To an orchestral tune that's half-Rocky, half Masterpiece Theatre, a big dumb old-school mic comes snaking down from the ceiling into the hand of an old, old man who talks like wrestling. So this is like a boxing match. Because when I look into the confused Bambi eyes of Archuleta and the skinny-pants indie mojo of Cook, I won't deny it. I do think of violence.
Here's what I think. This whole thing is going to be stupid. You know it, and I know it. No matter how pretty they sing, or whatever other crap Ryan pulls out of his hat, this is going to be dumb as hell. And then it's going to be down to the voting blocs. I have trouble imagining a single person in this universe who would randomly turn on the TV and be like, "American Idol? I have not heard of this!" and then an hour later be mobilized to pick up the phone by exciting fucking songs like "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me." Or "Imagine," or whatever the unholy crap the coronation songs are going to be this year. So it doesn't actually matter how they do tonight, or really even what the judges say. It's going to be about who you like more, and if you feel like voting -- which may in fact be influenced by what the judges say, if you are a crazy -- and whoever you like more, in aggregate as Americans, that's who's going to win.
So since that's the entire point, why even sing? I like listening to both of their voices, but if this song were about voices, there's a list of people I have written here on the inside of my hand that should still be here. So I say you let them keep those gloves on, and we drop a mesh steel cage down on there, and tell them that whoever stays conscious the longest will win whatever the prize is that they win on this show, which I either can't remember or never actually knew. Toss in some metal folding chairs and aluminum baseball bats in case it gets boring, serve up some Coors Light to the audience, and let 'em go. Because the slapping, hair-pulling girlfight that would commence would be even better than this show usually is.
"Welcome to the Nokia Theatre," "let's get ready to rumble," "At 180 pounds, the real deal from Missouri, David 'Sugarfoot' Cook!" I am not making this up, this really happened. These are all phrases the old man says. ["That's not just any old guy, that's Michael Buffer who has made his living kicking off fights... though I'm ashamed to admit that I know that." -- Angel] "Weighing in at a hundred pounds soaking wet," in the other corner, "David 'Babyface' Archuleta!" And I mean, sure. There hasn't been a male-on-male showdown on this show since the overwhelming tide of testosterone last splashed up around our necks in Season Two and threatened to overwhelm us all with its virility. And I would pay ever so much money to watch Ruben beat the shit out of Clay. But ...
This is the level of creativity on display? "We need a theme. So like, what is this season like? They're both guys. What do guys do together that's kind of like this show?" And man, I have a lot of suggestions on that one, and some but not necessarily all of them are appropriate for this venue. But "pugilism" would not even occur to me. A thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters, shown photographs of the Davids in a controlled environment, would not come up with boxing as a theme. What the Davids are best at is making insincere schmucky faces, being inauthentic and weird, and crying like giant babies. Which all boxers do, but not in the ring. Maybe boxers do crossword puzzles on their spare time, but I bet they don't think it's something to brag about.
Ryan comes out onstage and makes some insincere schmucky faces of his own, and then asks for cheers from the crowd. Archuleta gets a scream about half of Cook's, or about equal to Randy's applause, and Cook gets only slightly less than Simon. Then there's a video about a boxing... person... for some reason, and some shit like the Davids are in The Matrix if The Matrix had... boxing, and some crazy pictures of Underwood looking nervous, some pictures of LA, and then more about how "in one corner" just like a second ago, and then they try to make the boys discuss this week as though it's a boxing match, and they punch the heavy bag. I mean...
This is ludicrous. I'm not even listening because this forced-analogy kind of bavardage is like half of all things that suck on TV. It's so backwards and stupid. I think they say Clive Davis and Andrew Lloyd Webber are dating or something. Clive talks some elderly shit at them and they stare wetly at nothing, and neither of them have ever hit the Seal, and the boxing guy yells and then they act goofy and squirrelly with each other, and Archuleta won the coin toss so he's going second.
Ryan asks Cook how it feels to be on the stage at the Nokia Theatre, but he asks the crowd. How it feels. To be onstage at the Nokia Theatre. Which makes no goddamn sense at all, but is very fucking David Cook if you think about it. Archuleta tries his own inept hand at pandering equally but it kind of fades off into vague nothingness, because it's Archuleta. Cook tries on yet more hipster insouciance that neither plays nor is particularly appropriate, and just when you're tired of watching two idiots onstage pretend that they can work a crowd and just coming off as tools instead, Ryan kicks it to Randy Jackson, for whom this is a life calling.
Frankly, I think seventeen is pushing it, because besides Michael Cera and the kids from Gossip Girl, who are fictional, I don't want any seventeen-year-olds making any decisions for me. But twenty? Thirty? So I guess whatever I'm holding against Archuleta is actually my grudge against Future Archuleta. And I mean, usually I love robots but this is a living, wheezing person we're talking about.
But that's not my problem with this U2 tune -- which Cook's, yes, rocking -- my problem with knowing he's going to do it greatly, and then watching him do it greatly, is that who fucking cares if you can rock U2? Excelling at played-out, careworn Oldies Hits of the '70s '80s and '90s is what this show is all about, right, except what Cook is all about is about being better than this show, and being better than that. So unless he transforms it into like a soulful blues number or something, it's going to be Cook acing the Archuleta, which is gross. And which is what is happening.
And it is good! It sounds just like David Cook singing U2 karaoke, and I bet it sounds ten million times better right there in your face, and I've always kind of known I'd lose my shit if I was actually there because I like this stuff, but: All the rock star junk in the world, plus the vastly huger crowd, I can't even imagine. Excelling at mediocrity is its own reward.
Ryan dubs him "DC" and calls it a "duel" again; wonders if DC really did everything he could with it -- no -- and Paula says that she has found what she is looking for, and it is David Cook. She notes that his voice sounds great, which it does more than it has some weeks. Simon points out how tense he was at the beginning of the show, but notes that he was phenomenal anyway.
Fucking Clive fucking picked fucking "Don't Let The Sun (Or Randy Jackson) Go Down On Me" for DA. Which is just so offensive on so many levels I can't even count them. His voice sounds deeper and stronger than it has, he does the cheeseburger hands, lots of runs and power notes and whatever, whatever, some bouncing moves, tight jeans, a chorus behind him, and then some diva growls at the end because... he is David Archuleta, he does that shit without thinking twice. Clive Davis claps his old ass off, because Clive Davis in his eternal and unending scary life has only found the time to hear five songs. Ever.
To review: David Cook sang the U2 tune and David Archuleta sang the Elton John song, and they were both the same person for a second. Then two horrible songs, one or more of which we'll hear tomorrow, which was weird because the Cook one was a bad song done well and the Archuleta song was a marginally better song done marginally better by someone marginal. Then Cook did a very good performance of his song followed by a truly amazing performance of being a person and I think I sort of fell in love with him, but then Archuleta excelled at being on this show, which is the point of being on this show.
Oh, and then Ruben sings that song we've heard every week, I think. It's really boring, because it's Ruben singing a Ruben-type song, and there are shots of ... the hell? People walking around on a farm and shit. Oh, it's the auditions and associated footage. How irrelevant and unrelated to the foregoing. Maybe this is in lieu of dealing with that shit tomorrow? If that's true I'm going to feel like an asshole for putting that off on Joe for sure, even though I think he will do a better job with it either way. And anyhow, it's been a wonderful season and I really have actually enjoyed it, for probably the first time ever. And you have, of course, been wonderful, and I will miss you.
But so, let's place our bets. The cynical part of me says that Archuleta will win no matter what. Not because of voting blocs, because that's just self-aggrandizing crap about how you're cooler -- or older -- than the people who like Archuleta, or better/smarter than anybody that doesn't "get" David Cook. Neither of which are very attractive ways to deal with this show. But I think there's a not entirely horrible thing about David Archuleta winning, because he's a nice kid and gives me a hopeful feeling about the young people, and I think that probably one thing that Archuleta fans have in common is that they are nice, hopefully. Nice in that Jason Castro, Hufflepuff kind of way. Enjoys crafts. Popsicle sticks and glitter and safety scissors, and hugs, and dancing around to "The Monster Mash" on Halloween. I am very much in love with that kind of America.
But is this finale all that different from Blake/Jordin, really? Isn't it as exciting, and as fresh, and as new as that felt? And aren't Jordin and Blake just kind of the girl versions of the Davids? I think when people toss the "Disney" signifier around, they're not just talking about greeting-card feelings and ignorant sentimentality, but also about this pretty Puritan idea we, as Americans, have had for awhile that to be truly happy you have to also be stupid. So by that measure, the even more optimistic and slightly less cynical side of me says that Cook will win, because joy doesn't necessarily imply innocence.
Maybe that's the way unhappiness justifies itself: at least I'm not content. At least I'm not blissfully ignorant. At least my lack of joy comes from a good place. I think that's a causal fallacy, cum hoc ergo propter hoc, that tells us that because we are smart people who are also unhappy people, that the two are linked, which means anybody who is happy is actually suffering, either from their actual unhappiness about which they are deceived, or because they are stupid, or because they are in a cult, or because their Dad controls them. I think it's a natural fallacy to make. Mostly because it's how we survive.
But even if none of us ever see it, I still believe that you can be honestly joyful in the Brooke way without ever getting bipolar about it. So if you take away the neutered, enforced innocence and weird blankness of Archuleta or Jordin, you just have somebody who loves what he does, and wants to move forward into the future and make changes and play around with sounds and make new sounds that nobody ever heard before. I think you can be a bartender who writes crap on his hand and pretends to be a rock star as long as it takes to become one and has a weird melon-shaped head, and cries onstage when it gets to be too big -- you can be that guy and do your crosswords and still be something hopeful, and beautiful, and messy, and good. I think if there's a theme running through his song choices this season it's that, and I'm a fan of that. And I am even more in love with that kind of America, even if this show generally is not.
I liked Miranda July when she was fucked up, a long time ago, and all her songs were about strippers figuring out that the guy watching them strip was actually their dad, and going into total meltdown right in front of you. But probably the most important thing she ever said was when she was finally sane, and it's basically about this: Most people don't have shoes that fit, and they rub our ankles and squeeze our toes and make little blisters that pop and are disgusting. (Don't worry, I'm not going to the Jacob place, it's not a metaphor: I'm talking about the literal shoes on your actual feet.) You could spend your whole life thinking that foot pain is just a natural phenomenon, so you should suck it up and go on wearing the shoes that you're wearing. Or we get together in our little groups and say the people with comfortable shoes are lacking something else: style, fortitude, whatever. But none of this is really the case: we just forgot that foot pain is not a fact of life. That life is actually much better than that.