Why Everyone Should Watch "American Idol"

Yes, it's that time of year, the time of year I swear to you and myself that I shall not write another "American Idol" blog, but end up doing it anyway. I'm not sure any of my tens of readers watches Idol, has ever watched Idol, knows anything about it, or wishes the whole phenomena would take a long walk on a short pier. Actually, I kind of wish it would take a long walk on a short pier as well, but that doesn't stop me from watching it. Weekly. And weakly.

We're at that very bewitching time in the season where we're down to four contestants. Four from 12, the second set of finalists. Idol is big on finalists. You have your 24 finalists which are hand picked by the judges from the 64 or so finalists who get a trip to Hollywood, and are chosen from the 544,212 wannabes (read: losers) who audition in the various cities at the beginning of the show. Yes, that's where your loonies show up, and the less said about that the better, and I'll try not to dwell on it here. Anyway, the 24 finalists go to 12 finalists, and to six finalists, all the way down to two finalists.

So the 24 finalists are chosen by the judges, as I've said, and I hope you read above. This year the judges outdid themselves on the crappiness of their 24 finalists-picking. It seems every year a couple of dillies get thrown into the mix, a few "whaa?!?" choices, in the 24. I used to think the reason for this was to have a couple of folks in the finalist round for us to hate, to talk endlessly about why the hell they're there and why they won't go the hell home. And why they're beating out better singers. However, this year I changed my reasoning, changed it to the simple fact that the judges are complete twats, pardon my language. This was confirmed for me soon after the picking when Simon Cowell, the "mean one," who is not only British but my age or older, and a supposedly famous record producer, said quite matter of factly, after someone sang the Gerry & the Pacemakers classic "Don't Let the Sun Catch You Crying," that he'd never heard it before.

Of the 24 hand-picked finalists this time around, there were probably 5 people that actually deserved to be there. The rest were various and sundry half-singers, castoffs from beauty pageants, and, well, God, I don't know. There was Haley, who stayed around long after most of the Idol-watching public had politely asked her to leave, the only white girl left in the competition, whose hemlines rose and necklines plunged with each new week. At least she knew where to go to get votes to stay on the show, and after her singing, where the contestants usually hold up their fingers reminding callers of the number to key into their pads to vote, I'm surprised she didn't finally just take to pointing at her crotch. She was preceded in the heave-ho by Antonella, a teen of no fixed vocal abilities, who was another fine-looking white chick, and when she sang, many asked who was killing the cat, but, sadly, when she also sang the penis of every male in TVLand promptly stood at attention, and she stuck around for quite a while, even after nude photographs of her taken in some of the finer bathrooms New Jersey has to offer showed up on the internet. Gina also went, Gina the "rocker chick," who didn't rock so hard but had pink streaks in her hair and a stud in her tongue, which caused her to pronounce her words very badly indeed.

And of course, there was Sanjaya. And don't tell me you don't know who Sanjaya is, because I'll know you're lying. Sanjaya, the National Joke, whose 15 minutes of fame lasted for weeks on end, who had stunning hair and very white teeth, and had the money-in-the-bank attraction of being a teenaged male. Now, I had a definite love/hate relationship with Sanjaya. I loved him because he was so horrible, stood there smiling while the judges ripped into every fiber of his talential being, and young girls in the audience booed that ripping, and having him there made the whole show a bigger joke than what it is anyway, and so I was rooting for my boy Sanjaya to be the next American Idol. We deserve Sanjaya as a TV-watching public. And for a little while, I loved him because he seemed to get the joke that he was, and played along with it.

But then I also hated Sanjaya. Mainly because at his very first audition, he was terrific. He was an incredibly humble, cute little Indian kid, who sang a Stevie Wonder song with a voice so sweet it made my teeth hurt. I was happy to see him go to Hollywood, where his performances still wowed me. But the first time he stepped on the 24 Finalists Stage, his voice left him, as did any sort of presence he ever had, and it was like he'd suddenly had a complete talentectomy. He was a train wreck, and as his legend grew his humility left, and he even ceased being a cute little kid, though he did remain Indian, much to his credit. He never tried to improve his vocals, or presence, and thought he could float his way into the final finals, and he got burned after "Country Week," where he wore a red bandanna over his massive tresses and sang something I don't remember, but unfortunately, it was not "Stand By Your Man," for which I'd have voted for him a million times.

We also lost a couple more of the really bad finalists after that, Phil, who televisionwithoutpity.com's contributors named Phileratu and Bat Boy, simply because his shaved pate and scary face made him look exactly like the famed Bat Boy from the Weekly World News. And Chris, named Timberfake because of his blatant aping of Justin Timberlake, from the constant head-bop dancing to the "Look Mom, I have head lice" hairstyle. (Someone explain the popularity of that hairstyle to me, because frankly, I just don't understand it.)

So anyway, we are in fact at that very bewitching time, when the stakes get stakier and there are only four people left. After tonight, there will be three people left.

We have Blake. I half-like Blake, but not nearly as much as Blake likes Blake. Blake thinks Blake is the greatest thing since sliced cheese, individually wrapped. Since indoor plumbing. Since God sent down his only begotten son. I guess the reason Blake appeals to me is because he goes away from the standard "I Will Always Love You"/"Somewhere Over The Rainbow" catalog of songs contestants usually pick from, and other than that Gerry & the Pacemakers debacle, which made my stomach hurt, I usually laugh heartily at the judges saying they've never heard of a song. And they say this constantly with Blake, because he often sings songs written in this century.

However, Blake has a gimmick. He's a beatboxer. And man, is this annoying. It would only be minorly annoying if he pulled it out (so to speak), as a surprise, once in a blue moon. And I have to say that his very first appearance on the Finalist Stage was so lovely, a purely sung version of a Keane song, with nary a sound effect in sight. A judge complained about that, and it's gotten progressively rampant over the weeks, till now between every line sung there's some sort of lip fart or record scratch. He needs to give it a rest, as does he his dancing, which comes in only one style, a sort of 2000s moonwalk. Also, Blake has two smiles. His regular smile, and his fake smile, which is simply his top teeth resting in a balance upon his bottom teeth, not so much a smile as a grimace. I'll tell you something, Blake. The only other person I've known with two smiles, and that exact same fake smile, is Anna Nicole Smith. I'm just sayin', you know. For your protection.

Blake is the only male left in the competition, which is to his advantage, because all of those girls whose girl equivalents of a penis stood at attention for Sanjaya, or Timberfake, or even Phileratu, God help them and I hope they get therapy, only have one fella to transfer their votes to.

Next we have LaKisha. LaKisha is a black lady of ample body, and ample voice to match. She's a belter. She's a single mom. And she's something else. Picked from the earliest of auditions to take it all, her fortunes have sunk to the point where she may be gone tonight. LaKisha's first performance on the Finalist Stage was of "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going," and it was so angry and full of venom you just had to love the woman. In the weeks to come it would be that every song she sang was filled with this same sense of anger, and she did a cover of former Idol Carrie Underwood's "Jesus, Take the Wheel" that, well, probably scared the shit out of Jesus. I know it did me.

LaKisha has a rather interesting habit, one that maddens most viewers but endears her completely to me. She never takes the mentors' advice. The mentors, whatever famous singer brought on to coach the contestants on a given week, will listen to the kids sing and give advice. Whatever they tell LaKisha to do, she does the complete opposite. And does it with a vengeance. When Tony Bennett told her not to end "Stormy Weather" with a line from "Ain't No Sunshine," she looked right into the camera and did it anyway, as if to say, "You watchin', Tony?" Apparently he was, because he was scheduled to show up the next night and perform on the results show, but "the flu" kept him away.

Two more facts about LaKisha: she has a lisp, and she seems to be losing weight as the competition goes on, which of course is not endearing her to me, although I would like to hear about that "American Idol Diet."

Melinda comes next, and I like Melinda most of all. She looks like she's about 40 years old and has something of a horse face. Which is not to say she's ugly, oddly enough, she's just unique-looking. She has no neck, either. However, she has talent out the wazoo, and her voice has run the gamut from Billie Holliday to Gladys Knight to Tina Turner to Ella Fitzgerald. Melinda also has this "Awww Shucks" thing about her which most people find annoying, but I think is sweet, and I say, "You go, Melinda," and that's that.

However, Melinda probably will not win, because also in the competition is Jordin. Yes, one of those youngsters whose parents give them a name and don't know how to spell it. Jordin is 17 and is the daughter of a professional football player I've never heard of. She's also 17. I know I told you that already, but every single fucking time the girl sings, one of the judges has to throw in the fact that she's only 17.

Jordin is the Golden Child. She is the one the producers of Idol want to win it all, and so Jordin is shoved down our throats at every opportunity. She gets massive camera time. She's often the star of the "pimpmercial," or weekly Ford TV Commercial featuring what contestants are still around. She's been given the final singing slot - massive gold when your audience has a short attention span - more than is fair, or necessary. And the producers of Idol love Jordin so much, of course, because they realize she's the only one left of this 24 Finalist Car Accident that could actually sell a record once the show's over. Blake - too quirky. LaKisha - too scary. Melinda - too dated. Jordin - bingbingbing!

Jordin is a big girl. Now, when I say this you have to understand. She's a big girl. She's not fat by any means. She's just a big girl. And she's only 17, but she's a big girl, and by this I mean that it looks like she was put into some sort of machine and she came out a third bigger than the rest of the population. It's the most hilarious thing when she stands next to Ryan "Douchebag" Seacrest on the show. She dwarfs him completely. She's a head taller and a body wider. She's like the Attack of the 50 Foot Woman. And she's only 17!

Jordin has only marginal talent, but it doesn't matter, because she's got everything else Idol is looking for. She's cute, she's bubbly, and did I mention she's only 17? And what's sad is that in the beginning I didn't really mind the girl too much, especially after her rendition of "I Who Have Nothing," a performance in which she changed from bubbly to so depressed I thought she would surely fling her behemoth 17-year old self off a building. But it's just the constant pimping of Jordin now as the girl who needs to win. Enough already. Stop with the Jordin.

Anyway, any of that above is not really even what I was going to write about, which is horrible of me to write something that long and have you read it just to get to a couple of paragraphs at the bottom containing what I was really going to say. What I was going to say is that the producers of "American Idol," and possibly everyone involved with the show, are complete nutjobs.

And here's why, and maybe why I felt like I had to talk a little about the contestants. The AI people have these fine examples of young American talent displayed before us, the age limit for auditioning is 28, and they make billions of dollars by parading them out in front of us each week, but the real cash starts flowing when the show is over and the winner of Idol - who is called the American Idol, believe it or not - releases the record that's part of their record deal-winning prize. The record-selling begins with the single, the one they've been picked to sing right there on the Idol program during the finals - the final finals - and continues with the album. So let's be honest here. The Idol producers have a massive stake in who wins and who loses. They want record sales, and they want them pronto.

Now, first of all, that single. That single released by the winner. It's always been, and I have no reason to believe this year will be any different, the worst piece of schlock to come out of its year or any other. Just mind-numbing, thumb-twiddling, migraine-inducing tat. Think of your more sappy Whitney/Bette/Bolton/Groban numbers, and you've got an idea. It's a tradition. The "Idol Song" is going to be a massive dungheap for the ears.

So, let's go at this another way. Last year's winner was Taylor Hicks. Now, I liked Taylor a great deal, because he was, for me, the AntiIdol. He was everything Idol is not, and everything the producers of the show wanted to steer clear of. He was an old (in their vernacular), gray-haired, unhip, dancing around like Joe Cocker singer of obscure Elton John songs. His "Idol Song" was of course a massive dungheap for the ears, and due to the fact that I didn't buy his album, his album has sold to date approximately zero copies.

And the Idol producers are nervous and have sprung into action. After the collective sigh of relief over Sanjaya's final hurrah, they've pinned all their hopes on Jordin. She's young, cute, bubbly, 17 (did I mention that?), and big, and she's who they want out there singing the massive dungheap for the ears, selling it with a smile, and making them a few more billion. They're scared shitless that LaKisha could win, screaming Broadway tunes at the crowds and frightening the children, or Melinda, sending the high schoolers away in droves because, "Like, talent is boring."

But see (as I'm wont to say), here's the thing. Idol's going on this youth kick, so scared that their recently stodgy ways are only netting them 29 billion instead of 30. And their show is so horribly dated, it's funny, well, it would be funny, if it weren't so jaw-droppingly mystifying. The celebrity mentors this year have been Tony Bennett, Lulu, Peter Noone (Herman from Herman's Hermits), Diana Ross, Bon Jovi, Barry Gibb. Not exactly big with your teenies and tweenies. They have these three dinosaurs as judges. And God. They have that "Idol Single" every year, sure to be loved by grannies, and not even your hip variety grannies. The grannies that smell like mothballs.

So, why should everyone watch "American Idol?" I've no idea. I guess because I watch it, and I want someone to bitch to. But I bitched to you anyway, didn't I?

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Betland blogs have been scarce of late. This is because Betland is tired. And has had nothing to write about, other than to say, "I'm tired." I'll try harder.