: One annoying dude can do the splits and almost dance, but not sing. A sweet and lovely girl from Pfugerville has nine of the 10 things you need, but the missing thing is a voice that doesn't make you want to jump out a window. A girl whose plane nearly crashed on the way here sings really terribly, comes back, and sings really terribly. It is sad. A woman who looks like a corpse with braces schleps from Los Angeles to freak you right out with her giant Paula drawings. A Randy doppelganger has a cowboy hat, a mohawk, and a voice that probably only appeals to six people in the world, one of whom is me. This girl in horrible pink pants and poorly thought-out forehead-braids goes all kinds of Maury when things don't go her way.
* The Awful: Technically beautiful Ashley Jackson (20, Dallas) tries on clothes as her job, seems to be a ho, and looks like if Liz Phair had a horse's baby, but gets through even though she sings like ass. Cocky, sleazy, grody Ronnie "R.J." Norman (21, Tyler TX) is hot as hell, sings beautifully...and might be the worst human being I've ever come across in all my years. He makes Constantine look like...I don't even know. Something not horrific that I can't think of right now. Too angry.
Week: Boston, and then the first Hollywood episode, with your friend and mine, Joe R. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Tuesday
Las Vegas has a rich tradition and history of hookers, skanks, singing, and crazy people. Alexia "Dylon" Lincheta (23, Bakersfield CA) might well be all three. He's a total wanna-Rasta with the wig and the knit cap and the whole nine, and he's totally fake, fake hair, fake accent, just a blinding stupid mess of fakeness like Casey on Laguna Beach, only as a Rastafarian. Paula says he's entertaining, but quickly takes it back, Randy gets pretty hardcore about the stupid accent, and then Simon makes him take his wig off and put it back on. Normally, de-wigging is supposed to be exciting. Here, not so much. Simon calls him stupid and he leaves, complaining that he shouldn't have tried the gimmick. I don't mind gimmicks necessarily, but there's a line you need to draw for yourself. I believe in only appearing on TV if you can honestly say that you won't look like a total fool for seven generations afterward. There's a dude showing the validity of that axiom up , who's "dressed like a joke" per Joe R. Which is funny in lots of ways, because he meant "joker," like an actual playing-card joker, and there's a nice symmetry between that and the "dressed like a foot" thing from last year, which I've promised Miss Alli I would never call a typo again. ["There are no typos. There are only inspired acts of genius. Stop looking at me like that." -- Joe R] So there you are, he's dressed as a joke, and Simon dismisses him -- awesomely -- before he even opens his stupid mouth.
Remember Bobbi Mae Psychic from last year? She foresaw the number ten and thought it meant she'd be in the final ten, but later realized it meant she'd see the number ten somewhere at some point? She's got a little sister, whom she has apparently supported in coming on the show. Psychics are a bunch of bullshit, but even real psychics must think this lady sucks -- 90% of seeming insightful is about understanding reality, and the reality is that their entire family cannot sing and is not good at performing or being outside the home. She has stupid red hair, the sister, and is mostly overlooked so that the judges can be totally mean to sucky Bobbi Mae some more. Erica is the sister's name, and she is generically bad, and the judges laugh openly at her. Simon asks them as a family to not come back, and tells Erica that she is better than her sister, but sucks anyway. up is Mecca Madison (18, Las Vegas NV), the belly dancer with the spit curl, who I find pretty annoying but Joe R. and seemingly most of America loves. She is dressed, as he describes her, "kinda Mary Kate-lite, with the baggy layers," but I just think she looks like an idiot. Like one of those girls trying to single-handedly bring back "flapper" as a concept and imagines herself doing the watusi on a biplane wing with a cocktail in her hand. Betty Page and her ilk contributed a lot to this country, I guess, but also contributed "time as a color," "bangs as a way of life," and the continuing disintegration of history as a field of study. Not that this girl has anything to do with Betty Page, it's just that I've noticed the overwhelming retro feeling these days amounts to, basically, liking "before," and I think it's boring, because the future is always, always better than the past, and the second that's not true, it's time to shutter the whole store for good. She sings "Hey Big Spender" quite well, actually, and Simon and Randy agree that her voice is better for recording than in person. I think I know what they mean by that sometimes, and I think this is one of those times. Twenty-three skidoo! Don't let the Hollywood hit you in the fringe and six feet of bead necklaces on the way out, you kid!
Speaking of our nation's future, meet Ryan Hart (18, the Vegas). We've seen brief clips of him in a couple of other episodes this season, and I find him utterly charming. Charming as he tells us he's from "right fucking here in Vegas," charming with his black hoodie and chain wallet, charming as he tells the judges his name is Ryan, and asks theirs, charming as he gives this fake, blustery teenage attitude, charming as Paula asks whether he's the American Idol and he responds, "Fuck yeah!" Charming as she blushes, "You just cursed! We're not allowed to do that! It's a family show!" and he smirks, "Oh. Well, I'm not a family guy." Already tired of him, the judges ask what he'll be singing, and he names Silverstein's "Smashed Into Pieces." There's a charming teenage moment where he expects them to both recognize this not-very-famous name -- because, if he loves them, they've gotta be huge -- and totally overreact to how hardcore it is. "Ready?" he asks. "Ready for this?" Then there are horrible sounds, made gleefully, with lyrics like "I'll slit my throat with the knife I pulled out of my spine," in the Cookie Monster style that's all the rage of 2004, the Used kind where it alternates between screeching skreeeeeagh and overheated Yellowcard post-punk boy-band emotions. This is also known as "one of my favorite kinds of music." I still listen to "In Love & Death" at least a few times a week, it's playing right now. I say this not to make you laugh at me, but to demonstrate that my taste in music, such as it is, has been so badly warped from my Belle & Sebastian college years that this kid actually sounds awesome to me. Or to illustrate that I am insane, and love this kid for no actual reason. You make the call.
Paula gets the GERD, Simon gets bored, Ryan Hart starts stomping around while "singing," then finally stops. "Catchy," says Simon, and Ryan Hart grins adorably at him, talking nonsense about how he was trying to "stand out," trying "something new." Simon's fairly cool: "I'm bored. Go do it outside," which is exactly what the kid wanted him to say, and then Ryan wins my love forever: "Pssht. I'm bored with you! Fine! Later! Too hardcore for you, man." I'm glad I'm ten years too old to have gone to school with this kid, or we would have died in a hail of ATF gunfire way back just trying to prove how hardcore we actually were. Still, Simon is affectionately appalled: "Absolutely, you're really frightening." I think I'm at the perfect age to love both of them equally in this moment. After Ryan leaves, Randy and Simon pretend to do the Cookie Monster singing, and it's cute, and Ryan curses very, very quickly for awhile in the Cookie Monster voice, stands vibrating and staring at the camera in the silence of the truly caffeinated, and then wheels around and runs off. I don't know about you, but I'm done. This is all I ever wanted from this stupid show. I believe that children are our future, and I hope they turn out like him. Nothing compares 2 Ryan Hart. Well, that hooker last week came close.
Back to realistic competition. Meet Heather Ward (28, Salisbury MD), who's pretty and black and thus captures Simon's heart before she even opens her mouth. She's the counselor for the inmates at a jail, makes recommendations to the parole board, that whole deal, but really she wants to leave the job and sing professionally. She's wearing a long crocheted shirt with fringe and a black cowboy hat. Simon asks her if she's "very strict" and she admits that she does "have handcuffs," which causes Simon to spiral dangerously into Paula territory. Randy jumps that train: "Cowell, don't even... You've been handcuffed before." And Simon says as creepily as he can, "I'm normally the one that does the handcuffing." Instead of taking off screaming like you would, Heather sings "Redneck Woman," by that Gretchen Wilson person I believe. What a stupid, awful song. She sings it beautifully. Just marvelously. Simon's amazed, Paula wiggles around weirdly, and Randy loves how she's black but singing pop country, because it's such a novel concept. A gimmick, in other words, but one that the judges agree is great. Simon says she "stands out" and Paula wriggles: she loves the song and the performance, but thinks the melody is too "easy," and takes a pass. Simon puts her through with Randy, who calls out, "Keep it simple, girl! Keep it simple!" There's an unspoken corollary that somebody should tell her, which is: "...unless Paula's involved, then do a bunch of silly runs and shit!"
There's lots of stupid Vegas, which Ryan calls an "entertainment Mecca" and a "quickly-growing city," and we meet Jason Andino (23, the Vegas) doing his day job, which is apparently acting like an asshat while manning a gondola in some stupid casino's swimming pool. He tells us in an unbelievably irritating and stupid accent that this persona is named "Giuseppe Andino," whose friends, if he had them, call him "Pepi." Again, gimmicks are great, but you have to choose one that doesn't make me want to give you a fat lip. ["Seriously. If I'm on vacation, I fear encountering a 'Pepi' worse than, like, muggers or C.H.U.D.s or whatever. Let me enjoy Fake Venice in peace, homes." -- Joe R] Oy with the horrible stupid insulting accent already. Outside of his asshole costume, he's a nice-looking, fairly friendly kid with a good speaking voice. He sings "Stand By Me" and has a pretty, sweet voice, very tricksy and affected, like he sings in the mirror a lot but lets it lie to him. Simon fights him about his potential for stardom, and Randy says he has a good singing voice, but Paula doesn't call it a "breakout, standout voice." It's a no from Paula and Simon, but a yes from me and Randy. Outside, he tells the camera that American Idol 5 will be Pepi-less, but year will see "the return of Pepi." Couldn't we just have the return of Jason?
Then there's pretty much an editorial hot mess as we see several rejects from past years interspersed with footage of the incredibly boring and tedious J.C. Gray, best known for his stabbing motions, he of the awful teeth and "crazy eyes." He was the dude who cooked at the mini-golf and was cured of his deafness as a child by Neil Diamond or some shit. There's Sarah Sue Kelly, still in there fighting, telling us she's changed her wardrobe and her choice of songs, and Bobby Barfoot, who's managed to become even more horrible by "letting his hair grow out" and then dyeing it green and then letting it fade and look even shittier before showing up. Those are the ones I know. There's some kind of a mess, some dude, Ryan asking them how many times they've auditioned, a cross-eyed girl who has tried out five times, Rochelle Elaine Dye from before, five times too. J.C. has a shiny new mullet and a butterfly collar, because if you're dead set on not improving, the only thing you can do is get worse. Simon asks if his current employment involves the use of knives and stabbing, and he replies that he now drives a bus. Yeah. (Simon: "Still a weapon.") Suddenly, we're outside, and Ryan's wondering what's up, and I think the deal is that Simon didn't even let him sing, but the reply is merely: "Fuck him, that's all." He acts crazy and dumb and mulleted in the elevator and bitches and gets into his car and speeds away and there's fake sound effects of him running over a cat. So thanks to him, we don't even get to see Sarah Sue Kelly's audition, which sucks, because I like her, but is nice, because we don't see her rejected.
Sadder than J.C. Gray, in some ways, is Anthony Andolino (28, Roselle Park NJ), who is under the impression that he can sing, and that he likes the ladies. There's nothing wrong with his face, but his dimensions and his obnoxious persona are non-standard and you know walking in that Simon's going to check out, because the dude is huge. Just huge, in every direction, and like there's a heart attack coming today, and it always freaks me out when that's the least notable thing about a person. His girlfriend is an animal lover, and a chubby chaser, who has introduced the concept of animal hoarding to his life ("We have 75 animals right now") and who has apparently never seen Oprah once in his entire gigantic life. There are cats, guinea pigs, dogs, all kinds of animals, in the big fake-out red herring home visit that makes you think he's getting through despite the fact that he is larger than a regulation doorframe and deluded to a scary degree. He's here due to his "hopes and dreams," but he'll be leaving due to his estrangement from the reality that he is boring, pissy, and cannot sing.
He sings "Lately" by Jodeci, and he does this awfully, just awfully, all these high, shaky notes and trying too hard and weird English on the notes. The judges laugh and act weird, and Paula admits that his voice is workable, but perhaps better for the theatre. Of the Absurd, I say. "I can do pop too," he whines, but Simon's like, "That...was pop." Randy's more troubled by the singing out of tune -- it's a "walk before you run" situation. They all pass, and he lumbers out. Paula goes dead-eyed as Simon says it's "just as well" because they "couldn't afford the food bill," because she hates the cheap-shot fat jokes, and so do I. It's just too easy, especially since this is one of the largest people I've ever seen. Outside, Anthony yells at Ryan about how he wasn't out of tune, and he doesn't care that it's their job to know about that kind of thing, that he "respect[s] their opinion," but he wasn't out of tune. A 28-year-old who has not learned the difference between "fact" and "opinion" is always violently scary to me -- like, gravity could just be an opinion, arguable, like facts that are demonstrably true are still up for debate, because they know nothing, so they assume that nobody knows anything, and they can just blunder through. It's scary and narcissistic in a very real sense, and is the reason I hate this dude. He snits off in a huff and Ryan deadpans to the camera how you never know how they're going to be when they come out that door. "...Sometimes they're humbled." It's hilarious.
There are lots more effing twins to introduce the pair of auditioneers, including some creepy sisters, people I think are the Brittenum Twins but might be somebody else's stolen identity, and then the up: the Pearson Twins, who do the usual creepy twin stuff like talk in unison and share iPod earbuds. Their dad plays "every instrument," they want to start a band, they want to be famous, they giggle incessantly, they have Care Bears on their beds at the age of 24. They love American Idol, especially Kelly, they are wearing the shortest shorts you ever saw, and somehow they manage to pull this all off. When they walk in, Randy actually exclaims, "Oh, how cute!" They are going to sing "Dreams," by the Cranberries, and Paula already looks bored. "Yeah, okay." Marnelli and Maureen Pearson (24, the Vegas) are technically good, without shocking or great voices, but they have good pitch and fun harmonies. They're like the Asian Corrs. Paula stares into space with a grimace, and Simon finally stops them, calling the whole thing "pleasant but dull." They turn them down, and Randy giggles sadly. Outside, they weep about how their dad loves them and how they'll be back.
David Mandzak (18, the Vegas) is...of diminished mental capacity. The audition is unbelievably long, but I don't feel like talking about it, because it's not funny or clever or interesting, and just makes them look like fools. Again. Then there's one of those Frankensteinian mixed-up themed edits, this one called CSI: Criminal Singers Investigated, about some brutal crimes against music. One guy with terrible scream-singing, one molester-looking dude sings "Toxic" and mimes weirdly with the lyrics, a weird East European chick sings "Lady Marmalade" in a peasant dress with boobs all over, a man in a beautiful suit hums "I'm Every Woman." This one dude does a terribly frightening hip-swirling hula action like a male Shakira, just really, really disturbing, with a bad accent, shaved head, and is just mesmerizing in his grossness. A big fat gay clone with bleached hair squeals and jumps around idiotically, and a big girl with a quadrupa-fupa dials 1-900-Mix-A-Lot and laughs at what a joke this show is.
Under the fake Statue of Liberty in Vegas, Ryan talks a mess about how our country opens its arms to anybody, and then we meet Haggai Yedidya (28, the Vegas), who is one of those shockingly beautiful people you see getting refugee-related stress in Bosnia or Czechoslovakia or the Russian republics and realize that in some places, the proto-Wildenstein crazy person Michael Jeffries is right -- some places, almost everyone is gorgeous. He's that mix of broken-English and clueless friendliness that keeps the hippest bars in bouncers, and we watch him first hit on the interviewer, then on Ryan, who smiles sweetly on being told he has beautiful eyes. The thing is, the guy himself has beautiful eyes, wears pants in a way that can best be described as "magic"...and will not be continuing on the show in any way, because whatever his talents, they do not include performance or singing. He walks in talking about his dreams and shit, shows them his amazing keychain or something, and he's got flags all over his shirt, American ones, and he sings "Proud To Be An American" in this weird, dramatic way, does some half-hearted blink-182-as-boy-band dancing. He's what you call a moped, and you don't let him talk if you can help it. Randy says the voice is "just not good" and Simon and Paula agree that he was terrible. Having missed the point entirely, Haggai tries to explain that you can learn to sing well, that with a vocal coach, "in two months you become a good singer, a year you are a great singer," because he has perfect pitch. The judges freak out because his pitch was awful, but I get what he's saying, and he's right and they're wrong, but he will never be a good singer, because that's not how it works, and he should pick up the fretless bass or something. Viola. Outside, he explains that they weren't impressed at all, that there was no "eye connection," that you can't "get to people" without eye contact, that "the white judge" whose name he doesn't remember was "most impressed," but mostly stared, and Paula "looked at my dancing more, and my body," and that if they change their minds, they can call him.
Princess Brewer (22, Miami) would like you to know that she is both "conceited" and "good at what I do," which is latterly nice but formerly obnoxious, like those trashy women who get all overheated explaining to you how I don't care if people call me a bitch, I am a bitch, I don't care what people think and you're like "just two more stops until I get off this bus" and during the day they are day care workers who say things like "tough titty." To children. ["Ivette?" -- Joe R] She bugs me from moment one, is what I'm saying. She tells Ryan that she sounds like Aretha Franklin and if you have TiVo, you can see him actually quash his initial reaction, which was "Oh no you did not." She smiles sweetly and in a humble fashion at the judges, nodding that her actual, literal name is actually, literally Princess. She describes herself as "blunt and sassy, but also a perfectionist" and Randy is like, "Kind of like Simon." It's not even a bag on Simon, just like noticing that they are alike. She starts singing "That's What Friends Are For" and it is awful, terrible, this nervous, nervous voice that is horrible to hear -- she keeps trying to catch it and get hold of her horses but she's just getting more and more nervous and shitty. She knows she's fucking up, and does that thing they do where they stop, look at the judges, then re-launch. Several times. Simon is about to face-plant, whimpering quietly, "Shut her up. Shut her up. Stop it. Stop it." It's the funniest thing he's ever done in an audition, just staring at the table and whispering like he might kill himself and massaging his old-man temples. "You're giving me a headache. You really are." She apologizes for her nerves and Paula lies that there were "sweet moments in there," but Simon levels that it was one of the worst all day. Randy: "Really painful." Simon's like, "Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse...it did. Don't apologize." She leaves, and they bug Paula about her needless lies, and she reveals that the sweet moments mostly involved her being "quiet," and I don't know if she means "silent" or "singing quietly," because in fact her voice was much more approachable and enjoyable when she wasn't screaming her ass off.
People singing "I Will Survive": a big blonde dude, a skinny blonde dude, bunch of bad people, a girl crying that she wants to sing "another dang song," a girl in retina-detaching pants, lots of people. There's a large girl under the impression that she is "Trinity" from the popular Matrix films, some very very dramatic people, big people, little people, Michael Jackson, a Dave Navarro transvestite, a girl who giggles after she accidentally sings she should have "changed that fucking lock," shaved-head crotch guy from before, that hipster guy I like in the black shirt and tie that was singing about chickens before, a half-man half-woman made out of a chubby woman, people forgetting the words, Bobbi Mae Psychic taking over for her relative, lots more Navarro transvestite, a very excited gay Asian guy, some twins, a guy in sweats with a child on the audition floor with him, Princess, whatever, it's terrible and it goes on and on, a guy in a cowboy hat, a Fred Durst guy who breaks off and Simon yells, "Hurray, hurray hurray!" Unnecessary. You know you can keep from having to make those damn montages? Air this show an hour a week. That's how.
This hooker girl in a wig takes off her wig, and "Hair" starts playing, and there's another montage, right after I said that, like, in defiance. Then there's lots of stupid hair: fake Rasta, another tiny mohawk, Rainbow Bright with normal hair, a girl with lots of long braids, Hollywood from Mannequin, the Osbourne kid that got hot, crazy smiling woman, scary metal chick, 40-year-old Cousin It doing the Running Man, fucking Naima, an old lady in curlers, a suicide girl with stupid shellacked bangs, girls in shower caps annoying everyone around them, more stupid hair, another girl de-wigs in a big shiny shirt, lots of headbangers, Ryan Hart, the Navarro transvestite, Sonny Bono kid with really unfortunate bangs but a truly great smile, tiny fake lesbian girl with concept hair all dyed patches and pieces missing, scary dyed red hair, then all those same people again, with boring people mixed in, then Seacrest talking to the girl at the beginning with her wig on his head, and I want to lunge through the screen and snatch it off him, because if there's one thing I learned in college, it's this: don't borrow wigs from prostitutes, even as a joke.
All the thing with the hair and that was really leading us home to Taylor Hicks (29, Birmingham), whose hair is prematurely gray, which is the fuckin' best. He tells us sincerely of his love of entertaining, and a bit about how he was oddity as a youngster, but it's all good because he is real, his hair is real, and inspirational Bo music plays, a song called "Remember Real?" I've noticed a predilection among the unthinking to infantilize those among us who are smaller in stature, and an unfortunate occasional behavior of constantly acting like a child in response, and for the first time I wonder if people have been treating him like an old man his whole life and this has caused him to be very responsible and competent in response. Or maybe judgmental and creepy-paternal like Ryan Atwood. It's interesting. He introduces himself to the judges and has a lovely speaking voice, a southern accent, a little stammery. He sings "Change Is Gonna Come" by Sam Cooke, and his face does a thing which Joe R and I decided to call "post-stroke De Niro," but his voice is a strong beast that he has only barely tamed. It's awesome. As he jerks and wriggles and freaks out and sings, Paula falls madly in love. "Didn't expect that," she says, and asks for specifically twenty seconds of something else. He's nervous and Randy tells him to "Shake it out, dude." He sings another song that's more bluegrass, and his body jerks and wiggles and it's like the music is coming through his whole body from the ground. But it's Vegas, so the ground is soaked in bad stuff, so that's the wrong metaphor, but he turns it into beauty. Randy really likes it and notes a lot of influences including "a little Ray" -- which is why I'm calling him "The Silver Foxx" -- and calls him "a good throwback." Simon has a problem, though, which is that it is "not just about the voice," and Taylor has proven that. Paula doesn't understand that this is a problem, so she goes all Paula about "plus you have a wonderful personality," by which she means he is very good looking ["I knew I was on to her code language." -- Joe R] ["Put down those dolls and sparkle, Neely." -- Jacob], and Simon's jaw drops. "I disagree completely!" Randy thinks Taylor could be "commercial," and Simon just doesn't want to see him "in the spotlight," due to the wiggling and the weird faces. Simon promises him that it's all candy and roses from Randy and Paula now, but they won't put him through when they get to Hollywood, which is an interesting thing for him to say. Taylor asks for a chance and Paula says that they "won't know...until we see what you do," and she and Randy put him through, to varied weird hollering.
Eleven people total made it through from Vegas, who may or may not include a gross blonde stoner guy, Busty Red Shirt, Chucker In A Tutu, Skinny Weirdo, a Crumbling Girl we don't see who almost knocks Ryan over and he jumps -- oh, it's Concept Hair Girl, Cowboy Hat Penitentiary Girl, a Large Jumping Man and his large jumping Friend, Spit Curl Mecca still smirking and still dressed like an insane doll, and then we head to Austin. Kind of.
Wednesday
Ryan's at the Capitol, which seems about a mile away because of the way the shot's set up, but actually it's like 100 yards at most. Austin is, you may have heard, the "live music capital of the world," blah blah blah, this is fake and here's why: back in October, the producers did the original cut but didn't come back for the judge round, and flew all the people to San Francisco. The reason that they did this is that -- and I remember this -- every single displaced person from Katrina came to live here in Austin, like doubling the population, and a lot of them ended up in the Convention Center where the auditions were being held, and this super-creepy thing developed where if you were feeling philanthropic, you could go down to the Convention Center and pick out your refugees and take them home with you. Cut to the football field, where a bunch of people that look a whole lot more Dallas than Austin to me are screaming "Don't Mess With Texas," and we remember Kelly Clarkson. There are: Two Frat Guys singing sweetly, That's So Raven, a Boy in a Dress with Fake Nipples, a woman Hula-Hooping, people Exclaiming About the Heat, a Scary Girl With Crimped Hair, an Old Woman Pouring Ozarka On Her Crappy Perm, an SMU Girl who Screams and Runs when Simon "arrives," Chubby Girl With Horns, Cute Guys in Western Shirts, and we're in.
Meet Julian Riano (27, Austin), whom Ryan calls "sprightly," which means he is just as gay as the day is long, under the impression that he is a great dancer (he's not), and comes in with Wranglers doing their whole thing they do, and also boots. If the Wranglers didn't simple it up for you, once he opens his mouth you can hear the East Texas in his voice, which makes him pretty interesting to listen to, because it's an equal mix of Texas Latino, East Texas drawl, and Very, Very Gay, which is a lot of accents for someone of so little consequence. He tosses his dancer body around and they discuss his boots and Paula reads that he can "do something in his boots that you can't do in yours," which is funny, kind of, but that thing is the splits with full leg extension, and she says this like she's just seen a unicorn, okay, and he says, "Shall I just go down?", which is funny, very, and then he does, grinning like a maniac, and Simon gets all Twinkie-defense gay panic about this and makes him stand up and start to sing. He'll be singing "Lemon Tree," by Trini Lopez, and I don't know who that is but I believe that she exists, whereas Randy and Paula are like, "What? Trini Lopez?" and they say this like he's gone mad. Then he sings. It's terrible, with this Oklahomo! kind of stepping and snapping, like he's singing the tall tale of a lemon tree and its pet blue ox that could build a fence around the world in five seconds or whatever. It's horrible. Simon is sad, Paula is sad, Randy is creeped out, and Julian just gets scarier, now with the hips going and his voice in a Kermit The Frog place; it's painful. Even Julian, I think, cannot believe what just happened. Simon: "There are so many reasons why you're wrong."
Julian blows us a kiss and tells us to "keep following [our] dreams, always," skips around weirdly, and then takes off down the escalator singing "On The Road Again." It's embarrassing, just like: Michelle LaPoint (27, Austin), who sings without moving her mouth, then forgets the words and stands there in silence for a second before this, like, Strindbergian moment where her number drops off her shirt and wafts down to the floor; and Arthur Mayfield (25, Orlando FL), who does a silent, strange dance while wearing a scarlet scarf and huge combed-out afro and red boots, no talking, no singing, just this very specific, choreographed, stuttery, scary, silent, stomping dance like -- you know how tai chi looked the first time you saw it? Like, you can tell there's a plan, but you can't suss it out, so they just look like they're making these very intense inner-directed goblin movements? Like that, and then Donnell Bolton (20, Fort Worth TX) sings in that stupid baby voice that makes your eyes water and it's stupid. Randy: "What is up with Austin, man? What is going on in the world?" And like, I agree, but it's a bit disingenuous to act like you're surprised that the deck is stacked with idiots when we're all aware that's the point of the show. ["And also when he says that very thing in every city they go to." -- Joe R]
Shivery. A woman who looks like a corpse with braces, like a crazy person who has been outdoors so long they've turned the color of pavement, is wearing an assortment of crazy garments, including a pink jacket apparently made of Vellux, big metal heart earrings, a head thing like they wear in Amish country, a ruffly top, a gold necklace, more braces on the teeth than you can comprehend, an afghan, a giant charm bracelet that is a belt -- and deep, deep madness in her eyes. She yells at Seacrest in a very methed-up way about how "they call me Fashion Genius" and we watch her belly-dance horrifically in a bathroom somewhere as she tells him about how everybody calls her this; for example, her modeling teacher -- who has been in the business for a while -- told her "it fits, it just barely fits." She looks like ... Farscape. I dunno. There's a close-up in slo-mo of her bad skin, crazy teeth, and methed-out eyes, and I've thought and thought about what to say about her, because I don't want to be so hyperbolic that it becomes worthless...but I think that I can tell you this: she scares me worse than anything I've ever seen in my life. She scares me so bad that it makes me angry, like all the adrenaline fight/flight stuff gets all mixed up because intellectually I know I'm safe in my living room, so there's feedback which freaks the brain out and I just want to, like, punch her or something. She's scarier than in Saw when the thing comes out on the tricycle and it's squeaking and there are pigtails, which is the only really scary part of that very terrific film. That's about...sixty percent as scary as this. Or Blair Witch when he stands in the corner and before you even remember the standing in the corner thing, you get creeped out. That's what she's like. Like a horrible pink zombie that has been possessed by Björk and is belly-dancing right at you. On the upside, my paralyzing fear of clowns has completely disappeared. ["Oh, come on. 'They float down here, Jacob! They all float!'" -- Joe R] ["Not fucking funny." -- Jacob]
Her name is Paula Goodspeed (27, L.A.), and I have a handy mnemonic device for remembering her last name that I will tell you for the price of an eightball and a Big Mac down the street. She loves Paula Abdul, which is the only thing we will ever have in common, and she makes life-sized drawings of Paula, which is a thing that we do not have in common. Some of them look like the Francesco Clemente stuff in Great Expectations, which I loved until just now, and the rest look like those big-head drawings where you're playing basketball or whatever. They're all scary. She's creepy and schizoid with the judges, and Simon notes a resemblance beyond the names, and lies that it's a compliment. She sings like Liza Minnelli on a snifter full of downers and her foot in a bear trap; she shouts and screams and smiles horrifically and wiggles like a show-tune Debbie Reynolds on Will & Grace. When she's done for the moment, Simon says, "Paula?" And the auditioneer goes, "Oh, I thought you meant me, oh my God," but the real Paula is just "speechless." Randy's like, "Terrible. What was that?" It's a unanimous no. Simon gets stuck on the braces ("You have so much metal in your mouth") and Randy's trying to explain that here in America, there's this thing called "orthodontics," but Simon's British and he's not getting it. She's just so fucked-up-looking and weird and has dead eyes and she's so...she's like the Carver. She's so, so troubling; I can't even... "Peace out," she says, and wanders out into the city to make her way in this world.
We're entirely on campus at UT, for the whole time we're actually in Austin, and that means college students. Ryan says they are here to -- and I quote -- "advance their academic capabilities." Not even trying. There are like at least fifty people dressed as zombies covered in blood crashing the party, and had I known that, I would have gone to the auditions. If I'm going to recognize anybody, it's going to be these unrelated zombie people, but I don't. Segue to Danielle Zamora (16, Austin), who sings less like a zombie and more like a kid, and I always root for the 16-year-olds because they are always awful and always in the same way: that tight-lipped, bedroom-mirror singing through the nose, and that's her, and it's bad, but it's just bad like a kid who likes to sing, not really that interesting. She's a very young 16, and is wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Chanequa Jackson (25, Balch Springs TX, never heard of it) swings her extensions around like Cher and sings horribly about "pain before pleasure," screaming and scary. Anisa Olaniyi-Oke (21, Austin) is wearing very short shorts and an ill-fitting and strangely-constructed halter top involving the least attractive qualities of a knit tee, scarves, and a baby sling. "Even the out-of-tune notes were out of tune," says Simon.
Stupid Montage #215 involves lots of people we'll never see with scary music and the title card "Curse Of The Co-Eds," and it's, you know, bad singing, bad singing, but it's just bad, not like funny bad -- and so, so boring. There's that guy with the Bravery hair that lost weight since last year dancing around, this cute kid from Houston who's still coming up, a totally awesome freaky sorority girl drawling, "What do you feed your baaaaaaaaaaabies," a Guy with Teen-Stache, a Girl in Wooden Shoes squeezing out "Nothing Compares 2 U," this Dorky Computer Guy you probably recognize (with the long hair and the skin, don't ask him about Ayn Rand, that guy) singing "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" weirdly, a Screaming Girl, and then the second awesome part, this crying black girl who's just been completely demoralized, leaning against a stall door in the bathroom staring dead-eyed at the camera in black-and-white DV and pleading, "Do you know why they do this?"
Maybe we can break the curse by auditioning a funeral director. Whatever. Meet Jason Horn (28, Longview TX), hanging out with his brother and dad, and they are all very cute and fun, especially for a funeral family, who I tend to think of as a downwardly-spiralling bummer of a bunch of assholes who learn nothing from their own experiences except new ways to hurt each other and getting steadily more and more bitter and pointless until five years later you get to watch them all die. Jason is a very, very good-looking guy, in the boring Metroplex "I played 4-A football" mode, and he talks a good game about how he has just tons of "personality," which he does not, but he's quite likeable. Huge smile as he enters the audition, describes himself as an "embalmer," and then laughs as they wig out. He critiques Simon's makeup, saying he looks nice, and has good color. This is weird. He's going to sing "You Raised Me Up," my stepmother's favorite song, and even the crew laughs when he says this. "Only on American Idol," harrumphs Randy. He sings, and he has a very strong voice in the A-Fed vein, which is funny because he's like three A-Feds' worth of man. They love it and he flashes so many teeth again. Paula wants to know if he sings to the corpses, because she is a freak, and the answer is affirmative, and Paula loves it and makes that same joke again about him doing Simon's makeup from a few seconds ago, and then he comes out and there is victory music and everybody cheers when he comes out the room.
I guess you probably don't live in Texas, so I'll tell you a secret: Tyler and Longview are basically Dallas. Arlington and Ft. Worth are basically one creature with Dallas but they're big enough that you'll get beat down if you say they're Dallas. Pflugerville and Round Rock are basically Austin. The Woodlands is basically Houston, but north, which equals money (south equals crude oil fumes, which smell like death by stink, and the Gulf, which smells like: ditto). Because Texas was a pioneer place for so long, there are way more towns than there need to be, jealously defending themselves from annexation by other towns, even if they are merely feet away, and they all have like ridiculous names, like "Notrees" (guess what they don't have there?), and they all worry about who's a suburb of whom, when the fact is, they're just refusing to give in to the fact that there's no difference between them, so, like, Midland is a suburb of nothing, like there's no larger town nearby to be a suburb of, but it acts just like a suburb, and even though it's a farming and oil community of like 100,000 people, it still has its own suburbs, like the prenominate Notrees. Midland and Odessa are only about twenty minutes apart, which you'd never guess by the fact that each town blames the other for all drugs and prostitution, which is a classic case of slapping Peter when it's Paul's fault, because everybody knows that all drugs in this country come from Plano. So now you know -- and please don't email me about it to say that Tyler Effing Texas has this rich culture and should not be considered as a suburb of Dallas or whatever, because you and I both know the real deal. Plus, in twenty years we'll all be suburbs of Houston anyway. And soon after, we'll just be "Houston," and I'll finally be back home where I belong.
Meet Cierra Johnson (20, Pflugerville TX), who brought about the tangent above, because something called a "Pflugerville" deserves for you to know it's really just one of about a hundred outliers in the Austin cityscape and not some kind of cowboy desert town with serapes and Clint Eastwood or Li'l Abner or whatever you were thinking. She's very, very pretty, that pore-less TV kind of pretty, and says she's a veterinary assistant and "part-time dance choreographer," and her take on all of this is that the big mistake is trying to audition by singing like your personal idol. She prefers to sing with her "new, jazzy voice," and would like us to know that she is "great." Simon is immediately in love with her, and the song she's going to sing is his favorite song of all time, and he's just staring and creepy, and honestly, she's not good, but she's not bad. The vocal quality is just not that...oh, there it is. Oh, hell. Things go south and ugly in a very real way. Everyone's bummed, but especially Simon because he wanted to love her, which he tells her. It's awful. Randy's like, "You have twelve keys going on there." Simon still can't believe she was bad, because he assumed she'd be great. She offers to sing another song and he snits, "'Silent Night,' but leave off the 'night.'" She starts singing "Silent Night" and won't stop for anything, and they all laugh at the weirdness and stupidity of that, and finally Randy's just reduced to yelling, "No to the Christmas Girl! No to the Christmas Girl!" Paula passes, and Simon lies, "I would have said yes." She leaves and Paula's jaw drops; Simon refers to it as "the soundtrack to Nightmare Before Christmas," and then outside, she tells us we'll be buying her album soon, but "that's all I have to say because I don't wanna be embarrassed on TV more than I already am." Aww. She kind of got to me there at the end. I mean, I'm not going to cry or anything, but I feel that.
More rejects. Teen-Stache, Gay Dude, Some Chick, A Powerful Man in a Pink Polo, a Guy who tells us seriously he is Not Even A Little Bit Happy, A Crying Girl, Pink Polo hits a wall, hits everything, Why Do They Do This Girl weeps that "they said" she could sing, Some Girl with Lips cries, Pink Polo hits more stuff, the friend of Lips has a purse issue and stuff goes flying everywhere as they're striding off and it's just this perfect image of being humiliated over and over and over, and I wish this shit were over already. It was funny the first year and has declined each year since, and I understand that it's all very watercooler, but this theory only works if you fucking show us something to talk about.
Lou In Accounting: "Hey, did you see American Idol last night?"
Brenda The Receptionist: "I don't...care."
See how that works? Speaking of not caring, get ready for an entire novel about Allison Schoening (21, Chapel Hill), who could not be cuter or sweeter or less interesting. She flew here from Raleigh (this is the only time in the history of the show that Ryan doesn't leap out from somewhere screaming about Clay Aiken at this point) and her plane "blew a back door seal" and she had to go to the front of the plane and wear an O2 mask and everybody had their phones ready to call their last person. "I recommend going through that at least once in your life -- it changes things." How can such an interesting story be so boring? And no, I won't be trying that if I can help it. I like to think that introspection can happen on its own, without God bringing your plane down. She'll be singing "In Another's Eyes" by Garth Whatever and Trisha Yearwood, and she will be singing it badly. It's horrible and nervous and nasal and reedy and bad and her eyes are closed the whole time. She opens them and stops because the judges are laughing. Simon makes the cat metaphor again, and it's not funny, and he makes no cat noises. "I know, I didn't think I was going to be this nervous...I could hear that was bad." They tell her straight up it was horrible, and Paula of all people is nice to her: "Come back in half an hour, sweetheart. Because we believe in you." Something must have just kicked in, because she's normally pretty slicy on girls like this. Simon tells her to "just imagine Randy in his swimming trunks" when she comes back, and she turns it right back on him: "I was already imagining you, but that's probably why I sucked so bad." Simon laughs, Randy high-fives and hugs her, Paula signals a joyful touchdown. Everybody cheers and Simon and the girl have a very funny moment across the room.
Boring people getting rejected, Bravery Hair again, one of the Cute Western Shirt Guys gets cut and Ryan is horrified, some girl says "Fuck it" and doesn't care anymore; this very cute, very vapid guy forgets where he is or why he is here, stares blankly and scratches his nipple and smiles into the camera for a long, long time. His friend Ricky Hayes (21, Bedford TX) is a music major at A&M and talks about how performing is what he's "meant to do" and what he dreams about and talks about it to the point of annoying everyone around him. He gets scared when Randy jumps on the music major thing and tells him he has put all colleges on shout. But...it's A&M. That's not very fair. He sings "I Can't Make You Love Me," one of music's perfect songs, and he does really well. Paula is pleased, Randy is rapt and nodding, Simon chews a pen. They say it's a good mix of flavor and training, "beyond refreshing" (that's Paula), and that he has a "wonderful tone." Randy's like, "Helloooo Austin, finally." Simon says he has the "nicest-sounding voice so far, not the biggest voice but the nicest-sounding," and says that there's something "distinct about it as well." He loved it, loved it, Randy says he's "done the university system proud," and Paula and Simon give identical "absolutely one hundred percent yes" votes and Simon says, "Well done, kiddo." I like it when they do well. Why can't we see more of that? Why are we not worthy of seeing the people we're going to have to be looking at for a hundred years?
There's a very pretty girl with a big lantern jaw and shifty eyes who is a "fit model" -- "I make sure that all the garments fit properly...it's really fun." Wow. She makes these creepy eyes at the camera but is pretty funny: "I would like to adjust my necklace, if you don't mind." She's every engineering student I've ever met that's a girl, I don't know what she's doing trying on clothes for a living. She Randy talk about how they could be models together, and Simon calls it the "Before and After," and she laughs but then pouts: "That's mean!" Meet Ashley Jackson (20, Dallas, completely, forever and always Dallas) -- and she hits me in a weird place because my first reaction was really, really negative, but on review I think she's okay. If I met her at a party I would think she was very funny and very dorky and had too much drama, but I would like her casually. She also gets prettier the more you look at her, at the same time that it's less and less interesting. She sings, and if you subtract the nervous lack of control and the twitchy fake sexuality of it, there's a nice tone underneath, a little of the smoke in there, and I guess that's why they like her. It's trainable, but not in the fake Haggai way. When she's done, Paula notes that she can apparently "sing with her mouth closed," and admits that the audition is "not going great right now." She sings some patriotic song with her mouth closed, and this whole thing is the punchline to a joke so filthy I can't even remember it, but I do know now without a doubt that she was in a sorority, and I'm guessing it was Delta Gamma. Simon basically tells her she's too hot to be eliminated just for her iffy voice, Randy says she "deserves another shot," and she dances around yelling "Yay!" in this very fake way. It's fake because I have realized that she is not an idiot, but just does a convincing impression of one, which is also very Dallas girl of her, and something I always enjoy, because when you see the smartness glinting out through the blonde act, it's like you're in on a secret meeting. Outside, Ryan deadpans the best line of the season: "Ashley sang with her mouth closed, and Randy's jaw almost hit the table. Imagine that." So I see Ryan knows that same joke. Imagine that. God, I love Ryan Seacrest.
Then comes fucking R.J. Ryan introduces him as "truly extraordinary," because he "loves himself more than Simon." The thing about cockiness and overconfidence is that you only notice it when the seams are showing, like this kid here. Ronnie "R.J." Norman (21, Tyler TX) does a good impression of That Guy, but there's a weakness behind it -- you can always tell because the eyes go searching while he's talking, because he's going to tailor the performance to you. And as well, see, he's not that good at it. ["My initial reaction was that he has an older brother who is That Guy, so…you know, everything that goes along with that. …How boring are these audition rounds that I have sibling-order theories about these people?" -- Sars] He is, though, terribly annoying and terribly inauthentic about everything, which bums me out. He gives this long speech about how "People call me R.J., my friends call me R.J., everybody calls me R.J. because everybody's my friend," with this smug, fake smirk at this, and like, actual guys like this don't sell it like this. They don't have to. He is a fucked-up amount of gorgeous, and it has done him no favors, is what I'm saying. "People think I'm cocky, but I'm confident," he says, and it's just like the "I'm conceited" girl -- he has no idea what he's talking about. People think he's smarmy, I'm guessing, but there's no way to spin that.
He admits to having sex with old lonely women for cash, and creeps out Boring Allison from Chapel Hill with like sixteen flirts-gone-wrong in a row, but later on we'll see how she was able to get over it. He flashes this egregious smile when he enters, and the judges are quite taken, because they like nothing better than that which is on the surface. He should have something dreadful happen to him, really painful and traumatic but not life-threatening (my notes say, "I wish his plane would blow a back door seal"), and maybe that would give him some kind of reality. I mean, don't touch the face, but anything else would be fine. And so but the pisser here is that he has a beautiful, beautiful voice. He sings "Ain't No Sunshine" and it's like he produces actual sunshine. At 21 this person has already had more sex than most people will have in their lives, and I bet he's good at it, but I sure hope he is, because it's like all he's good for. He gets through easily, and Allison jumps his bones outside because she's like his only friend. He tries to talk some more too-cool into the camera, but we're onto him and not even the ham-handed editing of this show can sell this Giant Ego talk. "Okay, Randy said I was flat at the end...I know he knows what he's doing, but I've got a good ear too." Inside, Paula screams as Randy jokes that the kid was horrible.
This thick black guy in a cowboy hat comes in named Kevin Mitchell (27, Longview TX), whom Simon calls "Randy on a diet" despite the fact that he A) is no smaller and in fact slightly bigger than Randy and B) bears no more than a passing resemblance to Randy Jackson. Why do they all think he looks like Randy? Is it because he's large and black? Some white producer told them to have this conversation. Kevin plays along. Randy stands to him, and the obvious lack of any similarity is highlighted for the cheap seats. He sings "I Can't Dance," a song I can't stand, but I do love it here. His voice has a scratchy, awesome quality. Simon calls him "slightly forgettable," Paula takes a pass, and Randy loves the performance but says that "vocally it just wasn't there." I think what Kevin and Heather can teach us is that in addition to wearing weird costumes, you should also try to be a black person, and sing songs that are not only not by black artists, but by the most aggressively white artists you can find. I really applaud this strategy, and the last thing tells me why: because the white producers have just demonstrated that they think all black people look the same. So if you "look like" Usher by being black, go ahead and sing something by like Prussian Blue, or Hootie and the Blowfish, and you'll blow their minds and get through.
Allison from Final Destination is back. Whatever happened to that one guy from that movie, the Chili-esque best friend? Chad Donella. He played an albino in something else, Disturbing Behavior, and I saw him in a Taco Bell commercial once. I think that Christian Bale is having his career for him. I love that guy. Anyway, she's back singing again, even worse than the original audition, and this time it's "Proud Mary." Simon looks pained, Paula looks troubled, Randy tells her it was about the same. They give her very kind votes of no. Randy hopes she had fun; she says she did. Except, I imagine, for the almost dying. Although even that she seems to think was pretty awesome, and in any case she's going to get some syphilis from R.J. in about ten minutes, so that'll be good.
Oh, William Makar. Like Paris and Lisa Tucker, he's 16. He is awesome. He is Seth Cohen incarnate. He's from the Woodlands and he would like to sing for you "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" with a huge smile and a mellow, deepish voice. Now that I have a seven-month-old in my life and my day and all of my suddenly-deadly crap, I feel much less creepy with the youngsters than I did last year, because nothing will slap you out of a "what if I'm a deviant molester and I didn't even know it" A-Fed fugue faster than changing a naked infant with their legs up in the air doing their best to simultaneously catapult into a mid-flight arabesque and pull the pad over on itself, creating a giant big shit burrito. Or -- and Anna concurs, and you might remember she went through her own A-Fed related trouble last year -- parenting hands you the difference between wanting to make out with a grownup and just wanting to eat a baby's entire face. I want to eat William Makar's entire face and I can finally accept that this does not mean I deserve to be caught on Dateline.
It's a slightly affected performance, but charming as hell. Paula's like, "You know when they do profiles on young JT or Britney or whatever?" and Randy's feeling her. The kid has star quality. Paula says he has a "sweet voice," but she doesn't think he's ready for this. He gives a sweet, sad smile. He reminds me so, so much of this man I know in Dallas named Benjamin Bascombe who's a total catch who came from somewhere ridiculous like Kansas -- just that charisma where crazy people, old ladies, all animals flock to him. Like he could walk down the street and it would become by the end of the trip this bizarre parade of people leaving behind very important responsibilities to follow him and see what he's up to. I can't believe after five years Paula has not figured out how to look at a person and rate them on the Zagat dollar-sign scale. Maybe it's just something you're born with. In any case, she's as surprised as ever by Simon saying "I quite like you" and then naming all the demographics that will obsess over him. "I'm the opposite of Paula on this one. You've got my vote." Randy also puts him through, now that Simon has spoken, and William Makar's mouth opens so, so wide and he claps for himself and Ryan's so happy for him that he has to keep touching him, and then when the moms sweep in, Ryan still just stands there smiling and being so sincerely excited for the kid. You take your reward for this stupid job when you can get it -- and I love how Ryan takes full advantage. Imagining what this is like, for him, fills me with happiness. It's like: contemplate what it's actually like to be Paige Davis-Page. We've made the comparison before, due to the Contestant Whispering, but seriously. Besides the gay husband, that's like the best possible. You giggle and mess with Hilde and fight with Doug and hug people. People who are literally weeping with joy. For a living. That's way better than trying on clothes.
Ryan's wrapping up a pretty long day here in "Austin," but has he saved the best for last? No. Why the fuck not? I'd actually be looking forward to week if we stopped here! Meet the unbelievably depressing Tessie Mae Reid (17, Arlington TX), with that toady, doughy country look, the slit-eyed jealous kind where you know exactly what her mom looks like. (And you do: frizzy fucked-up perm cloud cover so thin you can see her scalp; troubling eye makeup with no other coverage on the face; tight, pursed examples of what in my mother's family they call "the Aunt Pam lips"; lots of turquoise, wood paneling, a truly beloved family dog; paintings of, like, old Navajo women where their back area is also a wolf; that elderly ancient cigarette smell in the car; handmade macramé plant holders in brown and orange wool with huge wooden beads, hanging from fake gold hooks.) She looks like her last name, instead of Reid, which is a good strong name for positive people, should be like "Frunkel" or "Baldcock" or something. Something country and unsightly. She's got loads of mousy, underconditioned brown-colored hair, with two stupid long bleached-out braids punking from her forehead and down her face. She tells us in all seriousness that she's been "compared to Diana Degarmo, and maybe Carrie, because I do sing country, sometimes," like she's in a job interview and not the worst experience of her life. "I've got my own style." And that style: huge, really upsetting and weirdly-packed pink pants, and a stretchy black top. Plus the forehead braids. This is what parents are for, to give you the once-over and then change everything. "I don't fight for the top spot, because I don't think that I need to...Simon's going to love me from the second I walk in." Yeah. He's gonna love this.
The door opens, and love music plays her into the room under a hazy filter. Simon looks scared. As she takes her position, there are unnecessary booming footsteps -- she's 17, and her weight is the least of her problems. She sings "Ain't No Mountain," but with a new melody that is neither internally consistent nor bearing any likeness to the renditions you might be familiar with. Paula can't look at her, just shifts her gaze around the room uncomfortably. Randy's horrified and giggling in that way he has. Her pants are at her belly-button, which is...they're so big. So pink. She trails off, and Paula notes that her audition card says she sounds "exactly like Avril Lavigne." This is so wrong, and so confusing for the judges, that they actually get angry with her. Simon: "What? I'm going to be really nice and suggest to you an entirely new career path, that doesn't involve singing or performing. Because I like you." She disagrees and stands her ground admirably. "Honestly? Absolutely frightful. The whole thing." Paula asks her whether she thought she did well, and looks at her incredibly lucidly, like, she is actually interested, fascinated, by this concept. There's a bit of sympathy there, as well, but mostly she's like, "You really did, didn't you." Paula admits that they've been wrong before, but Randy tries to get her to understand that this time, they are not wrong. She's not having it. She gets totally pissed and yells at them all the way out. There's no discussion of her, because what do you say? She sucked, she doesn't get it, she's seventeen.
She comes into the hallway and tries to slam the door, but it's pneumatic, so no dice, and again, it's like this perfect symbol of how powerless and futile and humiliating this whole thing is. I'm glad they caught so many of these moments this year, because it does lend a certain level to the experience. Inside, Simon's comparing her pants to a sack of potatoes and acts out trying to shove just one more potato in the sack. It's not funny, but it's true. Paula -- and this is subtle, they don't highlight it as usual -- gets up at his first word and stalks off with a bit of disgust. She's so at odds with this entire process -- why can't she just give in and accept that we're talking about a visual medium? There's a reason the Promise Of A New Day video was stretched to a bizarre 2:1 aspect ratio the entire time, and I realize that this gave her an eating disorder, but just because she got better doesn't mean we did.
More wrap-up stuff: One girl throws some bows and Ryan pretends to get thrown to the floor, then later she actually hits him in the face and screams wonderfully, "Oh, shit! I hit him for real!" and everybody laughs. Ryan screams and hugs some girl who's losing it, we cut back to the cute Jeffrey guy that couldn't remember what was going on, and then simply says, "Yeah. I'm probably not going to be an exciting contestant" and opens his mouth in that I'm so crazy! smile, and after a hundred people flashing by so fast you wouldn't know if you saw them again, but chances are you won't, it's over. Fucking thanks for sucking, Austin.
Scandal Watch!: No more news on the Brittenum Twins (unless they've stolen my identity and are writing this recap themselves), but one girl I don't remember seeing (although she's a Hollywood hopeful named Halicia Thompson) had an arrest several years ago for acting a mess, and memorably -- upon being asked to keep her language clean for the kids nearby -- yelled, "Fuck the children!" ["Ah, A Different World Halicia. Still takin' care of the community." -- Joe R] No news on the War of the Simons, but Craggle has apparently mentioned wanting to bone Paula again.
week with Joe R.: a Lesbian singing at a Sports Game, a Whore, GWAR, a Screaming Girl, an Assailant, a Guy we've Seen Before, I think Clay Aiken is auditioning again for some reason, Pink Shrug with Giant Boobs, a Creepy Dude, a Weird Albino Girl, a Soul Singer, and then: HOLLYWOOD! The best part of this whole stupid show!