Previously on Making the Band: ten hours of footage culled from months of tape. Lou Pearlman grabbed twenty-five wannabes from almost two-thousand desperate geeks and dragged them through a weekend-long audition. Seventeen of them wept to Erik-Michael's victorious rendition of "Amazing Grace" because they couldn't believe that sad sack of an orator made it instead of getting arrested for his crimes against the lexicon. Fast-forward to the O-Town selection process. "Three people have to go home, and I don't want to be one of the three," Trevor once said. Was he cut? I can't remember. It's been so long since he had consequence. Ashley reminds us O-Town didn't always gel, and Jacob thoughtfully shares with Ikaika that he won't trust his career in the hands of a rotten pineapple. TyJuan got mad; Trevor danced. The two things might be related. Jay yelled. Marc urged Jacob to take the reins. "You'd better make me proud," a rejected Mike told O-Town. "I'll be watching you." Ikaika quit, and Ashley got revisionist when he pretended Ikaika never once, not for a minute, fit the pseudo-family. Lou said that Dan was the only one who could fill Ikaika's shoes, conveniently pretending that the camera didn't catch him secretly auditioning two hunky hopefuls. That process included learning The Sacred Trans Con Underwear Dance, followed by a removal of the shirts and the ceremonial Buffing of the Bald-Headed Billionaire by two pre-buffed babes. "Ikaika was great, but Dan was supposed to be here," Trevor grins. Lou rails on them for not being perfect; Jacob bitches that the pressure's turned up and it's not good for his complexion, never mind the fact that it makes his hair frizzy.
Roll the credits for the last time this season. Each cast member stares at the camera, desperately seeking a facial expression that conveys his inner depth and spirit. Ashley looks pretty, thinking, "Maybe I'm born with it. Maybe it's Maybelline." Erik to look sultry and pouty. "Thank God this show is Done. Over. Serious," he tells himself. "Because it always taked a long time to put lipstick on this sexual mound of tissue I call my mouth." Dan just looks like he's trying not to show his teeth. "I brought plenty of underwear, but I left the tags on in case this doesn't work out," he is saying with his eyes. "Don't tell Hanes." Trevor just looks morose and mournful. "Don't cry, don't cry," he is thinking. "I know Cat Fancy cancelled my cover shoot because I'm not really feline, but...just don't cry." Jacob stares into the screen, then gives a cocky laugh. "When I was five, I wrote a song about all you ladies," he is conveying. "It's called 'Everybody Wants to Be...Closer to Me.' It's poignant AND true." Goodbye, lads.
Lou penetrates the O-Zone lair and zeroes in on his favorite room -- the kitchen. He's got a surprise for O-Town. Apparently, the band will travel to New York City for a so-called showcase. Trevor, who explained the tricky "crew lock" concept to no-shit-Sherlock perfection, takes a stab at "showcase" and, incredibly, doesn't spew a definition that involves luggage displays or The Price is Right. "A showcase is where a group performs, like, a couple of songs in front of a record company, and they decide whether or not they want to sign you," Trevor offers. In the company of O-Town, he freaks about this. Ashley looks extremely dubious about their chances in such a venue. Jacob Underprepared bitches that O-Town just redid two parts of "All For Love" that very day, and Dan wasn't there to learn it, so the showcase is tainted and only a stupid hulking warthog would plan such an ill-conceived outing -- ah, wait, never mind. "It's not even fathomable to do a showcase when we've only been together a month and a half," Jacob complains to the camera. Violins play. Back in the kitchen, Dan nods vigorously and proclaims, "I'll have it. I'll be ready." Four indignant heads swivel sharply in his direction, annoyed at Dan's incessant positive attitude and strong work ethic, and half-afraid he'll infect them with motivation. Jacob actually boos and hisses. Lou decrees that vocals are of paramount importance, so they can scrap the choreography during the showcase -- and that way, maybe he can cut TyJuan and Raymond's pay and blow the extra money on Haagen-Dazs. "And make it a quick showcase, okay?" Lou asks, because the song's duration is inversely proportionate to its quality. Lou reminds them of the gravity of the situation, and Trevor giggles because gravity is his fun friend who keeps him on the ground and sometimes naughtily peeks down his trousers. Dan frets that he's still behind in the learning curve, still trying to master what had been taught in addition to the current lessons. His teeth glint.
Welcome to New York City. O-Town spills out onto the Manhattan streets and gushes about the town. Lou grins and hugs everyone to greet them (must've made O-Town fly commercial jets, gasp!), taking them inside a plush hotel. The Rotund Ghastly Creep tells The Singing Garbage Heaps how much they'll love The City that Never Sleeps. My boredom meter beeps.
Wake up, Manhattan. The Statue of Liberty is still there, although she's exchanged the torch for a can of pepper spray in case Lou drops by for a visit and wants to sneak up her elevator again. The band arrives at MTV and gets a tour -- not of the entire facility, but of Total Request Live. It's such a fascinating set that O-Town only needs three seconds to see it and can then get the hell out of the building to make room for Christina Aguilera and her huge pillowy...ego. Trevor, so often the most thoughtful and poetic of the bunch, blurts out elaborate sentiments. "This is awesome," he shares. "Quite the experience." Well, at least he used words correctly, and conjugated a verb to boot. Recappers can't be choosers. Lou gets geeked because they are smack in the middle of Times Square and there's probably some blatant sin happening down below. "I'm looking forward to getting on the show [TRL], like, for our talent," Jacob shares. We see O-Town crowding around the giant windows. They laugh, because the great unwashed masses are swarming the MTV sidewalk just to glimpse Carson Daly -- and O-Town's close enough to goose the lunatic and lick his scraggly chin. In fact, giddy Dan is seriously considering doing that. Carson wanders over and half-heartedly shakes hands with the band, every member of which is grinning from ear to ear. Picture-taking ensues. Carson Daly is one of the greatest celebrities and role models of our generation, third only to the ingenious Kirsten Dunst and that plucky Taco Bell chihuahua. "Hopefully time, we'll be doing it right," Carson says, trying desperately to extricate himself from the forced meeting by extending an invitation he's sure won't ever come back to slather his ass in honey-mustard sauce and chomp freely. The producers whip out a Jay confessional scene. "Music goes so far, but unfortunately, if you're not a presence on TRL, you're not someone people want to talk to and interview," Jay says. "And that counts as much as music." Right. So ex-veejay Jesse Camp = compelling and talented because he's been on or near TRL, whereas Frank Sinatra (RIP) pretty much sucks wildebeest.
On the group's first night in Manhattan -- indeed, its only night -- Lou spares no expense at all. He whisks the guys away to a local greasy spoon and treats them to a plate of chili fries and ice water. If they behave, they get a pat of butter to split five ways. Jacob doesn't care; he'd rather vomit propaganda at Lou. "I had set a goal...I said I wanted to get a record contract before I was twenty-one," Jacob says. "And it could happen tomorrow." He looks around. No one else has a comparable story, so Jacob feels secure in the sheer scope of his magnificence. Lou's more concerned about not eating crow -- the only thing he hates putting in his mouth. "You'd better not blow it," he growls. "I got it all set up." Lou! What a crab-ass! Oh, but two hours later, it turns out Lou was just gritchy because of stomach pains, and then -- color him embarrassed! -- he realized it wasn't internal ills at all, but a dozen chicken wings that somehow got painfully wedged between tummy folds and were poking him.
To patch the gaping black holes in today's plot, Bunim-Murray regales us with shots of limousines and tall buildings and One-Way signs. "Man, we're all running on time," someone says ineptly. The band piles into a fairly makeshift recording studio and warms up the ol' vocal cords. Lou flips out when the backtrack skips and orders a few restarts. Generally, the rehearsal stinks and a stressed Lou wipes his brow and looks confused, unsure how his crack scheme -- grab five untested singers; force them into a band and down global throats -- could possibly backfire. The screen splits. On the right Dan sings, and on the left Lou single-handedly (and I mean that literally) makes the entire season worthwhile: He makes a blow-job gesture at O-Town. Repeatedly. Urgently. Oh, sure, he might've been telling them how to hold the microphone -- if this were crotch karaoke. Lou sputters something about needing more power in every mic, a complaint echoed by oh so many men in North America. Dan gathers the group for a pray-a-thon. "Make us successful, Lord, in what we want to do," Dan says. "Make all of our dreams come true. Let us impress these guys. Amen." God raises an eyebrow and snickers, pencilling O-Town on his agenda behind "design tenth planet," "recreate Sistine Chapel ceiling with Lego" and "complete the disappearance of David Caruso."
Record executives file into the auditorium. O-Town whispers backstage and the guys high-five each other because they are way cool and this is, like, serious shit, and stuff, and none of them are going to flee to Hawaii afterward. After piercingly shrill microphone feedback, the song starts and skips the first beat. O-Town scrambles to pick it up and the guys' moves are consequently unsynchronized. "Ashley's mic was really bad," Trevor recalls over the "All For Love" din, adding that as a result, Ashley couldn't be heard. Trevor finishes, "But I thought we sounded...decent." That's Trevorese for, "Holy shit. If we stank of rotten sauerkraut and spewed green beans from our nostrils, we would have looked better." Ashley notes that performing for record executives is different than singing for teenagers -- less drooling, screaming and hyperactive panting, mostly, although teenagers have been known to do that as well. "Everyone's standing in the back with, like, arms crossed," Ashley says. "I don't know whether they like it or not." Dan chips in that the performance wasn't perfect because of some missing notes, probably linked to Ashley's faulty microphone. At home, Shelli laughs evilly at the screen, because she knows all about Ashley's faulty microphone.
Before anyone gets a chance to comment on the showcase, a defensive Lou declares that the microphones weren't set correctly and the guys need to sing an impromptu a cappella rendition of "Baby, I Would." Jacob starts it and sounds a little scratchy, then we fade away to spare them the humiliation. You know, Ikaika had several solos in both songs that we heard, but since Dan Miller joined the group, he's never once been highlighted. His voice doesn't stand out as Ikaika's did (it was easy to pick his out from the other four), so it's tough to gauge Danny's contributions. Or maybe that IS the gauge. I think Dan Miller is just scenery here, a warm body.
O-Town cruises through the NYC streets in a stretch limo, as usual. "Things didn't go perfect," Lou says calmly, ascribing it to the age-old "If something can go wrong, it will" theory that's been christened "Murphy's Law." Murphy, incidentally, is a huge O-Town fan. Lou then lectures the guys on basic concert preparation -- check the sound, check the background music, etc. Jacob hops to the defensive. "Are you saying we choked?" he demands, staring at Lou as if the big man had barbecued Jacob's Deutschland demo tape and eaten it on sourdough bread with potato salad. Lou evades the question by simply saying the a cappella crooning was a slick repair job to an otherwise mediocre stink-bomb of a performance. Jacob stares again and Ashley looks around the limo in abject discomfort. Erik stupidly chips in that O-Town hasn't had its best performance yet. Jacob isn't through probing Jabba. "So then was it positive this morning or negative or what?" he demands. I think Jacob's figured out Lou talks as big as his belly, but knows less than his shoe size. "You did well given the situation," Lou wriggles. Jacob bitches that he doesn't know what to tell the cameraman about the showcase because he's no clue how it went. The cameras cut to a stunning vista -- a shot aimed straight up Lou's nostril, a pit of festering evil, stench and gooey sin. Jennifer Love Hewitt was born there, I'm told.
For the esteemed Season Finale of Making the Band, sources tell me the commercial battle started with thirty-second spots selling for at least one million dollars. A bargain, if you ask me.
The rehearsal studio appears. O-Town has flown back to Orlando for some final practicing before a big concert in Georgia. "In my eyes, I'm kind of nervous," Erik says. But in your eyes, he is the doorway of a thousand churches and the resolution of all your fruitless searches. Fortunately, Erik is comfortable with this duality. "I feel we will pull it out just because I have trust in the guys," Erik adds. For a season finale that probably thought it would mark the show's long-awaited death, this isn't particularly compelling television. I long to channel-surf. The guys promptly remove their shirts for rehearsal -- okay, maybe I could stick around a bit longer. But if TyJuan doesn't slap three of them in the ten seconds, I could be outta here.
O-Town starts at the very beginning of its concert plan -- a number called The Showdown that Tony Harrison choreographed in the now-infamous "crew lock" style. It's really too bad they don't do six-man Ice Dancing in the Olympics, because this Showdown concert-intro would look spectacular with Scott Hamilton, skates and flowing shirts. The guys do some stomping, stepping, slapping, jerking and walking. I think I speak for us all here when I say that this crew lock, more than any of its predecessors (note to Erik: This is correct usage), truly looks like a crew that's locked. "Dan is better for this group," Jacob says. "This is gonna be the final five that lasts." Dan still feels like he's playing catch-up, struggling to digest all the new moves and squeeze in the conditioning and vocal training. "Ohhhh, that was it, that was it right there, boy!" crows Tony, who has inexplicably relocated to Orlando from Germany. "Yes yes yes." More inane movement. Trevor thinks Dan fits incredibly well -- into the band, not into his sweater-vests, obviously. We see Lou's foot tapping on the floor once, twice, thrice. The ground shakes. Somewhere off the coast of Madagascar, a small earthquake fells ten mighty trees and knocks the island square into Africa's southeastern coast. The camera pans up from Lou's foot, slowly caressing his portly form...over the knee, the dimply thigh, the navel, those D-cup breasts and of course, all six of his chins. By this point, though, the lens has cracked. Lou's body is fourteen years of bad luck, plus a good thirty hours of nausea.
Jay walks in and perches on the couch to a pooped Erik and Jacob. "Why didn't you even take the garbage out?" Jay demands, irritated and considering as punishment crying "headache" and canceling any planned evening hanky-panky. Erik explains impatiently that they haven't been home. Judging by the messy-house visuals, they've been gone for approximately twelve years. Trevor chips in that they were supposed to have ample time for housekeeping, but didn't. Erik decides to be a complete brat. "I don't know how to attempt to go grab all the garbage," Erik says to Jay, grinning idiotically. "Do you want me to come around it? Come at it?" Here's an angle, you mutant hellcat: Let Jay strip you, slather you with glue and throw you right inside the pile. You could then walk it out to the dumpster. "I'm trying to talk to you seriously and you guys just can't do it," Jay sighs. The producers treat us to proof of the sloppy debauchery, and it's pretty disgusting. Heaps of clothing -- clean or dirty? Anyone's guess -- engulf the beds, obscuring them. Floor space is hard to find. Trash-cans teeming with waste have expelled onto the linoleum all stray food wrappers and crusty, used paper towels. These guys are fucking appalling. Of the five, the youngest -- Ashley -- is eighteen; the destroyed O-Zone lair looks like the habitat of undomesticated nine-year olds. A lemur would be cleaner. My two-month-old niece could have better success with a trash-can. "We tried to clean the house, like, twenty times," Ashley deadpans earnestly. "Do I look like I'm kidding?" Well, you've got to be. The alternative is too unsettling. Dear Mom: This is what my bedroom looks like. Just kidding! Did I scare you? Ha! Oh, hey, thanks for the iron you bought me. It makes a great bookend. Love, H.
O-Town returns home. "I understand where [Jay is] coming from, but he can't really judge everything that I'm going through," Ashley moans in self-pity. But Ashley, he does know the difference between "messy" and "clean," which something akin to the (albeit less-pronounced) level of disparity between "Germany" and "the Americas." Jay walks into the living room and sasses, "Look, the house is clean." Jacob rolls his eyes and condescends that it looks very special indeed. "Nice work, Jay. We need to hire you full-time," Jacob brats. Asshole. He calls an unidentified girl, and I hope she hangs up on Jacob immediately after spitting so hard into the phone that it actually comes out the receiver and dribbles into Jacob's ear. The guys eat pizza and rib Jay. Dan giggles that it's so simple to give a guy "like that" a hard time. Like what, Dan? Gay? Oh, those absurd gays! Right, Dan? Such an anal-retentive group. Ha! Anal! Get it? Oh, silly gay fey Jay, so gullible and high-strung and tidy and, well, homosexual. He's asking for the verbal abuse, right, Dan? Sure! Speaking of Fey Jay, he walks into the kitchen as Ashley moves toward the garbage can. "No no no no no," Jay tsks at Ashley. "Not unless you walk that outside." Ashley is surprised that anyone would ask him to empty a half-empty garbage bin, and I'm inclined to agree. Trevor busts out with, "An apple a day keeps Jay's nagging away." And a Molson or four makes this less of a bore. Defeated, Jay tries to laugh it off but he is clearly peeved that no one echoes his priggishness. "It's not for me, it's not so the house will be clean, not so we're sticking to my schedule," Jay insists to the camera. "It's so they learn to control their time." As Ashley shovels pizza into his drooling maw, Jay scoffs at the idea of five grown men unable to handle washing glasses or dumping the odd plate or three into a dishwasher. "You have bigger issues than I can help you with," Jay groans. With his mouth full, Ashley's garbled voice points out that the real issue is their show in two days, although some more advanced theorists posit that a bigger problem is the sheer volume of masticated goop flying from Ashley's gob. Those scraps could feed a small country.
We return to the rehearsal studio briefly. Ashley repeats that the Georgia show is O-Town's first Miller Time. But judging by the breakdancing sequence I'm now watching, he's more Miller Lite than anything else. He spins on his back, legs splayed and baring his crotch to the cameras in a shot that would make Trevor's dad proud. "*N Sync, Backstreet Boys...they didn't put together a group in two weeks," Dan boasts. I bet they did, but had the stellar sense not to admit it, much less debut it publicly. Three weeks ago, a young buck named Dan Miller was perfectly content with his life -- so he now claims. But now, he's learned every dance step ever shown O-Town, and he's ready to rumble. "It's all about making someone melt when I'm on-stage," Dan grins dreamily, blissfully unaware that person will be Lou.
Dan tumbles out of a tour bus and into a strange warehouse-looking building. "Welcome to Georgia," he proclaims. I had no idea the state of Georgia was so small and fully encased in cheap tin siding and a flimsy roof, but I guess it has been awhile since I was in Atlanta. The appalled State of Georgia Chamber of Commerce immediately gets cracking on a new promotional leaflet. Trevor's got a cell phone attached to his ear, but he pauses in his enthralling conversation to wax impressed about how "huge" this place is.
As it turns out, O-Town is just perusing the Georgia National Fairgrounds, which is stocked with red folding chairs to accommodate all the band's fans and a few hundred of their imaginary friends. Jacob shares that the area's capacity is roughly two-thousand people. "It's a perfect practice place because it's not a huge crowd, but it's not a tiny crowd," Jacob decides. Jay laughs at him, because it's pretty huge for a group's second-ever performance. In that tally, Jay discounts the Southwest Middle School debacle, Ashley and Shelli's stunning beachfront break-up and that entire episode where O-Town was "uncertain" whether Lou would accept Dan. Jacob makes nice with a long-haired roadie while Trevor gets all giddy with us. "I'm really in a group!" Trevor rejoices. "I'm really performing onstage, I can't believe this!" And I bet he sleeps in a big-boy bed, too. My, how they do grow up -- although intuition tells me Trev's yet to brave a world without Huggies' Pull-Ups. Maybe season, eh, Trev?
After acting cranky for ages, Jay snaps out of it and heaps praise -- tempered, yes, but accolades nonetheless -- upon O-Town. "You are such good people to put yourselves out there like this and trust us," Jay says softly. Um, isn't it the other way around? Anyway, Jay adds, "That's why I get mad. Things happen, but...just go do a good show." Please, Jay silently pleads, do well -- if my mother sees me fail on national television, she'll never make pot roast again or cut the crusts off my grilled-cheese sandwiches.
At night, Lou shamelessly lavishes more millions on his latest protegés. He springs for sterile, bare-bones lodging at a truck-stop motel, all the better for resting five tenors' already dubious singing voices. "We are in Perry, Georgia," Trevor tells the camera, but not in the usual confessional style -- in this entire scene, the guys are moving around the hotel room addressing the camera directly. Erik shows off the fiery combination of sex appeal and sultry lyricism that won our hearts from day one. He stands in front of the mirror and dances in a ridiculous Hawaiian-print top while crooning, "Flower shirt, flower shirt, I am wearing a flower shirt." He repeats this three times in a falsetto. Erik's penis then shrivels and then actually inverts. Trevor begs him to shut up. "I am nervous," Jacob tells the camera. He's so nervous, in fact, that he's putting on shoes and socks despite having failed to don a t-shirt. "I've moved from being nervous to being anxious," Jacob corrects himself. "It's like a high being out there." Dan does sit-ups while proclaiming this period the calm before the storm. "I'm so ready," shouts Trevor, clapping his hands. "I love it!" Everyone agrees they have to remember what they learned and not screw Lou completely. Profound words from a pack of people who have, up to now, basically been screwdrivers.
Jay walks into the room toting black socks for everyone. Oh, Jay, you shouldn't have! In fact, Dan says he brought his own black socks just for the performance, a revelation that wins an embrace from Jay. "Did I tell you Dan Miller's my favorite?" Jay beams. Lame jokes ensue about Jay saying the same thing to Ashley, et al, but it can't hide the fact that Dan and Jay have clicked on a spiritual level. Black socks equal white-hot suppressed passion.
Now that he's out of high-school, Ashley wants to prove he paid attention and can count to thirty-one. He does so under the auspices that there are that many vehicles in the Pearlman entourage that day, but everyone knows it's a "Look, Ma, no hands!" type of exercise. "Lou used to sit down and tell us we're on the fast track," Ashley says. "I'd be like, 'Yeah, okay,' but now that I've spent some time here, it's like an unstoppable train that's picking up more speed." Thania is inexplicably present. She must not be out of the picture, but for some reason, Jacob's "relationship" with the hair model isn't compelling whatsoever and thus gets no screen time. Fine. But someone could've at least pinned down why she came, when, and the like. Is a little plot development too much to ask? Oh, wait, this is Bunim-Murray we're talking about, isn't it. Forget I said anything.
The crowd at the Georgia fairgrounds is abuzz, filing into the red chairs in a giant white wave of pre-teen humanity. Seriously, everyone is wearing a white t-shirt. Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable, like I'm witnessing the only sanctioned outing of the state's juvenile insane-asylum inmates. "I've never been so content in my entire life," Jacob gushes. "I can't imagine anything greater." Trevor chips in that the band is excited. The guys gather in a circle and shout, "O-Town!" before announcing that it's go time and they're ready to rock da house. "It's time, fellas," Dan says somberly. Shut up, Dan. An announcer welcomes O-Town and asks the crowd to scream, which it does, but probably because Lou waddled past and they thought the Michelin Man had come to run them over.
O-Town runs onstage. "Break a leg, gentlemen," the announcer says. I hold my breath, wondering if the age-old theatrical idiom will suddenly become gruesomely literal. It doesn't, and the episode further sinks into a bog of unending ennui.
The pulsating beats of The Showdown play, and O-Town struts onstage in rhythmic robo-motion. Lights flash and the beat sound resembles a dripping faucet, turning the fairgrounds a modern, techno water-torture chamber. The crew lock looks stealthy and original, inasmuch as it both frightens me and engraves my face with a pained cringe. At the end, O-Town falls over and scoots backward, as though it's afraid of its own massive suck quotient. The audience looks around in confusion and people scream, unsure what the fuck is happening but completely certain that this isn't the Perry, GA, theatrical premiere of Duets that they were promised.
The Mommies are hawking Palmolive's washing-up liquid. Still. They dance and fritter about the kitchen, spreading that flower-fresh scent. I think Jay hired them to clean the O-Zone. Scratch that -- I think one if them is Jay, but in drag.
Cut back to a cheering crowd that welcomes the opening notes of "Baby, I Would." The microphone-stand shuffle -- complete with shoulder motion -- goes over as well as usual, with a few extra-piercing shrieks and some flying teenage love-spittle. Bunim-Murray uses this touching moment to take us through the band's metamorphosis, from the tentative tryouts to the emotional finals to the Very Special Episode where Lou scrapped Mike and Bryan and we all learned a little something new about ourselves. Ashley recalls reading about the national talent search, and recounts the whittling process Lou kick-started when he selected twenty-five finalists. We see Lou inviting Trevor to the Orlando finals, and the singer falls to his knees while clutching Lou's hand and crying. Jeez, they make Lou look almost papal -- I swear Trevor's kissing his ring.
Then there's the staff, which hated every last minute of its job. Ranger Marc, drawing from his inspirational tome The Big Bad Book of Verbal Spankings, bellowed beautifully at the young egotists. "How bad do you want it?" we see him seethe at Erik, Jacob and Ashley. "Is this about fun and games, or about making a group?" Mini-Lou, on day one, wondered where their "heads are at," and Marc once again nails the band. "You are not a star, my friend," he told Jacob, poking his chest. "You are not a star. You're a lab rat." How could we forget New Year's Eve, too, when O-Town disobeyed Jay's orders and dove from a stage? We see Jay admonishing Trevor for arguing with him. Cut back to the mature five singing "Baby I would, baby I will, baby I'll do that gladly..." Then, in a benevolent act of B/M, TyJuan appears on-screen for the last time this season, and -- I hope, for his sake, the last time ever. He's mad, and he lays it all out for a chagrined O-Town. Raymond chimes in, "You think you're the bomb already but you're wrong." This feels like we're eulogizing fallen heroes, which in a sense we are, since the Trans Con staff will never get work in this nation again.
Erik switches the montage to scenes of personal sacrifice, of which he's had very little, but it doesn't stop him from flapping his sizeable gums. "It took us a lot of practicing and a lot of coming together and a lot of sacrificing to get us to this point," Erik informs us. The producers flash a clip of angry stepfather Ronald Angel berating Ashley's career choice and vowing to switch off the television should O-Town appear. Ever the spitfire, mom Paula bows her head and stares at the table so as not to come between her son and some good, ol' fashioned, home-cooked heartless emotional abuse.
Now, it's the selection process that claims the spotlight. Trevor sits on the couch clasping hands with his potential bandmates. "You're waiting to know that your life's going to change by one person saying your name once," Trevor stammers, desperately seeking sentence structure. Ashley spouts syrup about meeting the greatest guys -- we get shots of Mike and Bryan -- that he's ever encountered. Blessed are they, Ash asserts. "My life has been a whirlwind," Dan Miller adds, as we see him kissing Cindy. "Hopefully it's gonna stay that way for a while." Ashley lauds this as the most influential and positive experience of his life -- enough with the sweeping generalizations, you eighteen-year-old, you! -- and the scene cuts to him embracing Lou. Um, ick. Jacob and Ikaika are shown in their perfunctory "hey asshole, let's not fight anymore, ya dickweed" embrace and Ashley closes the Georgia concert with the breathy assertion that, baby, he would. Apparently, we're to believe they would do it all over again. Except in the rerun, Jacob would clock Ikaika in the teeth the first time and the Hawaiian would respond with a devastating right-hook to the nose. A recapper can dream.
O-Town walks off the stage smiling. "The performance was incredible," effuses Dan, and that can't be true or else B/M would've gladly shown us the entire thing. Instead, we have to take Dan's word for it, and that's dodgy at best. Ranger Marc tightly clasps each of the five guys individually. He is emotional. Beneath that crispy coating lies a soft chocolate treat with caramel filling. Tuck in, ladies. Have a bite. "You don't just put a random five guys onstage and throw them out there and they perform great," Trevor says, again grasping at grammar. "It doesn't happen that way." No, you give them at least twenty days to brush up on their scales and learn simple lyrics. Then they're good to go. Lou is wearing a shirt that looks cut from the Von Trapp family's curtains by Fraulein Maria and then dyed black. He lies that the performance was "perfect." I hate when people lie to me in Von Trapp fashions. It's not right.
Girls scream and pant as O-Town climbs into its Winnebago. Marc casually pats Dan's bum as he boards. I saw that, Ranger. Perhaps it's the patented Mark Messier ass-slap. "I'm really looking forward to doing this," Dan says dreamily. "You can touch so many people, and that's what it's all about." I assume he's talking about a singing career, but he could also be talking about the Messier bum-bashing. Both make sense. Lou disclaims that the show was great from a fan's point of view, then backpedals and proclaims the whole thing "phat" and "great." Erik and Jacob high-five half-heartedly. It's a high two-point-five. Ashley gets swept up in idealism again. "I really want to have made a huge impact on the fans and on the music industry," he says. Not bloody likely. "This is what we'd be doing no matter what someone's definition of success is, because this is what makes us happy," Ashley continues, adding that the band wants its ABC show "to make people realize how much people do give up to make this work, and to see that dream realized." A school bus jammed with kids pulls up to O-Town, and the guys shake the hands poking from half-open windows and sign people's shirtsleeves. A middle-aged woman bends over slightly -- no, Lou, step away -- so that the band can sign her back. Ashley grins, enamored of the fan reaction. The woman getting engraved with O-Town signatures simply drools.
The band goes straight back on the airplane. "I think the future can only be positive if we make it that way," Erik theorizes. "Everything has happened so quickly...I see a bright future ahead of us, if we keep our eyes open." I see Erik writing fortune-cookie slogans. He quickly notes that it's all up to O-Town. The band must seize control in its epic battle against mediocrity, inflated egos and the zillions of clones that came before and will come after them.
Three months later, B/M helpfully points out, O-Town is back in New York City. Dan takes control of the screen to share that he never in a million years expected this to happen -- "I'm going to sign my name to a record contract, and in my wildest dreams I never thought I'd be in this position," Dan enthuses. Neither did we, Toothy. Neither did we. This is utter crap. What's up with the three-month fast-forward? I'll wager the impromptu showcase went so badly that no one stepped up to sign O-Town, and B/M glossed over that part to save face. Lou likely had to get down on his hands and knees -- a movement process that itself probably took a good eight weeks or more -- and beg people to put O-Town on their label. Note to B/M: For every triumph, I need about three weeks' worth of tribulation, okay? Thanks.
Back to the jubilation. O-Town has signed with Clive Davis, who once ran Arista. "We're signing under the most famous and respected record executive in the entire world, in history," Jacob boasts. Well, he won't be for much longer. O-Town scampers out of a limousine and enters an office building as Jacob adds, "He's using us to make sure the world knows he's not done." Sanity collapses in tears, sobbing into my shoulder. "Clive, oh Clive, why have you forsaken me?" it wails. The screen graphic tells us Clive now heads a company called J Records, which Jacob probably thinks is a nod to his own impending stardom and fourteen years of musical brilliance. The guys are blown away that the man who "discovered" Whitney Houston and Carlos Santana is now taking an interest in O-Town, but I suppose it makes sense. After all, desperation does breed strange bedfellows. "Here we go, boys!" Erik shouts, turned on by the word "bedfellows." We're informed that Clive searches only for the stars of tomorrow, people playing music that has a signature and will endure. And on the B-Sides of those people's records, there may now be an O-Town single.
The guys look a little different this time around. Trevor's hair is longer, Ashley and Dan both have mini-sideburns that curve back toward their ears and Jacob's hair is long and dyed red. He looks so incredibly repulsive -- kind of like the bastard child of Carrot Top and Macy Gray, conceived while she wore that pimpin' hot-pink afro. The band lines up for a group photo with Clive, because if no one gets photographic proof, the people back home won't believe any of it. "A man of his stature is not gonna put a lot on the line unless he believes in it," Lou intones. "He believes in you guys. You've worked hard, but now you can't let him or anybody else down." To us, Lou confesses he's impressed with the band and how fast and fluidly the guys clicked. He thinks O-Town is marvelous, Lou says, casually whipping out a Ginsu knife, slicing a pineapple and gobbling the pieces with a fiendish grin.
Carson Daly caved. Bullied into letting O-Town appear on Total Request Live, he feigns interest in the band and pretends it deserves a warm welcome. Carson asks if the final cut surprised anyone. "That was nuts," Ashley giggles. "It was one of the most incredible experiences of our lives." Okay, but that doesn't answer the question, probably because the final five caught precisely nobody by surprise. "I didn't know how I was gonna react," Ashley confides. Cut to Jacob, who thoughtfully shielded his red hair with an equally red baseball cap that also obscures his face. Hallelujah! "I'm not saying that our story is every story, that every band came together this way," Jacob begins. "But this is ours, and hopefully they'll be interested in what we have to say in our music." I am interested. Particularly fascinating is the line, "All for love, baby, baby my love is all for you." That says a lot.
Trevor is given some time to self-deprecate. "I'm sure someone at home is saying, 'I'm ten times better than that guy!' which he probably is," Trevor admits. "So every day, I thank God that I'm here." The guys are emotional about the closeness they've achieved with each other, and that includes the three absent cast members -- Paul, Mike and Bryan. "Everything helped us to be open with each other," Jacob says, sounding like he's referring to making the show as well as the band. "It helped us break down those walls and show the brotherhood was real." We see scenes of Paul, then Jacob and Trevor cooking in the hot tub. More saccharine spewing about dreams coming true, having cake and eating it...snore. This is so boring. "This is just something to add to the top of the cake," Dan corrects me. Whatever -- I'm still falling asleep here wishing Jacob would admit he hates Dan's leadership skills and try to beat him senseless. We see Dan getting formally added to the band at Lou's house, then the final seven and some staffers in a silly pyramid-looking-thing, posing for photos. Jacob smiles. Dan's teeth burst forth. Middle-school girls clap and cry and respond beautifully to Lou's brainwashing. "It's up to us to make it happen," Erik reminds us. "It's not done, it's just the beginning." ["Heathen, for God's sake, you are paid to recap Making the Band, not Grease!" -- Wing Chun] Jacob waves at the camera with gross black fingernails, and the shot fades away as we wonder whether he's tuning into his femininity or simply a gangrenous youth. I like the latter.
And that's it. That was the season finale. "This band is great, this show was marvelous, we'll be rich and famous..." blech. But the show's coming back sometime late this fall, possibly in winter. Until then, we'll always have Erik's fish lips, those two sausage-like growths that encase his gums and teeth. We will always remember that important lesson he taught about how friends don't suck on each other's lower lips, and we'll pass that wisdom through the generations. We'll remember Paul's razor-sharp nose and Carrah's sharp-as-a-sponge intuition. Don't forget the clingy Jenny, hopeless Cori and Herizon Heather. Stunning people. Razaana? We hardly knew ye. Thania? We never liked ye. Shelli? We never heard ye, because only dogs can pick up noises pitched that high. Then, the anatomy lessons: Ashley's naked, wet chest; Erik-Michael's throat; Dan's teeth; Trevor's muscles; Jacob's tattoo and the tumor on his neck some call a "head." TyJuan and Raymond, we salute you. Tony Harrison, I'm not sure what species you are, really, but you're kickin' it and that's fine. And what can one say about the Lou-people? I hope Mini-Lou doesn't quit, because he's far too entertaining to be left out of the upcoming season. Lou, big guy, Jabba -- have fun getting the pants sued off of you. Someone will do it. Ranger Marc, get another job. You can do better. Oh, and there's a forum full of people who would buy the issue of Playgirl if you should choose to, er, "model."
It's been a fun season of recapping, and my first time doing this type of thing. Thanks so much to everyone who's kept the forums blazing, and for the thoughtful posts and e-mails I've received. It means a lot to me that you're all reading and reacting to the recaps. See you season! Keep in touch! Sign my yearbook. Don't ever change! Stay sweet! Sigh. In the meantime, I'll be trying my hand at Deadline on NBC Monday nights. It's a very different show and I don't know how it'll go, but cross your fingers for me. Thank you, and keep the forums alive. Don't make them die just because O-Town's career will.