To prep you for the imminent Ikaikathon, there are a few things ABC would like you to remember. Ikaika fled Orlando when the contract negotiations stalled. His brother Haku did all the talking, which concerned Ashley: "I felt like he was letting Haku tell him what to do, and I didn't like that...It's Ikaika's name on the contract, it's not Haku's." We see Bryan dialing Ikaika in Hawaii, but he reaches an answering machine and informs us he's called every day and failed to reach his friend. Jacob finally reminds us that Ikaika left no word as to the date of his return.
Passion? Check. Sacrifice? Check. Determination? Check. We're off and running.
The Six enter the recording studio to cut a polished track of "All For Love." It's apparently a twisted Trans Con tactic of punishing the viewers for O-Town's holiday misadventures. Erik Estrada, middle name be damned, is ecstatic. "This is the week I've been waiting for," he enthuses, inasmuch as he opens his eyes a little wider and wiggles an eyebrow. "We finally get to record our first song." Cut to a montage of studio scenes -- there's a microphone, important sound-mixing equipment and a rec room. See? They're real singers. Enter Dakari, a nice-looking African-American man who we learn committed two atrocities: producing the record and writing the synthetic drivel they call "All For Love." Devil, thy name is Dakari. He explains that the guys need to concentrate on the chorus and the complex harmonies he composed. He sings the root melody, and it turns out Dakari has a great voice. Hey, man -- quit your day job. Seriously. Palpable excitement infuses the stale studio as O-Town gazes lovingly at the microphones. Mini-Lou is mercifully missing, probably away rehearsing "Just the Two of Us" with his blubberific bigger self.
Jacob goes first, because you know, he is the most special and there's really no one like him. It's true! Have you ever seen such a balls-on accurate personification of "generic"? For me, it's a first. Jacob's clutching at his headphones, belting out something to do with one-syllable simplicities such as "love" and "ooh" and the like. "Big big big," booms Dakari. As Jacob croons, Trevor swoons. He's staring through the round porthole on the recording booth's door, bouncing uncontrollably and gnawing his fingernails in tingly glee. up is Ashley, whose singing is so strenuous that his already-rosy cheeks deepen dramatically in hue. Ash is hitting some high notes, and Dakari tells him that anxiety will kick that shit up a few octaves, yo. Sure, whatever, D. A studio-hand asks Jacob if it's their First Time, and Jacob points out it's O-Town's first day in the studio as a unit, but by singling out Trevor, implies everyone else is used to all this. "It's the first song he's ever recorded in a studio," Jacob says, but what he means is, "Amateurs, all of them. I am so fucking incredible and experienced."
Trevor enters the booth. "He's a virgin," Dakari says in case we missed the white tux from New Year's Eve. "We gotta have some fun with him." After Trev sings something a tad sub-par, Dakari calls to him, "Yo, I want you to be a little more loose. Gimme ten push-ups." Ever the amiable soul, Trevor obliges. Dakari turns around and unleashes a potent snicker. The other band members confirm Trevor's truly obeying the order, and everyone erupts in mocking merriment. What a bunch of shitheads. Trev straightens up and hits the mike again, but doesn't get the line quite right -- or maybe he does; it probably doesn't matter, irrelevant to Dakari's crusade. "Uh-uh. Ten more," Satan says to a shrugging and oblivious Trevor. Dakari chuckles that he'll have done one hundred push-ups by the end of the set. "We have to treat you like this because you're a rookie," Dakari says. Naturally, he's right. The only way to treat an earnest, innocent, hard-working enthusiast like Trevor is to make him feel like the worst and weakest link in O-Town's chain. That is a really special idea. The hell? Could someone please delineate the stellar studio achievements that make the other five seasoned veterans?
Bryan Chan's fans will be sated, but briefly. The two seconds of singing screen-time he gets are about to be...ah, yeah, that's it for this week. Does anyone out there still think he has a chance? Just checking. Jacob tells us Bryan's only weakness is "making his voice fit with everyone's and making a nice, soft, even tone." Mike is , crooning a couple lines of "All For Love" and proving he's pretty damn solid. "You sound tight, boy!" Dakari confirms. Jacob sings half a verse, then the screen splits to show Erik-Michael recording the falsetto part -- Paul's old role -- during his time in the spotlight. The editors let us hear both together, a little touch I'm not sure I appreciate.
Trevor. More push-ups. His elation is gone, he looks far less entertained by these wacky shenanigans and he shoots a look of polite venom Dakari's way. If Dakari weren't (a) Satan, and (b) huge, Trevor would be borrowing a can opener to unleash the whoop-ass and let it freely seek and destroy. But he finally nails the "all for you" harmony and the rude rejoicing begins. "I can't BELIEVE he did it!" Dakari shouts, preacher-style. "God, oh, the Lord has blessed you!" Trevor plays the good sport, high-fiving people and joking that it only took one-hundred-thirty takes. "Don't worry, bro," Mike whispers. "That on-screen 'fight' between Ranger Marc and Jacob last week took way longer." Dakari wants his moment of fame. To the tune of the line Trevor had tried to sing, Dakari croons, "It's about damn time" twice. Ha ha ha, Satan's a comic. Except, oh wait, he's not -- he's just a walking, talking, hulking turd.
Wacky background music plays. This is the show's standard break-time music, and I think it's supposed to signify lots of crazy fun and jollity, but things are really pretty sedate in there. Bryan Chan is playing solitaire -- the symbolism's eerie, isn't it? -- while Ashley sits at an expensive drum set and makes a phone call. Jacob and Trevor, both seated, toss a football around with minimal energy and interest. I hope they work harder than they play...Lou enters the rec room and greets everyone with some unnecessary hugs. "Ikaika should be here tomorrow afternoon," Lou says. We see concerned faces all around. A shell-shocked Jacob sits immobile on a hideous sofa -- wow. I think my Grandmother has those pants. Jacob's voice-over points out yet again that Ikaika left because the initial draft of the contract was unacceptable. "I was thinking, 'What if we don't want you back?'" Jacob recalls. For once, someone else bitches about Ikaika: Ashley complains that Ikaika's heart isn't in it, and "we're realizing that, especially as we go into the studio to record." In the most blatant case of recycling since Ikaika said he wanted to marry Malia, the producers bring back an Erik-Michael hit from last episode about how the six of them are sacrificing a lot, but Ikaika's not sacrificing anything. Maybe it was the only halfway salvageable quote from Erik's entire confessional time. To the group, Erik says he's not sure how he'll react when Ikaika walks into the room. "He has missed a crucial time in the group's...existence," Erik concludes. Over lunch, brought to you by a fast-food restaurant that made Jacob's Big Mac but which may or may not be McDonald's, the guys goof off and rag on Ikaika. Kidding around, Jacob says he'll tell Ikaika, "Oh, that's right, you used to live in the house, right?" Then, an epiphany. "Let's play jokes on him!" Jacob whispers in conspiratorial delight. His first gag is to pretend the new contract stipulates hefty rent payments. Just as I'm prepared to name that the Dumbest Prank Ever, Jacob busts out with what is by far the best line of the series. Faking that he's chatting to Ikaika, Jacob jokes, "Hey Ikaika, what's your brother's number? I need to ask you some questions." Erik practically chokes on either a nugget or a McNugget -- we can't confirm -- and Trevor laughs along with them. Editors cut to commercial to spare us the image of Lou giving Erik the Heimlich.
A plane lands in Orlando. Ikaika appears at an arrival gate and hugs Ranger Marc. In confessional, Ikaika says his lawyer "said there were changes in the contract and he gave me the okay" the day, so he headed back to Orlando immediately. Marc carefully warns Ikaika that he missed a lot, and needs to play catch-up. Unfazed, Ikaika nods, and we cut to a one-on-one again. "I felt totally justified in being home," Ikaika says defensively to the camera. "I went to Diamond Head and just sat on the wall and sang for like an hour." Great, that'll help.
Inside the studio, Erik-Michael is singing and doing a reasonable job. Outside, Bryan's greeting Ikaika with a rousing, "What up, stranger? How are you, bro?" They hug. The screen splits to show Jacob belting out lyrics, free-styling and exploring a range of notes while everyone else dances in awe. When he finishes on cue, the gang claps. "See, that's what I'm talking about, man," Dakari says. Ashley is working on a high note when Ikaika walks in with Bryan and asks how long they've all been there. "We spent all day until two in the morning, and we're finishing the song today," Bryan tells him. Bitter, Jacob shares, "We're almost done with the entire song, we worked the last two days on it, and Ikaika wasn't there so he missed out." Wait, Ikaika was gone? Huh.
Since someone else is in the studio spotlight, Jacob has flopped onto the couch and stopped paying attention to the singing action. Ikaika sits down to him and feebly reaches out, drawing a halfhearted handshake from Jacob. To decide who goes , Dakari has everyone practice singing, "Without you, baby," in a falsetto. Despite Ikaika's breathy vocal quality in that register, Dakari decides it's the Hawaiian's turn to rock the mike like a vandal. One more time, Jacob reminds us Ikaika hadn't given any word about when he'd return, then Prima Donna sinks lower into the couch and covers his face (thanks, J!) with his ball cap. Silence. Mike stares at the floor. "Whoa, bro," he thinks. Bryan Chan looks around. "I wonder who else will get cut besides me," he wonders. Trevor, looking emotional in his baseball cap with "GENTLEMEN" emblazoned on the front, simply thinks to himself, "Maybe I shouldn't have worn this baseball cap with 'GENTLEMEN' emblazoned on the front." Aloud and in his private confessional, Trevor says, "If [Ikaika] takes one of our spots, that sucks, because we've been here busting our butts and he's been at home hanging out."
Alone in a Trans Con lounge, Mike is on the phone with a female friend called Natalie. "You know the Hawaiian kid that hasn't been here?" Mike asks his conversation companion. "Yeah, well, um, he came back today, and they decided to let him record...and he took, pretty much, my solo spot." To the cameras, Mike says he heard the playback of "All For Love" and during his portion, Ikaika's voice had replaced his own. "He took my hook, my 'all for you,'" Mike tells Jacob in the lounge. Outraged, Jacob stops walking, puts his hand on his hip and stares at Mike. "Ikaika was never part of this family, and he just walked into the studio and took a part of the song that was a family member's part," seethes Jacob, and this time, I'm right with him.
Closing the break-room door, the Bonded Six bend Ranger Marc's ear about Ikaika. Erik-Michael says he doesn't see Ikaika as part of the group. "Does everybody feel this way?" Marc asks, to which the other five either nod or state emphatic agreement. "It's not fair that Mike stayed here, and then Ikaika recorded Mike's part," Jacob rants. I really sympathize here, but I've also heard both guys' voices. In my opinion, Mike's is richer and fuller and better, but it's so much lower, it sounds almost jarring when juxtaposed with the other six. Fairness aside, Lou's goal here is not to appease young egos, but to make a hit record (heh...good luck) that rakes in the dough, and oh yes, to make a TV show with an actual plot. Sure, I don't agree with his actions, but I can at least see Lou's logic. Enough of me being the devil's advocate -- back to Marc, who suggests taking the talk back to the house and having it out with Ikaika. "Sit down, hammer this out," the good Ranger insists. Incensed, Jacob points out that Ikaika admits he never practiced the song and dance while in Hawaii. "I will not be in the same band as someone who's not even close to our mindset," Prima Donna says. "If he signs that contract and his name gets called, I'm walking." Speaking of walking, Ikaika struts into the room, and everyone shuts up as though he doesn't know exactly what they've been doing.
Mike's driving the Man Van back to the house -- although with just Ikaika and Bryan on board, it's more of a Wimp Wagon. Mike starts subtly singing one of his parts in "All For Love," and sounds quite stellar, but in a fit of good grace he stops and instead gives Ikaika a warning. "Just to prep you, this meeting we're having...it's about you not being here. Just so you know." What a gentleman -- Mike gets the shaft, and he still plays fair.
The seven guys, their ranger and reedy Jay sit around the dining-room table. Mike kicks things off by asking Ikaika to elucidate his reason for leaving Orlando. "To me, like, the auditions were over already," Ikaika says. "The Five were supposed to have been chosen, but weren't chosen because of contractual stuff, and it was a big mess." He further explains that he was scared, fretting that staying in Orlando would confuse him and ultimately put him in position to sign something he may not have been ready to sign. "When you went home, it felt like you didn't want to be around us," Mike says. Of course he didn't, Mike -- you're not Malia. You aren't sullen enough to hold Ikaika's interest. Mike asks Ikaika if he feels as connected as before the break, or if he even wants to be part of things. "I feel like I could be, but I feel like you guys are all mad at me," Ikaika understates. An emotional Erik-Michael telegraphs his mental state by turning down the corners of his substantial lips. He chokes out: "The actions you have taken up to this point have made it hard for me to really want to accept you into the group, and it's really hard for me to say that." Yeah, to his face -- Erik had no problem saying it behind his back.
Jacob is fed up with not being front and center, so he pipes up . Sternly, he tells Ikaika that his departure continues to irritate him. "You have missed everything...the bonding, brotherhood, family meetings, the new dance, recording," Jacob lists, adding that it ticks him off that Ikaika went home when the pressure turned up for everyone else. He yields the floor to Bryan Chan, who thankfully cuts to the chase. "We all obviously gave a lot up and left behind a lot of stuff to come here and pursue this," he reminds a chagrined Ikaika. Acknowledging that med school, family and Malia are important factors, Bryan notes that everyone has vital people and places in their lives, and yet they've all been able to focus on the group. Ikaika must, too. "Are you willing to sacrifice...to be in this group?" Bryan asks. Trevor's turn comes before we hear an answer. His gripe, Trev explains, is that when Ikaika returned after Christmas, he claimed he never practiced, never thought about it, and did not even ruminate about anyone from Orlando. Trevor can't understand that mindset. Finally, Ashley spells it out: "Up to this point, there was the feeling of, 'What's been going on with Ikaika?' and what your level of commitment was. It's not like we have a whole lot of time left." I wonder what happened to the Ashley that offered Ikaika a shoulder to cry on and a friendly ear when he needed one. Shelli must have devoured that Ashley during an intense round of nooky.
Ikaika digests everything he's heard, and slowly speaks. He says he watched the guys bonding and felt left behind. Ikaika, that's what happens when you refuse to go out with the others and, as in the second show, you assert a desire to completely avoid hanging out with anyone but Bryan Chan. Baby, you hitched your wagon to the wrong star. "There's nothing I can say to make up for lost time," Ikaika says. "I'm sorry that I left, you know, and I didn't know how you guys felt." Trevor gulps and offers one last opinion: "I just don't think it's fair for you to take the spot of one of us, when we've worked so hard and you were at home chillin' in Hawaii." Not content to leave it there, Jacob clenches his hands, then pumps up his ego by pumping up the tension. "I have to go with my heart, man." There is a fifteen-second pause during which the camera is fixed on Jacob, the drama queen who's milking each second of fame by opening his mouth, taking a breath, closing it, looking away, looking back...finally, unable to get over himself, Jacob opts for another speech. "I cannot trust my career in your hands. As hard as it is to say" -- not very, judging by the last three shows and the last fifteen minutes -- "my vote stands that if you make it, I won't be a part of this group." Ikaika looks down, stunned that Jacob is prepared to sign the contract and then face enormous, costly lawsuits just to avoid sharing the stage with him.
What makes Jacob think anyone will lose sleep over that threat? He attaches the fate of the group to his presence in it, clearly forgetting how replaceable they all are? I think he's growing his ridiculous hair to hide his swollen head. But even that beats the dreadlocks Melanie Griffith is sporting in ABC's promo for The Alma Awards.
After hearing the individual speeches, Marc and Jay make the logical conclusion -- that Lou needs to be in the loop, as atrocious a prospect as that might sound. "What he brings to the band is just as important -- sometimes -- as the talent itself," Jay notes. A round of nodding confirms this will be the plan, and Ikaika excuses himself and walks outside. "This conversation had to hurt him a lot," Ashley says. "He wanted to cry. I could see it in his eyes." Back in their room, Ashley and Erik rehash the night's events and both agree that they were remiss in forgetting about Lou. "That's a huge element," Ashley says. "Lou? He's the biggest element," Erik says. Yup, he is, and in more ways than six. I think Lou might even have moons orbiting his belly.
In the rehearsal studio, TyJuan serenades the group. "You're late, I just wanna say, you're late and you're gonna pay," TyJuan sings. I hope Mike quits and starts a band with this guy. The funkmaster pulls the gang together and encourages them to focus, then tells Ikaika he'll be pulled in and out of rehearsal so Lou can work with him in the studio. Eek, what a frightening prospect. "You're scheduled to do two shows at the end of this month, so there's a lot to get done," TyJuan tells O-Town. They begin. Ikaika looks as lost as on the first day, standing immobile as he tries to catch onto the dance moves -- same routine as before, but he's completely forgotten it. A later scene shows his improvement, but then he's summoned to the recording studio and abandons the dancing.
Despondent during a water break, Trevor confides, "Ikaika's going to sing my part today. God, this is really making me mad." Everyone is either sitting sadly or lying down silently. Jacob rudely suggests that they exclude Ikaika from the evening's planned confrontation with Lou, and the other five quite rightly disagree with him. Jacob looks bothered. Turning to him, Trevor says he thinks Lou will change Jacob's mind about quitting. "Knowing Lou, I don't think he'd have a problem calling your bluff," Trevor says. Back and forth, they bicker gently about whether Jacob's really bluffing. "He might think you are, and I think he's going to call it," Trevor said. "Then he'll call it wrong," Prima Donna retorts. I find myself wishing Lou would call his bluff, then rub his face in it by grabbing Jacob's head and smushing it into his Jabba folds. But maybe that's just me.
Lou enters the house and welcomes Ikaika with a hug. Easing himself into a chair, he holds court with the seven singers, who are seated on two couches in a neatly apropos 'L' shape that faces the big man. "No matter who is finally involved with the final five, it's gotta be fair," he says. "Ask yourself, did you do all you could, and was it fair to everyone." Because he figures everyone there wants to be part of the team, Lou expects all questions and concerns to be addressed as a family, with him as the daddy -- laced with sugar, natch. Erik-Michael summarizes the night's dinner-table talk, leaving out Jacob's ultimatum. Disgruntled, Ikaika defends himself. "You don't even know what is going on inside me," he whines. "You're all making all these judgments about me, telling me I didn't work hard, when I was here busting my ass as hard as you were." Jacob regurgitates the complaint that Ikaika said he never thought about any of them over Christmas break, not even once. Jacob is incredulous that he could escape anyone's mind, even for a moment. True, that -- he's like an incurable mental rash. Ikaika, feeling mighty self-righteous, isn't content to let that stand. "I paid my dues long before I came here," he shouts. "Just because you all don't get it and I get it, don't get mad at me." It? Is that the sex "it" or the meaning-of-life "it"? Oh wait, for Ikaika, Malia embodies both of those. Jaw agape, Jacob shakes his head and says Ikaika really shouldn't go down that road. Erik shakes his head, Trevor refuses to even look at Ikaika. Ranger Marc and Jay are in the cheap seats, watching from the dining room. Persisting, Ikaika says he didn't practice the singing because he was convinced he had it down pat. Throwing Hypocrisy down on the coffee table and giving it a vigorous shag for good measure, Jacob says, "It's not fair to trust our career and our dreams we've had since we were kids to someone who says, 'I thought I had it and didn't need to practice.'" The mind boggles -- Paul said the exact same thing once, and was the consensus underachiever when the coaches evaluated his progress, yet he was still Jacob's beloved "brother" and was in Jacob's five. Ah, but Paul's not Hawaiian and he doesn't cry, so I suppose he's automatically a better bet. Jacob then glorifies his past, talking about the group being foreign to him because he's sung solo since age five. Hey, I performed "Annie" in my bedroom at that age. Does that make me a solo artist too? Sweet. That's going on my acting resumé. Thanks, Jacob, for showing me the way.
Lou has kept a straight face this whole time. Feeling pressure to say something authoritative, he offers, "We've gotta make a pact that if anyone steps out of line, if anybody doesn't communicate and pull for the team, they're out." This is extremely violent and harsh, given that there's about two whole DAYS until he sends two people packing anyway. "Trust me. I'll be right there with you to back you up," he says, adding that his instinct says Ikaika wants to be part of the team but needs to be taught how to show it and make it happen. Leafing through How to Trick Seven Idiots Into Thinking They've Resolved a Conflict, Lou finds the page he needs: "You know what you should do? The two of you, right now, shake hands." Grimly and oozing self-importance, Jacob and Ikaika stand up and exchange a stiff hug. They clasp hands, never cracking a smile, holding each other's angry gaze, probably pinching each other's fingers or digging that one really long nail -- the one they always knew would come in handy -- into the other person's palm. Lou watches, thinking he could not only cut the tension with a knife but spread it all over his two-ton vat of mashed potatoes.
Trying to involve the other guys, Ikaika addresses everyone, confirming their suspicion that at the beginning his heart wasn't in this. "I never had dreams about making it to the big time," Ikaika says, and to the left of his profile we see Jacob put his face in his hands. "I've never been a guy that's wanted fame, never even left the island. But the fact is that I'm here, and if I'm here, I'm going to do it right," Ikaika says. Jacob rubs his face and looks back up. Cut to a different angle for Ikaika's parting shot: "I hope you understand that, because I only speak the truth." Everyone is solemn, for it's uncouth to laugh in the face of truth. Trevor looks sad as tense music crescendos...
...until Jacob seizes the moment. "Your words mean nothing to me," he says. Cymbals crash, drums roll. "I judge on the actions that you've shown," Jacob spits. "No more bull. At all." Lou softly takes back the floor, saying his put-the-team-first edict is in effect the moment the meeting adjourns. Ikaika swivels in his seat, notices his freshly torn second asshole, and unleashes the kind of tangy venom only a pineapple can spew. "How would you like it if you just spilled your heart to me and I told you that your words mean nothing?" Ikaika rages at Jacob. Then he commits an idiotic mistake. "You wanna go, bro" -- or "brah," if you believe the captioners -- "I'll go wit' choo. Settle things like how I'd settle things." Oh good. One, two, three, four, Ikaika declares a thumb war. Before the battle, Lou steps in: "Come on, stop. That's not what he meant." Cocky, Jacob simply shakes his head with a half-smile, staring at Ikaika and taunting him. "You're losing it now, man," Jacob says, darkly. "You're losing it right now."
And that's the stage we'll rejoin week. It's the hot episode that unveils the final five and spotlights growing tension between Ashley and his long-distance girlfriend, Shelli. It's the moment that will leave everyone talking...about the episode of Survivor.