ru·mor: 'rü-m&r (n) 1 : talk or opinion widely disseminated with no discernible source; 2 : a statement or report current without known authority for its truth; 3 archaic : talk or report of a notable person or event
Rumors. Society thrives on them.
Rumors are a device used by human beings to take the focus off their own crummy lives of carpools, paying bills, and eating Mac 'n Cheese every night, and redirect at it someone else’s crummy life – usually in the public arena.
Whether we like to admit it or not, just a whiff of a new rumor about Britney Spears underwear (or lack thereof), or Paris Hilton’s latest Greek boytoy, or even Jennifer Aniston’s new nose is enough to set tongues wagging and blogs afire.
So it’s not the least bit surprising that there has been a virtual web inferno today at the rumor circulating around two names:
Paula Abdul and Courtney Love.
You know, I don’t think it’s possible to cram more "crazy" into five little words than that…
Apparently, Ms. Love – not exactly the most reliable source of accurate information, in fact, she ranks right up there with weather forecasters and my tax return – is said to be telling folks she has been approached by Fox to replace Ms. Abdul.
US Weekly, quick to jump on anything a celebrity (gag) utters, is giving voice to her ramblings.
Now, while I love a good rumor just as much as the next human being, I have to say, this one made my brain curdle – seriously, picture a cup of cream with lemon juice poured into it. POOF – immediate curdle-ation – like an atomic cloud in a cup.
Courtney Love as an American Idol judge? Fine. I realize that we’d just be trading one type of crazy for another, Froot Loops for Cocoa Puffs, as it were, but at least with Paula, we pretty much know what to expect in our bowl. Courtney Love, to put it kindly, is an acquired taste - like the sushi called uni, which can only be described as licking the inside of a Woodstock port-o-potty.
Sure, Paula may slur her words from time to time, slide out of her chair, clap like a seal on crack, and hit on underage boys, but she’s basically harmless. Fox knows what to expect with her and they keep a big net on hand for when her Coke cup gets a little too full.
But Courtney? Legal philanthropist (come on, God only knows how many lawyers she has kept in business through the years), public exhibitionist (David Letterman still has nightmares of her flashing her crotch at him while dancing on his desk), and rehab frequent flyer (seriously, Promises installed a revolving door with a brass nameplate just for her).
Lest we not forget she fronts a band named Hole. And I promise you, it is not in reference to anything you dig in the ground with a shovel.
Seriously, if Courtney Love is a candidate, why not get K-Fed on there too? Or Paris Hilton? Or Charles Manson? Surely he likes a good tune as much as the next person.
Most counter-rumors that began spinning indicate that if the producers talked to her at all, it was about being a guest judge or mentor. For what? Incoherent Skank Night?
Personally, I really hope these rumors stay just that – RUMORS, never to be quantified or come to fruition. I mean, it’s bad enough that Diana Ross is slated to expose the kids to her personal brand of wackdom sometime this season.
So please, Nigel, Simon and the rest – don’t jump the shark. We may make fun of poor Paula all the time, but if given the choice between two trainwrecks, we’ll take the normal derailed Amtrak that is Paula over the Hindenburg on tracks that is Courtney Love - anyday.
Now, let’s get on with the recrap – wait, I mean recap – no, scratch that. Considering tonight’s offerings, I think recrap is excroidinarily apropos…
Ahhh, Los Angeles, the city that gave us McPheever (curable with over-the-counter meds and time) – we get treated to a snippet of Kat singing one of her 90 floor writhing renditions of Somewhere Over The Rainbow from Season Five, and then move straight in to pans of the thousands who turned out at the Rose Bowl for their shot at fame (also because LA is home to thousands of out of work actors who had nothing better to do that day).
The judges arrive – well, actually Paula’s breasts arrived a couple minutes ahead of her – come on, could she "boost her yeas" anymore than that without cutting off her air supply?
Guest judge Olivia Bayer Sager was on hand as well. Ok, ok – Olivia Newton John, who has obviously engaged the Restylyne/Botox services of the same surgeon as Carol. She looked lovely for her age – in an I-cannot-move-any-part-of-my-face-but-my-lips kind of way.
Yes, Olivia Newton-John, an artist with 4 decades of songs to choose from – and the producers highlight Xanadu and Physical? Listen, I have a soft spot in my heart for each – having made out to one (Xanadu) and danced to the other in a high school talent show, but come on. The woman is synonymous with Grease – Summer Nights, Hopelessly Devoted, We Go Together ring a bell?
(Incidentally, both Grease and Olivia are enjoying a Renaissance of sorts on another channel with You’re The One That I Want – the search for the new Danny & Sandy for the upcoming Broadway revival of the musical. She sits in as a guest judge there as well.)
Up first in the City of Fallen Angels is Martik Manoukian, a big pussy. Wait, sorry – that doesn’t sound right, now does it? Martik is a panther
Or he believes himself to be. He also claims to have the "fire equalling three men". I immediately envision the scene in Anchorman when Brian Fantana douses himself with Sex Panther cologne – "you know it’s good, because it’s made with real panther…"
I do believe that scene ends badly too.
But I digress…
Martik (who incidentally also looks like Kevin Federline circa 2005) lists his many occupations, talents, and aspirations as, "athlete, model, author, actor, rapper, choreographer, producer, composer, geologist, proctologist, astrologist, Slurpee machine operator, Britney Spears impregnator, all on a sesame seed bun…"
OK, fine – I embellished a little, but give me a break. He rattled off everything except his social security number and shoe size.
Martik, thrilled at the camera being aimed at the wonder that is Martik, then demonstrated the three Panther moves he has created:
1. Extension move – or eccentric move? Hard to understand him, but it involved slowly moving towards his victim.
2. The Crawl, which basically involves Martik, well, crawling on the floor.
3. The Flash, in which Martik whips his paw quickly through the air and makes a whooshing sound.
Listen, I don’t know about you, but it was at this point that I began to suspect the LA auditions were not going to yield either style or substance. Just lots of people who believe they have style and abuse any number of substances…
Martik sums up his raison d’etre, "I am auditioning for American Idol because I’m the most exciting entertainer on the planet."
Oh, how I wish Wayne Newton would have materialized and bitchslapped him back to the litter box.
Finally the producers stop the torture (seriously, what in THE hell did the viewing audience do to deserve this guy?) and his audition begins. He enters the room with Panther Move #3 – whooshing the air and throwing his binder across the floor.
He then adopts an Elvis-y wide legged stance, apparently figures out he is facing the wrong way, and turns to face the judges. Another #3 and his glasses go whooshing off screen.
He quickly follows by adding his vest and shirt to the growing pile of discards.
Moving forward via Panther Move #1, he quickly drops to Panther Move #2 and crawls to the judges table. All the while – he has made no sound. You stealthy panther, you.
Standing back up, he turns away from the judges and walks to the back wall where he proceeds to have a full body seizure. Seriously, you hear about them, you use the term in sentences, but you rarely get to witness an honest to God conniption.
Simon finally tells him to "get on with it."
"It" is something called Sweetest Princess which sounds suspiciously like stray cats sittin’ on a fence – no offense to Brian Setzer.
Simon asks "What the hell was that?" then threw in "horrendous" and "horrific" for good measure. Paula, however, chimed in with "not right for this competition, but I loved the roaring."
Ok, now see? This is where Courtney Love would get them all in trouble. If Paula can still get hopped up like a feline on catnip over this kid’s body, Courtney would have been buck naked on the floor by now.
Thankfully, it was over. A full ten minutes wasted pandering to this pathetic panther. Someone call Bob Barker and get this cat neutered, ok?
Surely after enduring all that, we must be in for some vocal redemption, right? Wrong.
Sholandric Stallworth, a man who worships Julio Iglesias and is determined to "bring the romance and the love back into the music" is up next, singing If Ever You’re In My Arms Again.
OK, fine – singing is a generous term. Sholandric actually embraces the screemching method of performance – you remember, screaming + screeching = screemching – he shouted the lyrics, quite a feat when you consider he was singing only one note the whole time. And sadly, love and romance were no where to be found.
Randy told him he hit about "12 keys on the chorus alone", none of which opened the door to a golden ticket.
A break brought us back to a montage of awfulness highlighted by Angela Mo, who was definitely a screeching No; Grace Pugal who sang One Moment In Time while wearing an inflatable bull on her body and what looked like a toilet seat liner on her head; Sophat Peou (yes, pronounced So Fat Pee Eww) who was dressed either as a banana or a Day Glo, large reservoired condom, singing Peanut Butter Jelly Time – with morraccas, no less.
Surely God must be testing us. But doesn’t he know we are a country of "C" students?
Marianna Riccio, a singer since she was four was dangled in front of us as "hope bait". And what’s this? She and Katharine McPhee have the same mother?!?! Seriously, her mother is a dead ringer for Kat’s mom, Peisha.
Wanting to follow in her Mom (a former Dean Martin Gold Digger)'s footsteps, which apparently means wearing far too little clothes for far too much body - I do believe Tyra Banks calls that condition where your belly spills over the top of your jeans, "muffin top"- Marianna entered the audition room.
Wearing a crocheted doilie for a top, her hands were caught in an 80’s timewarp – covered with Madonna fingerless gloves and rubber bracelets.
She then began to sing Should I Stay Or Should I Go – a musical question that seemed immediately rhetorical. She should definitely go.
Even before Simon’s critique, I had jotted down that she had a very "Cher-ish" quality to her delivery. Simon nailed it further with "Cher after she’s been to the dentist."
Obviously, that wasn't what young Marianna wanted to hear so she proceeded to beg, whine, plead, cry, grovel, crawl on her knees, and beg some more before Randy’s "1000% No" finally sent her to the door.
But wait!
Mommy cannot take No for an answer either and crashed the audition doors insisting that her baby could sing beautifully. Um, no, she can’t, please leave. Simon was not impressed with the message, but he did like the messenger, saying that "Mom was foxy."
This audition then opened the door to a procession of contestants for whom "No" obviously meant " a yes that just needs some persuading". People on their knees, crying, pleading, imploring – kind of like me – crying, pleading, imploring the producers to actually produce something decent out of this show.
Enter Alaina Alexander, a beautiful girl who has been a "struggling LA performer for six years". Declaring this audition to be her last before she hangs up her dreams for the scariness of college – seriously, the way she talked about being frightened of going to school was ridiculous. What? Waiting tables and being repeatedly rejected isn’t scary?
College is not exactly a bad back up plan, Alaina.
But, as luck and talent would have it, the Ivy League will have to wait a bit longer. She is not only as cute as a button, with a killer smile, she is a standout vocalist. Strong, smooth, controlled – the judges thought she was "really, really, really great" and gave her a ticket to the next round. I hope she realizes that the upcoming American Idol college classes are strictly Pass/Fail.
AFTER. THE. BREAK. Phuong Pham, who likens herself to be Taylor Hicksinian in her passion for music and performing spoke about her idol, "I have a lot in common with Taylor Hicks." I can only assume she meant a man’s voice. Come on, you thought it too.
In her preaudition footage, she talks about how her Mom was supportive but that she had also told her, "You’re pretty, but not quite TV pretty. You’re no Katharine McPhee."
OK, that may sound a tad harsh, but then, thousands of these contestants could benefit from having at least one person in their lives who is actually honest with them about their talents and attributes. Phuong is by no means a retina burner, but neither will she cause Kat any sleepless nights.
Phuong, dressed in jeans, a brown beret, brown top, and wearing a wok around her neck, began to sing Dancin’ In The Streets and everyone quickly realized that Mom’s honestly did not extend to the fact that her daughter’s dancing and singing abilities are not exactly TV ready either. In fact, I’m pretty sure that in some places, dancin’ in the streets like that will get you arrested.
Her jerks and spasms - I kept thinking she was going to throw up each time she lunged forward – made Taylor look like Baryshnikov.
In next was Brandon Rogers, a background singer for the likes of Anastasia and Xtina the past four years, who was finally ready to take his shot at center stage. Immediately likeable, Brandon is attractive, happy, buff, and humble.
Singing Always On My Mind, I closed my eyes and could absolutely imagine him as a solo act on the radio. Effortless, the kind of voice that makes you wonder why your own vocal cords can’t make sounds like that, the judges were won over in short order. Simon even said, "Out of everyone we’ve seen today, this is by far the best audition." Can’t wait to see him again in Hollywood. Oh wait – he’s already there – you get what I mean.
We get a brief shot of Grandpa Sherman, armed with a petition – 330+ signatures strong – approaching the entry tables outside, asking for a chance to sing. I smell gimmick…and mothballs.
Brian Miller, a handsome enough young man who made it all the way to Hollywood Week last season, is back again for another try. The pressure back then proved too much and he left in tears. He is back now, wiser, stronger, ready to withstand even the Brittenum Twins themselves, if it means another shot at the finals.
Singing Change Is Gonna Come, it is quickly evident why he made it through the first time. The boy is good. The judges decide to give him another shot at the brass ring and send him on his way with a smile on his face and a golden ticket in his hand.
Sherman has made it past the AI Guard, and apparently the producers too, and is ready to share his story with America. OK, I admit, that for one brief moment, I was ready to throw the remote at the TV, but then he began to explain just why his slightly older than 28 year old self was there.
It seems His "lady love" of 20 years had been diagnosed with cancer and had spent the past months at Cedars Sinai Hospital. A fan of the show, she helped him develop a petition to see if he could get an audition for Season Six when AI came to LA. To quote Sherman, "every signature kept her happy". It was motivation, plain and simple. And to anyone who has watched a loved one be slowly extinguished by disease, motivation and smiles sometimes make more of a difference than medication and science.
She died two days before Sherman arrived to audition, but he is convinced that working on the petition and the thought of him making it in to sing for the judges, "smoothed her passing, made it a little softer."
I’m sure he is right.
In the audition room, he explained it to the judges, and even Simon was touched by the story and the composure of the man.
As he began to sing You Belong To Me, Paula and Olivia dissolved, and Randy and Simon were visibly moved by the lyrics in relation to the story of Sherman and his "lady love".
As he left the audition room, with hugs and handshakes from all, he stated, "I won. I’m a winner."
Yes Sherman, you are. Anyone with that much heart and an outlook that positive can never be a loser in life. And I give American Idol props for including him in this episode. While I hate that he is sandwiched between the cluelessness of the Panther, and the Jerry Springer guests that come next, they did redeem themselves a bit by showing something that truly had no joke, no punchline – it was a simple moment that touched millions of hearts.
In all, 21 golden tickets were handed out on Day One – if you’re keeping score, we only got to see THREE.
Day 2 dawned with the talk show guests I referred to above – Cavett "Sparkles" Carr and her bus stop beau, Darold Gray.
Let me just delicately say, they add up to a whole lot of love. And a whole lot of character to spare.
Long minutes were spent listening to Cavett wax rhapsodic about Darold’s grill – his sexy, sexy grill – and watching him deliver "frosty kisses" with it.
OK, I admit it. I am as white and nerdy as anything Weird Al could parody. But I just don’t get the whole "grill" concept. I had braces as a kid and couldn’t wait to get them the hell out of my mouth. I cannot imagine voluntarily encasing my teeth in silver again.
But Cavett loves her man’s metal mouth, and that’s all that matters.
In the confessional booth, Cavett attempts to alert America that they will be the first, no wait, the next, ah hell, the only?, well, crap – something about the two of them getting married.
Seriously, someone get Jerry on the phone.
She went in to see the judges first, a vision in a big screen TV test patterned shirt and red pants. She then began to sing about Going Down and emphasized the lyrics by ending up on the floor. It was one of those empathetic embarrassment moments – I could feel it wash over me. I just wanted to make her stop before she made it any worse.
Well, if wishing could make it so, I could have saved her, but as it was, she proceeded to wink and waggle her tongue at Simon. Listen, Darold obviously likes all the junk in her trunk, her front seat, her back seat, and her Uhaul, but Simon seems to prefer "sleek compact cars" to "SUVs" when it comes to romance.
Darold got his shot next. Clad in cammie Garanimals, a dollar sign ball cap, and a tablecloth at his waist, he launched into I Wish It Would Rain – actually it sounded more like one of those Books-on-tape than actual singing. Thank God Cavett loves his grill because the judges pretty much fried his dreams.
With an obvious 30 seconds to kill, the producers treated us to a snippet of Anthony Adams scalding cats. OK, ok – he was singing You Light Up My Life and Pierce My Eardrums. Somehow I don’t think his posse is going to let him live down singing Debbie Boone on national TV.
Last, and certainly hyped as least, was Eric Mueller. Bland as a bowl of tapioca pudding, he boasted how he has not done anything for two years but "train for American Idol". He even cut out his social life.
Insert sound of crickets chirping.
He has "studied Robert Plant" and "Michael Jackson’s featherweight vocals" and just wants "to take what other people have done and raise it to higher heights." He wants to "fluctuate it, reverberate it, and … stand out from the contrasts."
What?
Claiming to have been practicing 4 or 5 hours every day, Eric stated, "People are going to hear my voice and go ‘I haven’t heard anything like that in a long time.’"
Someone untie him from the tracks. Please?
I began to hear the highpitched whistle from the oncoming, soon-to-be-wrecked train…wait…that’s not a train whistle. That’s Eric.
I honestly could not make out a word he was singing – partly because it was sung in such a high pitch my dog ran to the front door and began scratching to get out. Apparently it was Hilary Duff’s Fly.
Simon asked him to sing lower. Twice. But lower was obviously a foreign concept because he kept straying back into the stratosphere. It was pathetic – and I’m being generous here.
I guess the good news is that he can get back to his social life?
He began to leave the room, but then Simon noticed something on Eric’s audition sheet. There, listed under Training, was Simon’s Christmas, Easter, Halloween and birthday present all rolled into one: Eric proudly listed Randy and Paula’s DVD, Learn To Sing Like A Star.
I thought Simon was going to piss himself with glee. That, or give Eric a golden ticket just to embarrass his fellow judges.
And they were embarrassed. As Simon followed Eric out the door, Randy and Paula ambushed Simon in an attempt to keep him quiet.
Poor Eric was just confused. Don’t worry though, as with McPheever, time is a great healer.
So, that’s it for Los Angeles – 19 tickets were given out on day two – we saw NONE - bringing the grand total to 40.
Forty tickets given out and we only got to see THREE PEOPLE? Come on.
Maybe next week will be better. The show heads to San Antonio, Texas – only 100 miles from where I live. I warn you – everything IS bigger in Texas – that includes the hats, the hair, the buckles, and yes, the deluded. But maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll get a glance at some of the BIG talent that is hiding down here too. Stay tuned, pardner…
~~~
P.S. I regret to inform you all that as I am joining Mickey Mouse on a cruise to the Bahamas next week, I will unable to recap the shows until I return. I know, I know – how will you survive? I promise to get them up and running for you by Friday the 9 th, so mark your calendars and bookmark the site. And look on the bright side – this way, you’ll have something to tide you over the weekend as you anxiously await the next week’s shows. OK, fine, I’ll bring you back a souvenir too. My God, you people are spoiled.
I agree with your RECRAP. I'm so getting tired of this and want to see some real singers. I've always loved the auditions in the past, but in the past they were GOOD auditions, with a few really funny bad ones thrown in. This new way of showing the auditions is, in my opinion, getting very old.
Thanks for your blog...it's so entertaining. We'll miss you next week, but have a great time.
I've always watched the show to see the good singers. The auditions made for a good at-home competition trying to figure out in the earliest stages who would be the winner. Seeing a really bad one throw in was fun. This is no longer fun.
Posted by: | Thursday, February 01, 2007 at 09:32 AM
Favorite line: Up first in the City of Fallen Angels is Martik Manoukian, a big pussy.
What WAS that guy anyway? How can somebody not know what a huge ass they are?
Anyway it was another fab recap, or as you so perfectly put it, RECRAP. You are too funny and this blog is my new favorite place on the web!!! Have fun on your cruise but hurry back and make me laugh some more!!!!!
Posted by: Melanie | Thursday, February 01, 2007 at 07:13 AM
Eric Mueller and the "Ultimate Voice Coach" were the highlight of my WEEK!!! I have not laughed so hard in ages! I was dying for Simon to chase Eric down and get that whole thing on camera - and the looks of sheer desperation on Paula and Randy's faces were CLASSIC! I have to say, Linda, that has to be one of the all-time BEST moments EVER of American Idol. Was it not? I will never forget that.
You will be terribly missed next week. My poor husband may have to find me some virtual methadone for my recap-withdrawals. How dare you schedule a Disney Cruise during AI??? What in the world were you smoking, woman? Off-season or not, this is just not right. How can you abandon us like this? LOL
We love you... and have a splendiferous time!!!
Posted by: Lori in Texas | Thursday, February 01, 2007 at 01:07 AM