Before I get into tonight's recap, I have been asked to weigh in with my thoughts on a very pressing issue.
I'm not kidding. Judging by the amount of email I have received during the past week, so serious is this subject, it seems to rank right up there with genocide in Dafur, Iran's nuclear capabilities, and the passing of Buck Owens.
Yes, you all want to know what I think about the fact that Ryan Seacrest and Teri Hatcher have been officially caught swapping bodily fluids.
No, no, no, not those fluids. Sheeeesh, I should have known better - after all, you people have also spent the past week super-Googling "Naked Kellie Pickler", "Ace Young Buttcheeks", and "Katharine McPhee in a dirty leather thong". <---I'm not making that up.
No, the photographed "fluids" to which I refer are the ones that the paparrazzi can actually sell to People, The Enquirer, US Weekly, and Star Magazine.
The kissing ones.
Personally, I ran across them in a two page spread (TWO PAGES devoted to Seahatcher?!? Hmm, Seahatcher - that sounds like a good name for a boat...) in US Weekly. Honestly, my only thought, aside from Eeeewwwwww, was - I wonder who takes the longest in the bathroom getting ready for a date?
Seriously, between his impeccably fresh Mystic Tanned skin, wrinkle-less eyes (lest you think Botox is just for the ladies), subtle eyeshadow/liner, and perfectly coiffed follicles, and her collagen injected-Lip Fusion plumped kisser, seamlessly integrated and perfectly matched hair extensions, and over-40 make-up job - I am hard pressed to declare a winner in the Vanity Wars.
No, I don't see this being a love story for the ages, but rather one for the pages - as in the tabloids. They are both getting something out of this (that TWO PAGE US WEEKLY SPREAD, Website headlines at EW.com, AOL, People.com, MSN, Yahoo, etc) and if it makes them happy, well, have at it. As long as I don't get dripped on, I couldn't care less...
Onto the recap.
Decked out for another job interview with IBM (or a date at The Ivy with Teri right after the show), Ryan welcomed us in a blue power suit, white dress shirt, patterned tie...and a faceful of he-man stubble. I'm not kidding, he looked like a lumberjack going to church.
I mean what was the message in that? Hey America - look at me! I'm having so much sex with Teri Hatcher that I don't even have time to shave!
A quick intro of the judges revealed Randy, who is apparently moonlighting as a Blackjack dealer at the Tropicana, in a candy cane striped white shirt and red satin vest. Paula's cleavage was on fire as well, and included a long gold leash hanging from her neck. Simon switched it up tonight, sharing his softer side in a baby blue sweater.
Toto, we're not in Oz anymore...
Tonight's theme was Country Music, so who better to shepherd the flock through the vocal minefield than a man who seldom bombed when he ruled those very charts back in the days when Lucille took her love to town? That's right: Kenny Rogers. A man responsible for 105 million albums and approximately the same number of fluid swapping sessions in the 70s and 80s.
They shared a video history of the white bearded, unquestionably macho singer, detailing his accomplishments and vocal prowess, and then I got confused because they showed Burgess Meredith (I swear I thought he was dead) singing with the kids.
Honestly, it looked like Rocky Balboa's manager, Mickey, if Mickey were waylaid by the Queer Eye Guys.
Good God - what the hell happened to Kenny? I mean, I know he had liposuction about twenty years ago, but did they suck the fat out of his eyelids too? He must have the same plastic surgeon as Burt Reynolds because his eyes were just about as nonexistent as the once sexiest man who posed with a rooster over his cockadoodle doo...
I'm going to have nightmares tonight...
Drawing the short straw this evening, aka: going first, was Mr. Soul Patrol, singing Take Me Home Country Road. Dressed in a black blazer, JEANS and a dark striped shirt, he began singing and the Hell screensaver behind him became strangely apropos - he looked like that's exactly where he was.
You people know I adore Taylor, but this performance was so boring, even he didn't get excited about it. He seemed unsure, unsteady, and didn't even arch his back like spawning salmon once.
Dealer Randy asked if he wanted to double down, then called his vocal "just ok" and that there was "no personality". Paula, obviously struggling under the 50 pounds of hair on her head, seemed distracted, and mumbled something about expecting "a bit more". Simon rattled off "safe, boring, lazy, whoopee", which earned him a slam from Ryan who said that description sounded like Simon's love life.
AFTER. THE. BREAK, Ryan was in the audience, momentarily distracted by Paula who was jittering, fidgety and seemed to be constantly looking around for her supplier who was obviously late with the OxyContin.
Mandisa took the stage to sing Any Man Of Mine - which Kenny basically called a song with a bazillion words - that's about how many words I could use to describe her choice of JEANS (For the love of God Mandisa - STOP - or at least opt for black denim), boots, and the afghan that hangs over the back of my mother's couch in Phoenix.
I thought it was ok - not spectacular, as we have seen her in past performances, but she did spark up a bit towards the end.
Randy asked if she was sure she wanted to split her Kings, and then cited the "last 5 bars" as showing her personality. Paula blew her off with "you could sing the phonebook" - seriously, she was a bit on the pissy side tonight; and Simon called it "horrible, fun, cutesy". He then sent the pissball back over the net at Ryan with a slam about his stubbled "Desperate Housewives look". Ryan hit a weak return with a remark about the baby blue sweater.
The producers wisely moved on before anyone could bring out a tub of Jello for them to wrestle in.
Elliott chimed in next with the Garth Brooks ballad If Tomorrow Never Comes, and I began to wonder if it ever would. Dressed in JEANS, a black t-shirt and an untucked burgundy button down, Elliott stood in one place, clinging to the microphone with both hands like a drowing man to a piece of driftwood. The song was unsteady in the beginning, he looked petrified while singing it, and only seemed to connect with it right at the very end.
I'm sorry - but isn't this the guy who boldly (not that it worked, mind you) channeled Eminem last week? Where was that confidence, that strut? I mean where is the rocket science in singing a country song? These kids all act like they have been asked to sing in Japanese.
Randy dealt Elliott a perfect "21", and said "that was hot"; Paula's IBS (Incessant Babbling Syndrome) flared up and she dribbled verbal diarrhea everywhere, "breath of fresh air to this business, humble, understated, careless, wreckless abandon, fantastic". (Don't they make Depends for people's mouths?) Simon nailed him as "nervous" and said that while it was the "best so far" he "would have to do better".
Another break brought us back to Smurfette sitting on the Small Talk Stools with Ryan. There ensued a riveting conversation about her ever changing hairstyles, where she revealed that her hair reflects her feelings about the song she is singing. Tonight's subliminal coiffure? "Chill". (What would that make last week's fake horse tail nightMARE's? "Giddyup"?)
I will give her this much - wearing what appeared to be only the hair God gave her, no loaner pieces, she looked better than she has in weeks. That being said, subtle hair could not save her from the outfit of JEANS, cowgirl boots, a belt made out of empty keyrings, earrings whose hoops were so big they were once jumped through by Evil Knievel in Vegas, and what appeared to be the top of a Medieval Times waitress uniform. I'll have the whole mutton leg and a tankard of ale, please...
Singing How Do I Live Without You, a song knocked out of the park by LeAnn Rimes, Smurfette couldn't quite get it past the infield. It wasn't that it was bad, in fact, this was the most I think I have liked her singing, but what started shaky and too low, only picked up interest about halfway through.
Randy welcomed a honeymoon couple from Topeka to the blackjack table, motioned the scantily clad Tropicana casino waitress over to take their drink order, and then gave Smurfette a "just aw'ight"; Paula got booed for saying she "didn't feel you connect"; and Simon actually disagreed, likening her to an early Dionne Warwick (ok, ok, actually he said Dionne Warick, but I'm pretty sure when he watches the playback he'd opt to buy a consonant...)
Next to tackle the obvious nuclear physics that is country music, was Ace, dressed in JEANS, a black shirt (no scar tonight - sorry kids), and another rhinestone encrusted belt buckle that will certainly pour more "Ace is gay" email into my inbox tomorrow. His hair was nicely fluffed this week, practically screaming VO5, and he sported a faceful of carefree, sexy stubble a la Ryan, too.
Singing Keith Urban's I Wanna Cry, I found that for once when Ace sang, I didn't. It was actually the most eardrum pleasing he has been since he sang Father Figure many weeks back. He sounded strong and smooth, faltering only when he finally sang the words "I wanna cryyyy-YYYY-y-yyyy" - then he broke a few crystal pieces in the cupboard. Personally, I could do without him ever doing the falsetto thing, too, but at least it was confined to the very end tonight.
Randy counciled the new bride from Topeka - a blackjack novice - on why you sometimes hit on 12, then proceeded to tell Ace it was "nice, but really boring". Paula squeezed her boobs together, and said, "I totally disagree with you Randy." WHOA. I was so glad I was sitting down for that one. She then stumbled over the word "signature" (but then it does have THREE WHOLE syllables) which seemed to signal her rapid downhill slide this evening... Simon called it "very good" - I agree. Ace should feel reasonably safe going into tomorrow night's results show.
Back from another 6 million dollar break (we can rebuild him...we know the odds...sorry...) we found Pickles wearing a deeply cut, red tank top from the new Paula Abdul Get Ace To Notice Your Boobs collection, JEANS, recently ZOOMed teeth, and red pumps. There's a name for those pumps...ahem...
Ryan asked her about the allegations that she is not quite as naive as she is coming across, whereupon she defended her ignorance as being genuine. Seriously, she sat there and lauded the benefits of being brainless...like wearing those pumps-whose-descriptor-shall-be-nameless-in-this-blog.
Singing Reba's Fancy, a tale of a small town girl being pimped up to higher society by her Mom, Pickles was much more comfortable than she has been in over a month. Country, with all it's twangs and stories is definitely where she belongs. Strutting to the stage from the audience, it was the first time I actually thought she understood the lyrics of a song she was singing. It was a good performance - basically the least I have ever disliked her.
And that's saying something.
Randy made change for a hundred, then he told her he "thought it was great - your night". Paula echoed that it "was great for you", although she was seriously distracted while talking; Simon said he "hated the song, but the performance was good".
A quick shot of the audience revealed both Whoopi Goldberg and Chris Rock - my, how our little Idol has grown. I remember when sighting Dennis Franz in the audience was a big deal...
Next up was Chris and I was genuinely curious as to how our rocker was going to choke his way through the song Making Memories of Us, a tune whose lyrics contain the words "I wanna learn from your Pa", but then he started to sing and I was pleasantly surprised. Sitting on the darkened stage (no strobes or smoke machines tonight - he let Pickles borrow his light show), dressed in JEANS and a frayed denim shirt, he sounded strong, emotional, and completely connected to the song. I loved it - I loved seeing he could deliver a song without assaulting Matilda the Mikestand or gargling a handful of gravel.
Randy thanked the Topeka honeymooners for the $2 tip and gave them directions to a pole dancer club just off the strip, then he told Chris it was good for him to "change it up". Paula said he "stayed true" to himself and then before Simon could get a whole sentence out of his mouth, she slipped under the desk. What the f..? Someone grab that gold leash hanging from her breasts and lead her out of there. Simon ignored her and said it was "great to see a different side of you" although it was a "boring, uninteresting song".
Another break worth enough money to build The Bionic Woman and we returned to Cheekbones McPhee, dressed in JEANS, a purple tank, a leather jacket, and about twenty pounds of extra hair. (I hope these girls realize that hair extensions are much like crack cocaine. They are an expensive addiction that is hard to maintain. A single fix can cost upwards of $3000. What are they going to do when they get voted off and the AI Hair fairy disappears? I can just see poor Cheekbones now - standing in line everyday at the clinic to sell her plasma.)
Singing Bringing Out The Elvis In Me, she certainly had fun, didn't she? In fact, it looked like she was having a little too much fun - to the point the bouncing became distracting. Standing at the mike she looked like she was riding a pogo stick. Yes, yes, yes, she sounded great - the girl can sing, but the performance seemed a tad fake.
Randy got moved into the High Roller room where he began to deal for Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, and before he could comment, the camera caught a very strange acting Paula (I know, I know, when isn't she acting strange...). What was up with her? Her eyes grew progressively hooded as the show wore on, she was bouncing in her chair like a two year old with a diaper full of poo, and her mouth was moving up and down like a carp out of water.
Randy finally squeezed in "I liked it - good job." Paula rambled the words "sexy, hot, cool", and Simon admitted he simply hates country music.
Color us all surprised...
Last up, Bucky, who if he didn't excel at tonight's theme, would surely have to turn in his accent and Country Hick license. Decked out in a cowboy hat, JEANS (that's two weeks in a row kids - every single contestant wore denim with an average street value of $300 a pair - you didn't think they were shopping at the Gap now, did you?), a buckle (no rhinestones), a drab olive shirt and leather jacket, Bucky sang Best I Ever Had - a song most people know from the Vertical Horizons' rendition - and I have to echo the lyrics, his version was "not so bad". I actually enjoyed old Bucky for once. It wasn't perfect, but he certainly delivered a more memorable performance tonight than Taylor (that makes me sad - pardon me while I wipe the tears off my keyboard before it shorts out).
Randy ended his shift at the Tropicana and headed off to watch the sexy pirate show at Treasure Island, but first told Bucky it was "aw-ight". Paula was mental toast, hold the butter, and said "you wear that hat proud", while Simon said "It sounded ok to me."
So that's it for country night. No dead dogs, cheatin' hearts, or face down drunks. Just an overall bad round of American Idol with hopeful contestants, yards of denim, a herd of leather jackets, and the memory of a country legend who was once dashing and ruggedly sexy, but who has obviously spent the past decade having his appearance altered in some warped version of the Witness Protection Program
Now that has all the makings of a hit country song. Someone get me Keith Urban's phone number...
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