Salt Lake City, home of David Archuleta and the clean-cut enemies of equal rights. And, I'm sure, a ton of super-nice folks. The crowds are full of that eerie Utah sameness; the music over the crowd montage is "Shiny Happy People," a song that has always made me very sad for reasons I don't really understand, just like "What A Wonderful World." Randy's in a cool black-on-grey Superman t-shirt, still pretending to wonder where they are like he does every time; Paula's excited because this is where the dancers and singers came from for the High School Musicals. I certainly don't know if she's right, I doubt she does either, but what a wonderful world it is, if that's true. ["I'm not sure if she's right, but they sure did film the movie there... so she's at least got some partial correct information for a change." -- Angel]
An Osmond is up first. You can tell by the teeth and the fact that there are seven billion of them. There's archival footage of them being creepy for the last forty years, but you know what? What's important is that they are creepy as a family. The Osmond In Question talks about how his dad has MS, and then the dad cries about something. Oh, the Osmond In Question also has MS, and has been in wheelchairs on and off forever. He could likely be in a wheelchair again very soon, he explains, which is totally freaky, but makes him also the only Osmond I will ever have time for. You know I'm not one to get sentimental about misfortunes, because they earn you nothing except the right to be a victim should you choose to do so, but man MS is the worst. Most diseases that make people cry make me roll my eyes, but MS is a motherfucker.
Should I be cursing here in Salt Lake? Let's see how I do. Meet David Osmond (28, Provo), who will be singing a song by a band I don't think I've ever heard of, Take Six, and will probably be vaguely inspirational in the Archuleta fashion. I don't care to parse the lyrics because I think I'm right, but also because he has an awesome, awesome voice. In addition to being the kindest people on this entire planet, Mormons are also born with the ability to sing like angels. Go check it out. You won't recognize the songs, but they will sound insanely good. You might cry.
Paula instructs him to think of himself as one little angel instead of a choirmember, and not to pick songs by giant groups. Simon agrees, and tells him not to go contemporary. The music gets all sad and this thousand family members shiver outside, but I'm so sure. This show kills me sometimes. They give you all this suspense, and then obviously he's going to Hollywood. Back in the judges' room, Kara is all, "So genuine!" Seems like a treat now, yes. Wait until Day Two, when you're choking on it and all you want is some of that Ryan Talking To Speidi energy, just to give you a break. Notwithstanding Randy's diabetes, authenticity is really hard to live up to. On the other hand, Utah is close to all kinds of horrible places, so maybe some real jerks will show up to counteract it all. Or maybe I'm the jerk, because just now I had to visit the internet because I couldn't remember if Randy was actually diabetic or I was just making up racist bullcorn. Turns out: both.
Meet sad-sacking, goth-tarding, sleeve-missing, psychic power-having harbinger of death Tara Mathews (21, SLC). Ryan's like, "You're psychic? Why are you grabbing your head like that? Can you alter the course of the deaths you foresee, like Patricia Arquette?" And the girl, to her credit, is like, "So far, no." Where people usually have sleeves, she has nothing. This is not a small girl, but it is a small skirt, and where people usually have pants, she has garters under her small skirt, leading to sad boots. It's doughy and bad news in there, but hey, be yourself. She explains that she's not depressed, just Goth. Turns out: both.
Paula asks for something interesting, and Tara tells them up front about how she has "ESP pretty strong." Girls, what have we done to ourselves? If I were Tara's ESP I would shoot myself in the head, because I would be such a colossal failure. Not even the gumption to tell her anything helpful. "Girl, don't go out dressed like that," or "Darlin' don't tell people that you have ESP -- this your ESP speaking," or most especially, "Honey, don't tell people that you can foresee the deaths of both personal friends and people on TV, because it makes you sound like a mental patient." What kind of ESP would I be, if I couldn't even do basic ESP stuff like that? Failure. Boom. She wouldn't even see it coming.
Immediately Randy and Kara are like, "What am I thinking?" Drawing a blank, she admits that not even her powers are up to that challenge. Simon asks if her ESP has told her she's going to do well today; also not something she can get. She hums and then warbles a song about how she's going to fly away, but at the bottom of the screen it says "Bill Collector" is her job, and that means we hate her.
Simon informs her that she looks horrible, and sings like a scary baby. "I'll just leave now since you obviously don't like it," she says, and slumps away. Ryan asks how she's doing, she says not good. She flips off the camera wildly, and her psychic powers tell her that it's getting blurred out.
Aleesha Turner (19, Herriman, UT, "homemaker") has a scariness. It is in her crazy eyes and her crazy smile, but mostly it's in her stuttering, lunatic voice and her chompy weird teeth. I don't know what she's singing, but I know that she looks insane. Then there's ever-so-Mormon Katie Sullivan (18, Orem, UT), who instructs us to look at her, then screams about how gorgeous she is. She is a funny, funny lady and she knows it. Elle Woods maybe, Idol no. Then the weirdest lady of all: Rich Kagel (27, SLC) who has Dee Snider hair, an eyelinered Jeff Conaway face, and a troubled affect. Simon informs him that he will never go anywhere or do anything, and then he shivers and licks his lips and stares, stares, stares.
Then some major nerds: Chris Kirkham (26, Ogden) wearing a Simon t-shirt, and his friend Greg the Rabbit ("I call him 'Grabbit'). Randy goes, "Bunny! Hi, Bunny!" Which may well be the best thing in this whole episode. Chris sings -- and this is exactly what I'm talking about -- Del Amitri's "Roll To Me," a song that should never be sung but especially not in 2008, while the Grabbit bounces around being all hot and beardy like Iron & Wine in a pink bunny suit. Why not just be gay? I know I say this every year, but honestly. It's natural, it's super fun, and way easier than this happy crap right here. Nobody has to know.
So anyway, he sings the song, and Simon finally gets all, "This is getting too real." Kara says he should have hopped like a bunny instead of bouncing on their heels, and Simon goes, "It all started to become normal, and I can't do that." I know exactly what he means, you know? Like you only have one shot to stay sane, and this is not helping. Chris tries another song, and Kara plays with his Simon puppet, and they say no to all of it. Randy loves the big pink bunny, still, and then the big pink bunny sort of... humps Simon. He loves it. Anyone would, come on. Grabbit is the only good thing happening here so far.
More lovely valleys and scary Utah sameness, and then a bunch of No from Simon and Paula, leading us hopefully at some point into the worthwhile thing: a tiny blonde guy, the back of a girl in heels named Laura, a tall sad man with curly hair, a skinny blonde with lots of hair and a weird smile, the back of a pretty girl in boots and leggings, the front of that pretty girl still in boots and leggings from this direction as well, the lady we'll eventually be getting to and her baby, happy auditioners laughing Mormonly, hot skinny dude with a soul patch and a vest and a choker with a gold feather on it stubbornly remaining hot regardless of these things, adorable laughing girl in a weird beaded Renaissance shirt, an elderly black cowboy with an absurdly knotted tie -- seriously, it's like a twelve-in-hand knot this guy's working -- and a whole lot of bling, adorable sparkly-eyed nerdy girl refusing to let disappointment get her down, the back of a girl in a big floppy shirt and flares, many buckteeth, many shots of Simon looking astounded and all Ain't That America, a guy I swear I've met in real life in a striped pink shirt, Simon dozing off angrily, a hot ginger kid, Paula's face getting so weird, and various losers we don't need to worry about.
Ryan goes out into the holding room and tells the group to put up a fight and refuse to accept defeat no matter what the judges say. You can tell he's doing this to dick with Simon, and I think most of the auditioners are aware, but their morale is improved notwithstanding. Then there's a lady with a baby who was born to do this and also dance around, and wants us to understand that we will love her voice. Also, she has been visualizing success. I think we're supposed to like her, but I kind of already don't. Frankie Jordan (24, Hollywood, CA) is a stay-at-home mom and full-time believer in herself. Luckily, she has a fair amount of skill and a sort of Holliday-via-Winehouse style, and an acceptable vocal talent. On the other hand, she's singing a Winehouse song, which kind of puts her in that Scott Savol place of being a wannabe. However, Simon informs her, she has a "cute little face" and a good voice, so they put her through. She won't get far, I don't think. Or, as Ryan puts it, "Frankie goes to Hollywood." Relax, Ryan. Jacob say relax.
From the smile and tired eyes of Megan Corkrey (23, Sandy, UT), we can surmise a couple of things before she even speaks. One, she definitely has a baby. Two, she has a sad story. I hope she keeps it a secret! First up: yep, there's the baby. And yes, his name is Rider. And yes, she is getting divorced, and has been crying for a long time now, but her kid has been charged with stabilizing his mother's emotional state. That will end well. "World I Know" plays as she explains that being a single mother at her age is exactly what her destiny should be, plus being on this show of course. From my smile and tired eyes at this juncture, you should be able to surmise a few things about my situation right now.
On the plus side, she's a font designer, which is a wicked cool job assuming she's actually doing it and not just answering the questionnaire aspirationally, and she's going to be singing "Can't Help Loving That Man Of Mine," which is sort of darkly hilarious. Can she sing? Sort of? Yeah, no, actually she can. You can tell her nervousness is doing her no favors, but she has an interesting voice and a grip on pitch. Paula's bordering on loving her, Randy's into her, Simon calls it one of his favorite auditions because she's likeable and has a cool voice. Kara likes her incredible face. Outside, Ryan accidentally backs into a conversational cul-de-sac where neither of them have anything to say, and she exits gracefully. Still, I foresee drama at the Hollywood stage. up: a story that will break your heart and dread your locks!
But first, just a little bit of my girl Kelly Clarkson, singing some new awesome song sure to get the hipsters hopping six months after anybody with commercial sense has already embraced it. I know this because she's made sixty albums and that has happened every time: six to eight months of silence, and then it's every DJ's favorite thing. Bust out "Just Missed The Train" time you're hanging with your music friends, and enjoy when they ask you when it dropped, because you can tell them honestly it was on her first album. Her deep cuts, especially as she's matured, are sometimes a little too deep, but the girl can turn out a pop song as fast as anybody, and usually with more formal integrity and emotional complexity to boot. Plus, her videos are awesome. I am freaking out about the fact that Kelly's got an album coming out, which I only learned because I was watching American Idol, which I was only doing because I love each and every one of you, so: thanks.
Per Ryan a "hot streak" followed Megan: clean-cut hottie with perfect teeth and a penchant for hugging, a ringletted Brooke-alike whose face I didn't get to see, a wild-eyed blonde with a moon face and Old Navy jeans who won't last long no matter how many of her identical friends are there to scream and scream and scream, a very young and very skinny blowsy Pickleresque blonde who can read.
Then the tragic Andrew Gibson (21, Kearns, UT) does the snake on the floor and is hopefully kidding as he sings the low notes and the high, and is informed that he has "a soul," but not "soul." His lovely parents crowd him, and it's on to the girlcrack we call Austin Sisneros (17, Riverton, UT), who will be freaking you out with his nightmarish A-Fed jailbaitness for the entire rest of your life. We keep getting older, but the A-Feds just stay the same age. Yes they do.
Austin likes leadership, setting a good example, planning Homecoming, making good choices, inspiring people, and hoping until his little heart threatens to burst. "When I Look To The Sky," by Train, leaves drops of Jupiter running down Paula's face. Randy didn't love the song choice, and he almost starts crying: "You guys don't want me to fail, you want me to do good, right?" Magic words. I want to be Austin when I grow up. But also, I actually would want to grow up. His other song is "It Takes A Village," okay, by RAFFI, which is so dang wrong on so many levels, but not as hilariously wrong as him calling it "an old soul song." Or, I don't know, if Austin says it's a soul song maybe it is. He's driving this wagon, because I just want this to be over.
Austin busts into it, all about how it takes a whole village to raise one child, and his t-shirt has angel wings silkscreened on the back of it. Kara and Paula are like, "We're done, he's in." Randy says that he's made some weird song choices, because Randy has no idea about "secular music" and how Amy Grant used to be like the Way-Cool Aunt of music, but then one day crossed over to being the Satanic Whore Aunt of Babylon, and everybody had to pile up her records in the street and run over them with dumptrucks to cleanse the world of her sin and reclaim our eardrums for righteousness. They weren't "weird" song choices, Randy, they were the two songs this kid's ever heard that don't actually include lamb's blood in the lyrics. When Austin says Raffi is "soul" music, he's saying it sounds the most like "real" music, which he has not ever actually heard.
Austin gets through on being adorable and clueless and having a great voice, obviously, and the entire state of Utah goes up in screaming and well-meaning riots as Austin cries with his family in relief and gratitude, takes a quick prayer-and-crying break, and then runs out into the holding room, where the entire room goes insane for him, because he's magical. Imagine a world with no TMZ, no Tila Tequila, no Nikki Blonsky or Zac Efron, no Lindsay Lohan selling her desperate leggings. Imagine the wee Aryan unicorn that might come cantering across a rainbow one bright day in Utah, counseling good choices and strong families and taking a moment to be grateful for what you have. Short of eating him in a single bite like a lemon tart, the world can only stand back and applaud.
Ryan looks at the historical site of High School Musical with a fondness and a deep respect for the accomplishments of past generations, leading into a montage of crying. Cute chubby girl, girl with a puppet, floppy-haired boy, that Laura girl whose back we saw earlier, the laughing Mormon girl from before now crying, a girl that looks like Andy Samburg in a skit about lady bartenders, floppy declaring himself something special, a weird metaphor about tears and salt water. Jacob say RELAX, Ryan. I won't tell you again.
Jarrett Burns (24, Orem, UT) sings a song instructing a girl to put on a record and listen to her favorite song. I daresay this would not be it. Another montage of bad skin and terrible goat singing, some yodeling, an angry crazy girl, some braces girl doing runs with glitter jacked all over her face and making Simon laugh derisively right in her face.
Then comes hula girl Taylor Vaifanua (16, Hurricane, UT), who moved from Hawaii to Salt Lake City so she can get discovered. In Utah. She's 5' 11", but is learning to understand why that's awesome. A hug from giggling Austin helps her make that leap. She has a gravitas and a niceness and a smartness that I very much like. She dresses a little professionally, but carries herself amazingly. Randy of course starts talking about Jordin Sparks, because all he knows in this entire ding-dang world is that Jordin Sparks was once 16, and he always says it no matter what the context is. If you said, "My little brother is turning 23 this week," he would say, "Interesting. You know, Jordin Sparks is 16." Even if she was forty-eight, which is approximately how old she is at this point anyway. Taylor sings a lovely song about God called "Joyful Joyful," and it is very long but very pretty. Kara heard her in the bathroom practicing, so had already decided on loving her. Randy and Paula like her voice a lot, mentions for the one millionth time that it's Season Eight, which is the other thing he knows, and then she's unanimously through.
Okay, let's do this. Lots of amazing people, with extraordinary lives. And then there's Rose Flack (17, Rathdrum, ID). Rose doesn't drive -- she walks around on her filthy feet without shoes and with her dreadlocks and sundress-over-pants ensembles -- so she enjoys living with her friend's parents in a small town. Her dad died when she was 13, he was amazing and she misses him. He was so amazing that he made his daughter live in a car with him rather than a house, and she really misses him. Then two years later, her mom was in a car accident. Now she has a puppy, and her big brother loves her very much. I don't have a whole lot left to offer, but I can say I'm not really rolling my eyes.
Well, I am, but not at Rose. Rose seems fine. Under the dumb fake dreadlocks personality and filthy feet, she has a pretty sweet regular personality. And it's not like I'm all that well-traveled, as in, I don't really know the semiotics of this look outside of Austin, TX -- where generally it screams, "I am unbearable!" -- and Rose could be saying something else entirely. "Idaho is not where I was meant to be born!" perhaps, or "Living with Mormons gives you limited options!" She's charming, and obviously smart, and enunciates well. I just... She seems pretty special, and you can just picture some creepy producer looking at all this footage, and hearing her entire family die one person at a time, and she's got the no-shoes thing happening, and the dreadlocks, and this whole look that would normally tell you she's very boring -- and maybe she is very boring, but she's nice, and honestly at this point nice is better than interesting -- and this producer guy is like, "This is the money shot. Edit all that horror footage together so we can just become Extreme Idol Makeover already." Which sort of does a disservice to Rose, I think, because like us she doesn't even seem to think those tragedies are very interesting. Just sad.
On the other hand, can she sing? Basically, yes. There's a passion you can't really fake, and she's got a lot of soul behind it for a 17-year-old that looks like a gross dirty-footed hippie begging for money outside the Starbucks, and she's a lovely girl, and doesn't have too many issues with pitch. So I mean, shut up and put her through and stop messing around with her head, because obviously she's going. Simon tells her he absolutely loves her, and finds her to be very special, and says he'll remember her for once. And she unanimously gets through, and dorks out and hugs everybody, and comes out screaming, and her friend hugs her, and she jumps around on her filthy feet. Good for her.
So, we've got thirteen Golden Tickets from SLC: Rose, a twirling girl, a screaming girl, a member of the clergy, a man with bad hair, that mother, the very young blonde, Chipmunk Cheeks II, some dudes, presumably Austin. After everybody leaves, Ryan's like, "Simon, that girl you said you'd remember forever? What was her name?" Let's let his answer remain a mystery.
TOMORROW: I will gratefully get back to cursing and swearing throughout the entire last audition episode, where we've apparently smashed San Juan and NYC together: the usual bunch of awful attention- and drug-seekers, and a weird number of people slamming into walls and walls slamming into people. Either this means they both suck -- Is "suck" a curse word? The perennial question -- which equals two halves of suck, or they both suck in such a way that smashing them together means it will be a non-stop hour-long filler-free thrill-ride. I don't think I could even have managed to hope for the latter until I met Austin, who taught me that sometimes you don't want things to fail, because things become so much nicer when they succeed. Yes they do.
THEN: HOLLYWOOD. And among the lovely shots of people going completely insane and making this entire show worthwhile each year, there are a surprising number of people I recognize. Probably a record number, actually, if I'm remembering correctly. Not by name, you know, but I see some people. I see that horrible Tatiana, and I see Rose, and the two gay dudes. So that's good, because as much as the sob stories are completely ridiculous and manipulative this year, the people on the other side of them seem pretty interesting from the get-go, so somebody is doing their job. Oh, Hollywood. You make one week out of twenty so beautiful, and you last such a short, lovely time.