Without further delay….let us begin:
Ramiele Malubay sings Heart’s “Alone.” She’s cute, for an android that refuses to move. That’s right, I just broke the story that Ramiele is a robot cloaked in the human skin of cadavers (and she eats scrap metal to power her vocal cords, and drinks human blood to look more alive). That’s right, I just broke the story that Ramiele is a robot vampire. Yes, that’s it.
Jason Castro, the illegitimate love child of John Travolta and a man with feces in his hair, after fawning over how cute he was as a kid, takes on Sting’s “Fragile.” Not a bad performance, and the girls will eat up the guitar (hey, that’s why I first learned to play). It wasn’t overly exciting, but then “Russians” wasn’t exactly a get-up-and-boogie tune either. But then that’s not what this show is about (nor is it about poop in your hair).
Come on, admit it: when he was answering Ryan’s question about why Simon thinks he isn’t taking it seriously, you could just hear Vinnie Barbarino saying “Huh. What.” Couldn’t you?
Syesha Mercado sings “If I Was Your Woman,” which is the more popular, yet less grammatically correct, version of “If I Were Your Woman.” Curse you, verbs in the subjunctive mood! I don’t know the song, but the singing was pretty good, although I really doubt I will remember it beyond midnight (Paula’s suggestions to the contrary notwithstanding).
Chikezie “Chickaboom-boom-boom” ….uh, dude doesn’t have a last name? Well, there goes that little joke. He’ll be singing “If Only For One Night,” yet another song I don’t know in the least. (Quick Googling reveals it’s Luther Vandross, so at least it’s – probably – not going to be one of those “aww, yeah, sweet sugar baby, let me bend you over my Mercedes and tap that thing ’til the sun come up, oooooh ooohhh yeah” R&B songs).
So, how was the performance? I actually didn’t pay any attention because I was writing the above. That’s what I thought of it.
Brooke White is a Gemini (which signifies absolutely nothing except that she puts her trust into the ever-accurate and equally vague prognostications of newspaper astrologers). She’s doing some Sting too, “Every Breath You Take.” Starts off with a mis-step, and then proceeds to turn the thoughts of a jealous control freak into a sweet piano number. Vocally fine though.
And she’s pretty, which – like those old NBC Saturday morning edu-commercials about “knowing” – is half the battle. At least if the spoils of war include getting into my pants.
Allow me to raise the white flag.
Michael Johns is next. His Dad looks kind of like Walter Cronkite.
“We Will Rock You / We are the Champions.” Note to future contestants – rock anthems require more than a cheesy house band; that first bit paled in comparison to the bleacher stomping you get at a high school pep rally. After that, it was a pretty solid performance, and – I’m going to go out on a limb here and proclaim that – as of right now – Michael Johns can have any 14 year old girl he wants. Kudos.
Carly Smithson. She’s read a lot of books. She was married to James Taylor in a past life. She needs a pop filter while singing “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” She didn’t impress me too much with the ending.
She does however have a throaty kind of voice that makes me think of chrome bumpers (or bumpers that were formally of the chrome variety). Hot.
David Archuletta was born in 1990, which means he’s been driving legally for maybe two years. Good lord. Shoot me now.
“You’re the Voice.” Never heard of it. And I thought they were supposed to sing songs from the year they were born? This was (per Google) first unleashed on an unsuspecting public in 1986. Why must he turn it loose upon us again? For shame, boy!
Kristy Lee Cook, sings “God Bless the USA.”
Awesome. Our nation’s complex history… our ideals, the pursuit of which we continually seek to perfect… the sacrifice of thousands upon thousands of our countrymen… reduced to a maudlin piece of musical poop. Yes, yes, I know – not liking that song is akin to moving to the former Soviet Union and renouncing one’s citizenship and kicking puppies for fun. You’ll get over it.
Fine job of singing, though, and she’s conquered the last half of the army waging war on my pants.
David Cook, alias Baby Professor X, is performing Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean.” The first 3/4 of the arrangement was dull, but the last quarter really saved the performance. Paula can’t sit down, and it has nothing to do with a moist spot on her chair, honest. Simon might need a diaper change too.
I think young Master Cook has taken the evening.
And Paula’s heart.
I’ve got a little tear in my eye, I do.
We’ll… *sniff*… see you next time.
Update: My compatriot in video sadness, Zombyboy, also blogged the evening of American Idol. He might get comments, but I get traffic, because I know how to use SEO. He may feel the love of his commenters, but I shall rub myself all over with the thirty-eight cents I might make from this post!
And I will do it thirty-eight times.