Over 103,000 people: now we're down to 72. Today we're getting solo performances with a band and singers, and an instrument if they like. And the judges don't say anything, just look at you, but deep inside you know. Then they put them all in those rooms and dick them around a bit, and then tomorrow comes the Chair to kick off the last 18 kids, I think, and that's Top 36. Then it's three weeks of Boy/Girl/Whatever You Got, and then three Wild Cards on the last Thursday; so this means that Top 12 actually starts March 10. Or something.
First up: Adam Lambert, whom Kara found to be too musical theatre still. Paula agreed, but then disagreed with herself. Simon didn't seem to like him that much, but he's clearly talented and can make money. Ryan blanches when he says he's chosen to sing "Believe" by Cher; he assures us it won't be horrible, and then it sort of is. Of course, it's horrible in the most fascinating way, like one of those sad slow piano covers everybody must do from time to time, and I can't say I didn't ask for these kinds of mash-up outside-the-box ideas. It's a little cooler in concept than it could ever be in execution, which seems to be Adam's specialty. Good thing his voice is Broadway-trained, even if it's a bit sharp throughout. Also, it is a good thing that he is a lady.
Do you believe in life after Adam Lambert? Matt Giraud, the Louisville dueling-pianist who reminded Simon of Elliott. He sings "Georgia On My Mind" on the piano, and rocks it out. Kara is amazed. Kara is also, I should point out, dressed like the witch girl from that comic book Runaways. It's wicked hot. Afterward, he almost cries. I get nothing from him. Were I a drug-sniffing dog, he would be the negative-space duffle bag that would make me cry and roll over and worry that my nose had gone blind. But who cares about any of this when Danny Gokey exists somewhere in the world? Let's find out.
Danny Gokey watched Jamar sing the worst song ever written, "Hey There Delilah," in a sort of irritating faux-cracked way with a horrible smile, dressed like the "Hey Ya" video. Maybe it's good; that song makes me want to vomit and I didn't, so that's a good sign. But who cares about Jamar? It's Danny's turn. He'll be singing his usual Archuleta-esque dead wife choice of "I Hope You Dance"; I checked out. He's real cute but he does have that mushmouth, and seems to think that he inspires us with everything he does to try harder, to believe more, and the like. In a child of Archuleta's age, it was marginally nauseating. For a forty-year-old man like Danny, it's straight-up gross. And I feel that we will never know a very important thing: how much of him is just naturally pander, and how much is the evil of this show? I could end up getting pretty mean until we figure it out for sure, but I'm pretty sure there's an It he could be Cutting Out.
Three more dudes we've been force-fed the whole time: Anoop Dogg sings "It's My Prerogative" in his typically understated besweatered fashion; Jorge Nuñez sings some uninteresting song uninterestingly; and then Scott "Blind Guy" MacIntyre sings that DAUGHTRY song we didn't get enough of last year, at the piano. He's pretty nervous, but keeps it out of his performance for the most part, except for some off-key vibrato at the end. Of course Paula stands up with an entire Pottery Barn's worth of weird metal implements around her neck and ovates him, not so much so that he -- being blind -- will see it, as much as so everybody else will. Scott's like, "Nice to hear that she did that."
Kendall Beard, a tiny blonde from UT, sings a warbly, nervously terrible "Before He Cheats"; Stevie Wright's giant gorgeous face hits us with some sixteen-year-old babbling and then a husky, flat "Bubbly"; Lil Rounds -- who's kind of the Blind Guy of the girls at this point -- does "If I Can't Have You" so loudly that her microphone threatens to come undone like a drama queen or three on Hollywood Week. Then Ryan sits down with Nate's fellow weird-haired drama ho Kristin, and tells her Ghetto Nancy of the plastic red weave is sitting right behind her, waiting to apologize. This is a lie, and he's very proud of himself as Kristin cries that he almost made her heart stop. Almost. She sings a fairly masterful "Because Of You" that falls the hell apart in the middle, but you can see the talent behind the fuckups.
Last year Mishavonna Henson went to Hollywood, and we met her family -- she must have been one of Joe's, I don't remember her in the slightest -- and she got cut in the second week of Hollywood. Now she's doing strange movements and singing all breathy and weird about "this craaaazy life" and other craaaaazy things, and scraping against the flatness at least once a line. In the waiting rooms, with -- it appears -- everybody we just saw, she leans her head on Performund Normund, showing another sort of poor judgment. I don't understand now, because aren't they all in Room 1? Whatever. Matt Giraud is terrified, even though he's in a room with Anoop, Lil Rounds, and the butterflies and angels singing choruses in the sunlight and rainbows emanating from Danny Gokey's heart.
By 8:45 that night, there are people in Room 2. Alex Wagner-Trugman, Michael "Roughneck" Sarver, somebody named Ricky Braddy we've never seen before, I think India, and Tatiana. We get yet another damned montage of Tatiana being annoying as hell and singing not that great. Today she did a great rendition of "I'm Your Baby Tonight" that trailed off into well-meaning, lovely insanity. I hate her even more when she does well. She wanders around twirling and whispering madness to herself, proving me right. Then Alexis Grace does a much better "Before He Cheats"; Kenny Hoffpauer is a 16-year-old we haven't really seen, with floppy Vampire Weekend hair and a voice that's either totally intriguing or really irritating, but I'm thinking the former; Jasmine Murray sings "Tattoo" at a really weird place in her range, and is awesome to look at. They're all in Room 2.
Guess who else is there? Nathaniel, who played guitar and lisped his way through... a fairly awesome rendition of "Disturbia," following Adam's lead. Everybody's good at something, I suppose. I think only if Nate lived through a nightmare kidnapping/organ-theft scenario like Hostel or Turistas, or I guess Jeepers Creepers 2, it might give him the necessary perspective to be taken seriously, by both himself and us, but at this point it looks like maybe that's the only way. It's intercut with scenes of him being bullshitty at all hours, so there's a funny little juxtaposition of him singing about Disturbia and then reenacting it versus life. Then he curtsies. Ryan's like, "Can this bitch leave the drama behind? That would be weird." In my world, Rihanna and Alicia Keys switch places, Adam Lambert mentors Nate in the fine art of barely keeping it together, and Tatiana del Toro is ripped apart by wild dogs. Then we dance.
Joanna Pacitti, I keep seeing her name everywhere but she has one of those pretty faces that's hard to remember later. Today, her nerves cause what Ryan calls a "disaster," and oh, he is not wrong. She forgets all the words. To an Alicia Keys song! Her songs barely have words, Joanna! Just end every line with "moon" or "June" or "harpoon" and they'll think you've improved on that shit. Or just stop singing for no reason and babble about whatever the fuck you want. Works for her. Just in the middle of it, with all the backups going and the guitars, just drop the mic on your shoe and go, "Uh, I feel kind of silly doing this, but um, this is the waitress from the coffee house on 39th and Lennox. You know, the one with the braids? Yeah, well I see you on Wednesdays all the time! You come in every Wednesday on your lunch break, I think, and you always order the special, with the hot chocolate."
See? That's interesting because it's vérité. But there's so much more.
"And my manager be tripping and stuff, talking 'bout we gotta use water, but I always use some milk and cream for you, 'cause I think you're kinda sweet. Anyway, you always got on some fly blue suit 'n your cuff links are shining all bright. So, what do you do? Oh, word? Yeah, that's interesting. Look man, I mean I don't wanna waste your time, but -- I know girls don't usually do this, but -- I was wondering if maybe we could get together? Outside the restaurant one day? You know, 'cause I do look a lot different outside my work clothes. I mean, we could just go across the street to the park right here. Wait, hold up, my cell phone breakin' up, hold up. Can you hear me now? Yeah."
Some people have to go to Juilliard to write that kind of motherfucking prose. And then along comes DNA to do the remix.
Casey Carlson forgets the words to the similarly brainless "Tattoo," and then Stephen Fowler sits at the piano. He's been up all night practicing, and talking crazy like a truly exhausted sweetheart, but his giant hair shows no signs of fatigue. The performance is awesome, right up until he forgets the words, and he nearly starts crying. Ryan's like, "Remember when Brooke White asked to start over on live television?" He's like, still offended about that!
Stephen fucks it up a second time and wanders away, and then sits in Room 2 -- with Von Smith! -- looking bereft. Then at some point the judges realize they've fucked up the numbers, and send a PA to get Tatiana and send her to another room. She readjusts her boobs in prayer. The only cliffhanger I want to see at this point is the one Tatiana's eventually going to Last of the Mohicans herself over. Now she's just wandering around while the judges try to figure out what to do with the other 36 people.
Nick Mitchell was Normund on the first day, and then on Group Day turned into Nick, which Simon found laughable and boring at once. He asks us if he should maybe get fucking serious, and then laughs like that's one of a number of suggested options. Happily, it's Normund who comes out, in sweatbands, minces on top of the piano and then crawls around on his knees and screams "Georgia On My Mind." Why is this fun? What makes this interesting? His hologram shirt is sort of interesting, and his... Well, Nate loves him. You know? Just loves him.
The last 38 -- again -- go into Rooms 3 and 4. Room 3 has Lenesha the girl who wrote her own song, and in Room 4 Anne Marie Boskovich has Normund to him. She also sang "I Hope You Dance," as well as that Silver Lake ass. Anne Marie does her usual consummate job, although the exhaustion is starting to show. Ju'Not is in that room as well, and he sang "Delilah," and then we remember how they brought his son into the original audition. His voice is good, Simon likes the voice. I'm starting to freak. They finally send Tatiana into Room 4, which scares the shit out of everybody because that's Tati and Nick Mitchell together. She of course immediately tries to drag all of them into her shit, and nobody's interested, because that's how Slytherin rolls.
As usual, ninety percent of these people we have never seen. Leneshe and Kaylan Loyd are in Room 3. Who? Doesn't matter, she sucked. We revisit Leneshe and her story of homelessness and songwriting, and I can't help but wonder what America will do if Room 3 is out. She sings that song about how you're not getting a love song no matter what. She looks cute, her voice is untrained but lovely. In Room 3, she slowly goes insane. Welcome to Hufflepuff, here are your safety scissors.
The three winning rooms come running out hugging; Creepy Nate attempts to flirt with Creepy Gay Kid so they can get Creepy Gay Married and have Creepy Chinese Babies. I cannot think of an amount I wouldn't pay -- or act so filthy I wouldn't at least give it a college try -- in order to get them both into the Top 12, shrieking Celine Dion covers at each other every week no matter what the theme, and crying endlessly, constantly, whimperingly, about nothing at all. Can you imagine the Caldwell-esque amounts of bleeding eyeliner we could squeeze out of those two on elimination night? Like a-bubblin' crude. Or how their ripped-up stupid t-shirts could become solidarity wristbands for those dramatic hand moves. Sadly, Creepy Gay Kid has a label-queen air that we can presume makes him think he's too good for Nate. Creepy Fake Contacts and Concept Hair/Piercings are two verrrry different kinds of awkwardly gay that won't mix until college, and even then it's sort of tense. Frankly, now that we've reached the end of this paragraph I think we can agree they're one of those couples where they both could do better.
I do look a lot different outside my work clothes. I mean, we could just go across the street to the park right here. Wait, hold up, my cell phone breakin' up, hold up. Can you hear me now? Yeah. That's a Grammy, an MTV VMA, and two ASCAP awards. Right there.
But for serious, I can't believe how little we've actually accomplished here. From 72 to 54? What? Why not eliminate two rooms and be done? Because then there would be no Chair. And I do love the Chair. Whatever, my spirit is already broken this week. I hope for the Chair not only that Danny and Jamar will be face-off'd, but also that they will give Tatiana and Normund a couple of knives, lock them in a janitor's closet, and see what happens. Every single goddamn time Tatiana gets through, it hurts worse. It's like a Greek punishment myth, only instead of your liver growing back it's Tatiana del Toro.
Is last season a fuzzy blur? Take a look back at the lowlights.