Last week, Making the Band blew the lid off the continent's best kept secret: that Ashley and Shelli are still a couple. Oh, and Ikaika quit the band. "The kid left us high and dry without any warning," Erik-Michael complained. Ashley freaked out, unable to believe he was truly watching Ikaika decide to walk away. Haku, in three lines, explains that Ikaika's reasons are only for Clan Kahoano to know.
Roll credits. No commercials. Nothing.
O-Town strolls down the dismal brown hotel hallway. Ashley says he's not bitter about Ikaika's decision, but he'll be angry if Ikaika refuses to finish the photo shoot. Erik chips in that it's only two more hours, and Ikaika could be gone by that afternoon. "I don't care about any damn photo shoot any more," Trevor whines. "We don't have a band." In a confessional, Ashley reminds us that this last day was the most important -- and costly -- part of the entire media tour. Ashley's hair is astounding in this confessional. It's longish and standing straight up, curling sweetly at the tips -- the kind of hair that says, "That Doris Day -- she's a genuine ray of sunshine, and talented to boot."
Erik flops down on the hotel-room couch and hides behind his lips. "You sure you don't wanna leave now too?" he cracks at Trevor. "Yeah, Ikaika had the right idea!" Through humor, Erik's hit on an important truth, but sadly he can't see it, because his upper lip is a vision-blocker. Jacob chips in that he's fleeing too. "You know, I think I might start my own band," Jacob says, probably half-serious. Fondly, Jacob remembers all those groups he started when he was a solo artist. There was his kindergarten Fisher-Price rock band "Doctor" with the girl door, the heavy-metal group "Cervix" he started with his pubescent school pals, and that Hallowe'en -- the one we just don't talk about any more -- when he and four siblings dressed up as Jem and the Holograms. Ashley pulls him back to reality. "That's funny, because I got a call from RCA a couple of weeks ago and I would be a country artist," he giggles, because it's so silly, I mean, what kind of self-respecting lad would sing country -- oh, wait, sorry Paul. Finally, Erik plays. "That's funny because I got a call from Ricky Martin and he wants me to be his predecessor!" Erik chortles. Four more abused syllables. My Pocket Oxford Dictionary takes a suicide leap off the bookshelf. I'd suggest muzzling Erik-Michael, but short of an actual grizzly bear, there's nothing big enough to cover that mouth. In confessional, Jacob shows zero pity for Ikaika. "He's twenty-one years old and he's letting his daddy and his brother tell him what to do," the tenor scoffs. I hate it when I agree with Jacob. It's a dirty feeling, as though I just rolled around in a pig sty or ate filth, or worse yet, bought a Celine Dion album.
Ikaika packs up his clothes as Jay, after changing his name to Clarissa, explains it all. "Ikaika has a lot of different people pulling at him, but he made a commitment to these guys," Jay says. "It should be up to him." Jay asks why Ikaika bothered to come back and pretend he had followed his own mind, when obviously he's a puppet. "No Jay, that's not it // He's not walking 'cause of them // He really digs them," Haku haikus. Jay argues that if that's true, then it's twisted, because the O-Town boys are the ones being hurt by his flakiness. "No, who's hurt is him // They'll make a lot of money // But he's not in school," the poetic one intones. Haku is apparently arguing that smutty, evil fame is good enough for the other four, but not sufficiently noble for Ikaika, Hawaii's version of Gumby. Jay complains that he's not hearing any of this reasoning from Ikaika's own mouth. Haku stays silent as all eyes hit Ikaika. "If I say stay and Haku says go, then I go," Ikaika shrugs. Right away we cut to Ashley. "That's weird," he says in a different confessional -- the glittery-eyed one. "Like, who is his brother? It's Ikaika's name on the contract, not Haku's." Yes. There's no question that Haku is a moronic thug with an NYPD Blue complex.
Ranger Marc strolls into the O-Town hotel room, wearing a grim expression. "Um, it's bad," he summarizes. The photo shoot can't continue because Ikaika will not be present. Marc mentions that it's not Ikaika's doing. "Haku explained it was a breakdown in communication," the Ranger says. "One thing was promised and it wasn't fulfilled." This is news to O-Town, and Marc admits that even he's clueless as to the deal's specifics -- just that Haku came back "into production" to be a full-time family representative for Ikaika, which he and Jacob agree would be terrible. "He wants to come on tour with us, stay in our room with us. Basically, he's in the band," bitches Jacob, amazed. Ashley reveals that Haku refused to let Ikaika stay one more afternoon unless they got paid fifty thousand dollars. What fucking nerve! I hope the contract-violation legal fees force Haku into humiliating employment. He'd make a stunning lawn ornament. "It was about money. It was about greed," Ashley realizes. "How horrible. How horrible." Marlon Brando rasps, "The horror. The horror."
Standing outside on the street, either getting fresh air or quelling that pesky nic fit, Ashley and Erik commiserate with Jay about Clan Kahoano. "It doesn't just affect his family," Ashley complains. "It affects my family and my career." He can't believe Ikaika can casually break the contract like this. Jay encourages them to work on Ikaika one final time, and the trio heads inside. Wow, all that trouble just to alter the inevitable -- don't they get it? Well, maybe brainy Erik told the gang that "inevitable" means "reversible."
O-Town walks in and slaps hands with Ikaika, who's visibly nervous. Jacob cuts to the chase and insists that the band really needs him that last day. Ashley again pleads with Ikaika to grant them one last favor, and Erik begs his friend to finish what he's started -- just a few more hours of photographs before freedom. Ikaika stares at his water bottle, trying to remember that nifty trick Madonna did. Marc clears his throat loudly and Haku stares intently at his younger brother. "There's just some stuff from other people that make it such that I can't do this," Ikaika says. Trans Con must feel like letting Ikaika leave scot-free is worth being free of the walking migraine that is Haku. Ashley asks for an explanation. "I understand personal sacrifice," he insists to Ikaika. "My dad told me if he saw me on TV, he'd turn the channel…but because I feel like this is the right decision for me, I made the choice to do this." Ikaika darts furtive glances Haku's way, as if to draw conviction from his brother's abundant and evil confidence. Haku sits in the corner, munching on something -- I think it's Ikaika's C-3 and C-4 vertebrae. Erik looks upset and Trevor looks shell-shocked. Ikaika clenches his jaw and stares hard at the coffee table, clearly fighting tears. Or nausea. Probably both, since it's already lunchtime and Haku hasn't yet tossed him the daily stale-bread-and-cheese ration.
The Geena Davis Show? Shit. First, Geena Davis misses the Olympic archery squad, then she decides to try her hand at wacky sitcom humor. It would seem, then, that she still hasn't learned to hit a career bulls-eye.
Back in the hotel, Ikaika gulps. It's all very dramatic. You could cut the tension with a shoelace. "I do believe Ikaika would've done it by himself, but…the decision relayed from the eldest person in the family was to get Ikaika home," Erik tells is in voice-over. For good measure, we hear the man himself rejecting his bandmates' pleas. "I want to [stay], but I can't," Ikaika says, still locked in a staring contest with his plastic Evian bottle -- no coincidence that Ikaika's water of choice is the word "naïve" backwards. Ashley lets out a tense sigh and scans the room for reactions. Haku looks smug and self-satisfied. Erik-Michael tells Ikaika that although the band needs and wants him there, each guy is a friend first and co-worker second, meaning they'll all try to see his side. "If circumstances beyond your control mean you cannot do this, we are going to have to understand," Erik says. A production aide, relieved, tosses Erik's cue cards aside and cuts away before Jacob beats the Estrada out of him for speaking first.
As he shakes hands with his now ex-colleagues, Ikaika finally says something coherent. The audition for O-Town piqued his interest because he heard Backstreet Boys and *NSync, liked the music, and thought it would be a fun life. "I didn't know the price they have to pay," Ikaika says. "Now up here I know, and it's too much already. It's time to head home and get back to normal." Erik gets in a parting shot about hoping Ikaika made the right decision, because living with regrets is harder than anything else. Ikaika and Haku walk away. In Ikaika Kahoano's honor, I anagrammed his name to seek appropriate sentiments. I came up with only "O No! Khaki!" and "Ail honk." The moral: nothing about Ikaika makes sense in any permutation.
The Fab Four mingle in the hotel, speculating about the future. Erik's immediate thought is that either Mike or Bryan will get the nod for Ikaika's vacant place, but Jacob thinks too much has changed for that to work. "This was meant to happen," he says. Ashley insists that the group should remain as four rather than take on an extra member, despite Trevor's doubts. Jacob lists C-Note and Boyz II Men as successful four-man harmonizers, ignoring the fact that the latter has actual talent, and the former's only notoriety came a few weeks ago during a fleeting stint on Making the Band. "We'll put Trevor in the band!" someone shouts. Everyone laughs as Trevor sings falsetto, and fails. And it is funny -- just plain outrageous that one of five singers in a band should be invited to croon a solo couplet or two. Trevor's been reduced to punch-line status at this point. Despite the fact that Ikaika's notes in "Baby, I Would," are the highest, Erik promises the guys that the song can be recorded with just four of them and spews lies about the sky being the limit. "Ikaika's range is incredible," he says in confessional. "My range ain't that bad either, though." It's an emotional moment -- Erik's eyebrows twitch a full half-inch and his lips part, flashing tooth. Jacob says the first three songs are three-part harmonies written for five guys, so the band isn't screwed one bit. Erik insists that staying a foursome is the only solution. I'd like to point out that this entire segment is a colossal waste of time. Everyone knows they add a fifth person. I'd much rather see Ikaika and Haku emptying the mini-bar on Trans Con's dollar, or Mike, Bryan, and Paul laying down bets on O-Town's longevity.
The guys arrive home in Orlando, Shelli and Thania accompanying their apparent boyfriends. Erik complains of body aches and a sore throat, which he blames on the L.A. smog. Thania, staring off into space, wonders how long she has to date Jacob before she'll get introduced to *NSync. Shelli, lying on the bed, wonders how long she has to date Ashley before she gets free Glamour Shots at the mall. And North America, staring comatose at the television, wonders how long it will take before O-Town starts booking week-long gigs at the Waffle House.
Trevor and Ashley use their finely tuned bodies, well-oiled athletic machines, to thrash Jacob and Erik at a terse, sweaty game of Foosball. Lou hovers over the Foosball table watching his bitches play. Jabba can't join them, though, because he lacks opposable thumbs. Buoyed by their crucial victory, Trev and Ashley bump chests three times, growl and suddenly sprout thick facial hair. I think liquid testosterone actually shoots out Trevor's nose. Lou gathers them into the studio lounge and laughs that when he left them, everything was coming up roses in sunny California. "Frankly, I'm blown away that Ikaika left," he tells the camera. Lou stays on camera a smidge too long, blinking and staring vacantly. Watching for the first time in Florida, my sister Julie shrieks and averts her gaze. I try to convince her that Lou isn't some vicious predatory insect, but she doesn't believe me -- and hell, I don't believe me, either. Jacob wants O-Town to speak its collective mind before Lou lays out the options, but he anticipates the band's opinion. "You are a family together, a unit, and to bring someone in is like a fifth wheel," he says. The gang nods. Lou reminds them that five-part harmony pits them against BSB and *NSync, plus gives them flexibility if one member falls ill. But he allows them to work on "Baby, I Would" as a four-part harmony and says he'll chart the band's course after that experiment. "We need to make it clear we can handle this," Ashley resolves. "It's not just making it sound good -- we have to make it sound excellent, outstanding."
Munching on snacks at the hotel, Ashley reminds the other three that if Lou wants to bring in a fifth person, they must deal with it. "My gut is that we should stay as four," Erik insists. "I personally am not going to make it easy to bring in another member." No one suggests replacing Erik. He tries to validate his lovely gut by claiming he pegged Ikaika as a flaky quitter, but they went along with others' opinions and ended up screwed late in the game. Ashley urges Erik to cooperate, but he refuses. "When your view affects us in a bad way, then we don't respect that," Jacob rants. "I'm going to welcome [a fifth] with open arms and try to get his ass up to where we are." Or down, as the case may be -- and, in fact, is. Ashley points out that treating a new person like an outcast will hurt the group even more. Trevor stares down at a Cal State-Fullerton college ID, looking perplexed. "Why did I make myself thirty-five?" he wonders. "And why did I use a Turkish woman's photo?" A voice snaps Trev out of his reverie. "If it was Mike or Bryan, I'd welcome him," Erik says. "But if it's someone else, I couldn't do that." In confessional, Ashley notes and semi-complains that Erik's too strong-minded to be easily influenced. Make up your mind, Ash -- Hot Lips and his attitude, or Ikaika, the remote-controlled tenor. Pick your poison. Ashley, in what sounds like a specially dubbed explainer, says Mike and Bryan's voices don't fit the range they need, necessitating an outside search to fill a fifth spot. "If I didn't have my gut, I wouldn't be here," Erik intones. Funny, I muttered the same thing last night at the gym. O-Town clasps hands.
ABC is bringing us The Mole, a game show wherein one nefarious person tries to secretly sabotage the rest of his/her group. They should have called the series Haku.
A faucet drips, drips, drips. It's official: Making the Band is a form of water torture. In bed, Erik snorts like a hog in heat. Drip, drip, drip. Someone's foot peeks out from under the covers, and it looks female. Drip. Buzz. Erik slaps off the alarm and rubs his eyes/lips -- with him, it's an all-in-one motion. He tells us Lou's given them a test -- record "Baby, I Would," make it sound better, and do it in spite of Erik's developing illness. Ashley tries to bolster Erik's ego by saying it'll be a snap; apparently, Erik-Michael didn't need the compliment. "Of course I can hit it," he says. "I can go higher than him." Ashley tries to reach the note and fails, Erik then gets it, more or less. They giggle and get dressed.
The cacophonous strains of "Baby, I Would" float through the O-zone lair. That song is starting to have a greenhouse effect on my brain. "Ikaika's part for [the song] is very high-tenorish," Ashley says. "And no one hit it like Ikaika did." In his University of Michigan mesh shorts -- a free promo for the maize-and-blue that, oddly, doesn't get fuzzed out -- Erik cues the stereo and tries dividing up Ikaika's lines among all four guys. Trevor sings adequately and Erik follows him, both winning Shelli's compliments. We see a confusing muddle of split-screen shots where Erik's coaxing sounds out of the guys. In one shot, Ashley stands hunched as Erik pushes on the crown of his skull. Science has yet to prove that spinal compression aids the diaphragm and vocal range, but maybe it's deeper than that -- maybe this is a meditative attempt to return to the womb. It's hard to tell who's singing what, and whether it's anything different from the pre-recorded version with Ikaika. The guys are excited, though, and jump and chuckle in ecstasy.
In the studio, Trevor does a mic check and waves at Dakari, the producer. The two joke about Trevor's cultivated biceps and triceps, and Dakari humors him instead of using him as the butt of other jokes -- guess he expunged that from his system last time. Trevor steps up to the microphone and immediately his voice cracks in stunning style, like a soprano choir boy hitting puberty in mid-solo. Ashley follows and errs with similar gusto, then fake-faints in frustration. Dakari lies back in his seat and shakes his head, correctly assuming this day is already shot. Meanwhile, at the Pearlman estate, Lou admits to auditioning new guys as a contingency plan. He hires talent scout Gloria Sicoli, who pieced together the Backstreet Boys, to size up at least two wannabes. This segment is brief and pointless -- both guys are pretty, but everyone knows neither one makes the band. Lou may have hired both as chauffeurs, butlers, or lackeys -- er, sorry, "Sponge-Bath Technicians" -- but not as tenors. Sorry, boys.
Erik's big moment arrives and he quickly misses a critical high note. "I am so sick, I cannot breathe," he mourns. "My throat is in shambles." As his voice-over waxes pathetic about the extreme pressure O-Town faces, Erik squirts honey into his mouth and dips into a table full of other home remedies. Encouraged at its chances after hearing those three, the neighborhood alley cat waits for a turn in the studio. "It went from a hit song with Ikaika to like, you know, a demo," Jacob gripes. Erik tries once more to nail a falsetto note, but it's all over. O-Town gets nothing, and likes it. "That was kind of a reality check for me," Ashley says. "We went in to make it better and prove we didn't need a fifth. But anyone we showed that to would've said we do need a fifth." Yes, a fifth of whiskey.
The forlorn clan piles into the ever-emptier Man Van. "We're settling," Jacob growls. "I hate settling." Note that he didn't try recording anything, or if he did, producers gave him preferential treatment and mercifully omitted it. Trevor diplomatically says that the new recording is neither worse nor better than the Ikaika version, but Jacob disagrees. "I think it took a step down from where it was," he says, shaking his head and adding that he's certain Lou will prefer the band as five. "I was extremely upset with my performance," Erik's voice-over tells us as he stares gloomily out the window. "I'm coming to the realization that we need a fifth member." The Desperately Seeking Dan Miller song plays in the background as the van heads away.
Wackiness ensues. Jacob and Erik, standing in a movie theater lobby, start chatting with Jay about their predicament. As it happens, magically, Erik and Jacob had both been secretly recalling the final twenty-five hopefuls and each selected one standout. You know, just in case Jay asked. Conveniently, Jay does. Imagine that. Jay suggests they whisper their suggestions into his ear. When both guys say, "Dan Miller," Jay cracks up and informs them that, independently, they had the same thought. "Dan Miller!" they say in unison. Jay asks why. "I liked his attitude, and he danced like a motha!" Jacob enthuses. Elsewhere in the theater, a giddy Jay asks Ashley and Trevor to whisper the same sweet-nothings into his ears. I think Jay's out for action -- you know, "accidentally" jerking his head, "unintentionally" slamming into Ashley's mouth and "inadvertently" getting his ear tongued. And the password is: Dan Miller. It's unanimous. As the guys marvel at their collective wisdom, we see black-and-white shots of Dan's audition. Dan bypasses awkward, dumb, and stupid and rockets straight to horrible. If this is a harbinger, then I'll need twice as much Michelob to make it through the last few episodes. Clad in baggy pants, bright white sneakers, and a sweatervest so long I could cinch it and make it a dress, Dan wiggles and convulses and generally evokes images of an over-caffeinated rooster attempting the Humpty Dance. "He's a great singer, a great dancer," Trev gushes. "He's got the look. It seems like the missing piece." Galvanized by groupthink, O-Town charges out of the movie theater -- probably stumped by the pre-film trivia slide show -- and heads for Jabba's den. "If we didn't ask before Lou made a decision, we'd lose out and he'd have ended up picking someone else and selling us on that person," Erik says, as though that's a horrifying alternative.
O-Town gathers on Lou's black leather couch and confronts its corpulent chief. "We were rappin' outside the movie theater and decided we need a fifth," Erik says, the very embodiment of hip. "We would like Dan Miller to be considered." It's now nearing the end of the episode, and nothing has redeemed it from being a complete waste of time. Wistfully, I wish I'd acted on my earlier urge to turn off the TV in favor of employing a picture frame and one toothpick to dig a trench to London. Jacob pipes up that everyone concurs Dan Miller would contribute immediately, mastering the dance and clicking with the other four rapidly. Lou confirms Dan was "up there" on his list. "I think we're more comfortable in the fact that we know this kid, and it's not an injection of someone we have to learn to know," Erik sputters. Ashley grins that he can't wait to hear Dan's reaction, and the guys wheel Jabba into his office to place a conference call.
Lou reads Dan's telephone number from a scrawl across a mini-Post-It note. Ashley laughs again, high off the fumes from Shelli's makeup. "Hey, what's up guys?" Dan says, happily. Trevor cracks up. Halfheartedly, Lou asks what's new. "I'm singing the national anthem at a Bearcats game on Thursday," Dan offers excitedly. This bores Lou. "Well that sounds nice," he sighs dismissively. Screw the Bearcats -- Lou wants to throw Dan to the industry wolves. "Ikaika had a family problem, which leaves an opening in the fifth position," Lou tells a startled Dan. Trevor chuckles more and hangs his head to hide it. Careful to insist that no decision has been made, Lou does tell Dan that the four band members unanimously nominated him for consideration. "Thanks, guys!" Dan says, genuinely flattered. Lou invites him out immediately, and Dan acquiesces. "I knew it was possible he still wasn't going to make it," Ashley recalls in confessional. "It was possible it wouldn't work out and he'd end up going home." But hey, they broke his heart once -- what's another life shattering experience? Can't we all be brothers? Trevor speaks urgently to the camera. "I just want it to be Dan Miller," he breathes. "If he picks Dan Miller, no one will be worried." The call ends, and everyone thanks Lou. Ashley spouts nonsense about it being fabulous just to hear Dan's voice. Dan Miller, apparently, is a deity. A divine being. A god among mortal tenors. I can't wait for him to start fraying O-Town's last nerves.
time: Harsh words from Lou, Mini-Lou, and probably just about anyone else connected with O-Town. Dan Miller watches. This looks like the episode where he sings for the first time on national television -- if you exclude that whole auditioning-and-getting-rejected thing.