Dearly Beloved,
We are gathered here to bid farewell to the past eight months. Minutes which seemed to tick backwards on the clock. Hours that moved forward as slowly as cognitive thought in Kellie Pickler’s brain. Days that stretched out like a Rhonetta Johnson tube top. And months in which Tuesday and Wednesday came and went, came and went, came and went, mocking us with their emptiness, forcing us to watch reruns of Project Runway and The Mary Tyler Moore Show on Nick At Night.
Yet even in the darkness, dear children, we clung to the small shreds of light…
Kelly Clarkson accepting not one, but two Grammy awards.
Carrie Underwood collecting enough CMA awards to start her own juggling act.
Diana DeGarmo starring on Broadway in Hairspray (give me a break – I said small shreds of light)
Paula Abdul being signed on to produce and star in the upcoming live action Bratz movie
Which is the real Paula? I can’t tell either…
And just when we thought we could take the darkness no more, just when we thought that life could get no bleaker, the Idol gods smiled and bestowed upon us the vision of Jennifer Hudson, the contestant from season 4 who got screwed worse than a 2 x 4 at a Saturday morning Home Depot demonstration, stepping up to accept a Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress.
It was only fitting.
It was only right.
It also made the perfect segue into the brand new season of The Deluded and the Delightful, or as it is more commonly known:
Welcome back kids! How any of us managed to survive the past eight months is truly beyond me. I honestly think that having the AI supply cut off in May has to be worse than a heroin junkie going cold turkey. Seriously. The Tuesday night after the final show? I walked aimlessly around my house. I bumped into the walls. I fondled the Tivo remote…
After five months of emotional investment, passion, parties, arguments over contestants’ worthiness to stay - like Egghead Covais who not only had his 15th minute of fame, but his 16th, 17th, and 18th to boot – it is hard to go back to the reality of our drab little lives in which we have no control over other human beings.
Think about it. Wouldn’t it be great if we could dial in and vote off that smartass checker at the grocery store? I’ll teach you to never throw three cans of Hormel chili in the same bag with my loaf of bread, you &*^^$$@...
Ahem. Sorry. I’m just excited to be back, ready to wield my power over the hopes, dreams, and delusions of a new crop of wannabes.
So with that said, let’s get this recap underway!
Opening by playing the final seconds before Taylor Hicks was crowned last season’s Idol, Ryan could be heard intoning, “Together. Blah blah blah. Together. Blah, blah blah, blah. TOGETHER. Blah, blah, blahdedy, blah.”
Yes, yes, yes, Ryan. We KNOW we are responsible for this phenomenon, this juggernaut, this zeitgeist. We KNOW there have been over 100 #1 CDs – we bought them all.
Can you please finish tooting the American-Idol-Is-Responsible-For-Every-Great-Thing-Including-Flush-Toilets-And-Sliced-Bread and get on with the show?
Thank you.
Fast forward to Minneapolis, Minnesota – land of 10,000 lakes and temperatures that can freeze a man’s testicles to his underwear in less than three seconds. Thankfully though, the auditions took place during the fall, when testicles walk the streets freely, no fear of frostbite.
With the screen full of flip flops, previews of the infamous AI logo profanity cap over people’s mouths, and a cowgirl (contestant #6417) apparently having an orgasm during her audition, the show got underway.
How I have missed those colored noodles, that suppository shaped elevator, and that neon colon it rises through! I have to say that I admire their restraint in not changing this part of the show from year to year. Seriously, how can you beat a neon suppository?
Rhetorical question. Don’t answer.
Of course, what trip to Minneapolis would be complete without a total bastardization of one of Prince’s songs, compliments of the throngs assembled to audition? Sadly, the fact that they could not clap in rhythm did not bode well for what was to come…
But wait! Before we can get to the first audition, it’s Jewel, the first of the much lambasted guest judges. Honestly, in every interview I have read with Randy, Simon or Paula in the run up to this season, they have each dissed the guest judge inclusion. Not needed. Ruins their rhythm. Etc.
But Jewel has sold 20 million CDs and is here, happily so for first contestant Jessica Rhode – a die hard Jewel fan. Now, typically when they treat us to a video backstory complete with a trip to the place of business of the contestant, it means they are through to Hollywood, right? So here we are, visiting with Jessica, a make-up artist (at Glamour Shots across from Hat World in the Mall of America – ooooooo), as she gives a young customer a total makeover, and we're thinking, “Wow, this girl is a tad heavyset, not too stylish, but we followed her to work, so she must be able to sing!”
Psyche!
Even before she sings she is in tears speaking about Jewel and “wanting to inspire people”. Honey, the only jewels that would bring me to tears would have be at least 10 carats and set in prongs attached to a platinum band (or frozen to Brad Pitt's underwear).
Her audition began with her wiping her nose on the palm of her hand and oozed downhill from there as she butchered a Jewel song right in front of her idol. When she was told no, she then assumed a Crouching Jessica, Hidden Talent stance on the floor. Sorry grashoppa, but it’s back to the mall for you.
One note: Did you catch the look on her friend’s face when Jessica finally emerged crying and wept, “They said I’m not even a good singer.”? It totally read, “Well, duh.” Listen, friends don’t let friends drive drunk, and they shouldn’t let friends audition for American Idol when they know damn well that the person cannot sing a note.
Moving on…
Well, look what the horse and buggy dragged in! Troy Benham, self proclaimed “urban Amish”, complete with floppy hat, polyester suit, and chin pubes in serious need of a Brazilian waxing.
Admitting he has never seen American Idol (not hard when you have no TV), he launched into a song containing the lyrics “trip me as I carry liquid”, “spit drips into my face”, and “catalog that sells roaches by the pound”. For a minute I thought Kurt Cobain had been reborn and was singing in a band called Nirvamish. Needless to say, the judges sent him back to Wisconsin.
Next ensued a compilation of rejects: a girl begging “Jesus Take The Wheel” because her voice was careening all over the place and leaving skidmarks on my eardrums; a blond who was more likely to be found singing under the highway instead of “Over The Rainbow”; and what’s this? The Love child of Constantine Maroulis and Bo Bice?
Next misfit to merit face time? Jesse Holloway, wearing a Blue Tooth on the side of his head, who described his “unique vocal range” and talents in the longest run-on sentence which amazingly contained no vowels. I did, however, make out that he “can hit notes Mariah Carey can hit”.
He then began singing My Heart Will Go On and ran his vocal ship right into an iceberg. I just know Celine Dion was swearing in French and trashing her dressing room in Vegas.
He then asked if he could get some water and walked out of the room – just walked out. Poof. Gone.
Listen, I know these kids are nervous, and I give them all the credit in the world for being brave enough to not only go before the judges, but the millions of people they know will be watching, but come on! To just walk out? And then waltz back in? Listen Jesse, your vocals were already sinking like the Titanic – adding more water didn’t help keep it afloat. When he attempted Michael Jackson’s Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough, I actually heard a cat outside screeching that it had, in fact, had enough.
Note: The locked left door began to get old fast.
AFTER. THE. BREAK. To what should my wondering eyes should appear, but a resurrected Apollo Creed decked out in flag gear! I honestly thought he died in Rocky 2, but no, he was there to “knock out this audition!”
Charles Monroe, Apollo’s real name, chose to sing an “ario in Italian”. Of course he meant aria, but for a brief moment I thought he was going to bust out some Speedwagon in a different language, and that just didn’t make any sense at all. But then, this is a man dressed like the missing member of The Village People, so nothing would have really surprised me.
He began to sing his opera and I was shocked. He wasn’t Pavarotten afterall. I actually enjoyed him. The judges, however, were collectively turned off, and Paula, who was fishing in her shirt and slurring her speech the entire episode, had her first moment of clarity when she mumbled, “I guess I’m a little confused.”
Good for you Paula. They say admitting your problem is the first step in recovery.
Goodbye Apollo – and use the right door. No, not that one. The other one….
Next up, 16 year old Denise Jackson, complete with her hard life story – druggy mom, crack baby, raised by grandmother. Normally, these gratuitous stories put me off, but there was something about her demeanor that I warmed to. She was very composed, soft spoken, and not really looking for sympathy – just stating the facts. I liked her immediately, aside from the weed growing out the side of her head, and I’m glad because she tore up the Dreamgirls tune, And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going – a big song for a full grown woman, let alone a 16 year old girl. See you in Hollywood, Denise (just get that weed wacked first).
Boy, Minneapolis must have been lean on even the really bad auditions because the producers, in an attempt to fill two hours, now injected a PSA for the condition known as “Forgetting Your Words”. It wasn’t even that funny. Well, until they got to Tashawn Moore, who was there dressed to impress in a pink shirt and green gingham tie.
Yep, nothing says “impressive” better than green gingham. Except maybe purple paisley … or the ability to sing. Sadly, in describing Tashawn’s audition, words escape me, much like what happened to her, so I’ll move on.
Cut to Ryan flirting it up with Shakira, no wait, it’s Perla Meneses from Columbia. A lovely girl with a stellar smile, enticing accent, and boobs big enough to make “Seemon” get “seebone” when she walked in – seriously, did you see him perk up? Perla’s take on Blondie was OK, but her snippet of Hips Don’t Lie sealed the deal. Simon needs something pretty to look at during Hell Week in Hollywood, so she is through to the next round.
Hour two kicked off with Matt “I’ve Got Pizazz” Volna, the most boring cowboy to ever wear a hat. And it wasn’t even a good hat. Word of advice, Matt? Forget 10 - it was barely 3 gallons, and there’s nothing even remotely macho about wearing the hat straps around your face. And the folks at Folsom Prison are holding a cell open for you – you are now wanted for song slaughter.
The feel good highlight of the night was next. The fighting men and women of the USS Ronald Reagan spent weeks holding Reagan Idol to select one of their own to be sent to audition for season six. Jarrod Fowler, a Navy specialist, earned the top honor and with good reason – the young man is not only extremely likeable, but he can sing. His take on Bless The Broken Road was effortless and I can’t wait to see how far he can go. He is one of those underdog types that America embraces immediately.
Of course, this being American Idol, the good and uplifting must be tempered by the seriously deluded and scary, which brought us to Trista Giese who broke two of my Golden Rules for auditioning: 1. Thou shalt not bring stupid props with ye, and 2. Thou shalt not sing like an animal being neutered.
Stating, “I’m unique” and “I have something no one can bring”, at least she wasn’t a liar. A devotee of not just the Wizard of Oz, but of the cowardly lion specifically, she launched into his song, in his voice.
It’s the other door, Trista. (Seriously producers. It was funny the first two times – just unlock the damned door, will you?)
Stephen Horst, a vocal coach, stepped in to sing Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing, but he ended up missing everything as far as the judges were concerned. And while I did not think he tanked, Randy (who had worse PMS than Simon) was brutal saying the guy “shouldn’t even be a vocal teacher” and “it sucked”. Simon, in one of the bigger pot-calling-the-kettle-black moments in recorded history, was “amazed at Randy’s rudeness”.
Well, Stephen may not be heading to Hollywood, but at least he headed out the right door.
We got to briefly meet 19 year old Michelle Steingas, a blond, perky young lady with a clear, strong voice. While there was nothing really compelling about her brief audition, she can clearly sing and as Simon put it, was “confident without being irritatingly precocious.” Pack your bags Michelle.
A brief Reject Montage was highlighted by a guy wearing the hat from Cat in The Hat, if, in fact, the Cat In The Hat was tripping on crack. Take that, Sam I Am.
Dayna Dooley, destined for the reject pile, refused to take her first No (in Pasadena) for an answer and her boss flew her (and her sister) to the audition in Minneapolis. She seemed like a really nice girl, aside from forgetting to wear any pants with her white shirt, but her decision to screech in the middle of Tell Me Something Good, left the judges without a good thing to tell her at all. I believe the phrases were “she can’t sing” and “she was terrible”.
That’s ok, she can still sing for her boss – but I would really recommend wearing pants in the workplace.
The next teenager up was a 16 year old pimple named Matt Santo. Give me a break – like you all didn’t notice the unfortunate satellite dish on the end of his nose. He made it through – nice voice – but Matt, get yourself some Clearasil and some coverstick for the trip to Hollywood, ok? I have a high def plasma and that thing looked like it was ready to jump off my screen and eat my dog.
Another member of the military was up next. Rachel Jenkins, Army Reserve, whose husband is stationed in Bagdad, sang His Eye Is On The Sparrow. Though she was a little nervous, she has a beautiful voice, and, like Navy man Jarrod, something immediately likeable about her. She’s through to Hollywood and exited through the correct door.
Sarah Krueger merited little screen time, but with her big hair and effortless big voice on Somewhere Over The Rainbow, she’s through to the next round.
I must pause here to ask if anyone else was taking note of Paula’s behavior? Throughout the entire process, everytime the camera caught her, she was wobbling in her chair, fishing in her shirt for her bra straps, or mumbling. Drunk? Stoned? Strunk? Droned? I hope they bought a reinforced net for season six – they’re gonna need it.
But I digress…
Jason Anderson, whose Indian name is “Sings With Feather Sticks” performed next. And not very well. While he was told by Simon that his “future involved not singing”, I would say he has a fair shot at a career in stand up comedy – the profanities poured forth at such a rate that his entire rant was obliterated by the AI Logo profanity cap. Until he dissolved into tears, that is. His Mom, part of the problem, continued to feed his delusions with “You’ll be famous.”
Um yeah, Mom. For juggling feather sticks and swearing on national TV. I know I’d be proud of my kid.
Idol’s biggest fan, Brenna Kyner, got her shot at the fame she has watched for years on her TV set. Unfortunately, that fame will be for her audition, not in the form of a confetti downpour and a recording contract. Deluded, to the point of referring to she and AI as BFFs, she also launched into a tale of meeting Ace Young and him drawing a tattoo for her. Whoa. I didn’t know he was such an artiste! It was…a heart! Double whoa.
Brenna’s comment that “nobody in any season of Idol is like me” was spot on. When she launched into a David Bowie song, the only things Under Pressure were my eardrums. Screemching (scream + screech) the intro, I found myself screemching “Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?????????????” right back at her.
Of course they showed her the door (the correct one) whereupon she informed us that she not only has 10 years of vocal training, but a diploma in vocal performance. I guess it goes to show you can get a degree in anything online.
Another break – and I must comment on Coke’s new “Give a little love and it all comes back to you” commercial. I like the sentiment, but the virtual reality Sims character walking through the urban landscape looks like the only thing that came back to him was a load in his britches. It freaked me out.
Filling more time, aka extorting more ad dollars, the producers followed with an homage to Prince. Well, considering it was a collection of the worst contestants singing his song, Kiss, it was more of a barrage, than an homage – the highlight of which was a guy who sounded like someone was ripping his colon out through his mouth while he sang.
The last contestant was Josh Flom, a self described rocker, spurred on by the success Chris Daughtry found through Idol. He began to sing Bad Day by Chris’s favorite band Fuel, and it sounded like he was horking up some of his last name. Simon challenged him to come back in 15 minutes singing something from ABBA, which he did, complete with a heaping horking of more “flom”. He finished with a snot filled version of Copa Cabana – still not getting that they just wanted to hear him SING, not gargle gravel.
So that’s it for tonight’s Many Hapless in Minneapolis recap. In all, only 17 hopefuls made it through to Hollywood.
Next up: Seattle. So tune in Wednesday night when we discover whether the city that gave us the addiction known as Starbucks serves up some Venti sized vocals or just a Grande’, nonphat decaf, hold the talent.
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