Time once again, ladies and gents and people of indeterminate gender identity due to either biology, tragic mishap, or personal choice!
It’s Tuesday, and that rhymes with truth-day, at least if you lisp badly (go on, try it – you know you want to!).
So, tonight, as always for your edification and entertainment, I shall endeavor to give you the low-down on the goings-on with the winner- and losers-to-be of the not-a-one-hit-wonder show, American Idol. Endeavor being the operative word, because there’s a good chance my cynicism and general unhappiness with my lot in life* will get the better of me and I will just make stuff up.
Stay tuned… there’s more to come…
Before We Start, a Prediction: Michael Johns will not be going home tonight.
Call it a gut feeling.
It’s 7pm, So Here We Go! (oh my gosh, how exciting)
Mariah Carey is the coach tonight. Her boobs are the visual distraction from any auditory nightmares that might unfold.
David Archuletta listens to Mariah Carey a lot. Ladies, I’m telling you, he’s off limits, unless you need fashion advice. He’s also the first male of the night to have zero interest in Mariah’s yabos.
Watching him sing, it’s like Clay Aiken and Rick Astley had a love child. I might have made that joke already. But, that’s ok, because it’s that true. And I speak truth to power. And inappropriate things to hot moms. Or do I?
Randy wishes David would sing his nuts a love song. Paula agrees (although to her puppies, not her nuts, because she doesn’t have nuts, but she is nuts). Simon liked it too.
Playing second fiddle to the David-wanky-diddle is Carly Smithson. In honor of Mariah, she’s showing her cleavage, which is fine with me (more than fine), except I just noticed she has the nose of Meg from “The Family Guy.”
But that’s ok, cleavage rules. Noses suck.
Well, think about it, sometimes they do. They also blow.
The intro was pitchy and boring, but the higher parts were solid. Randy concurs. Paula talked about Carly swelling, which would seem more appropriate when she’s speaking about Michael Johns and her hooded Amazonian warrior, but there you go. Simon gives constructive criticism.
Syesha Mercado is singing “Vanishing,” a song Mariah wrote as a teenager, long before the (alleged) boob job (Mariah, not Syesha, although that couldn’t hurt her chances at pop stardom).
She can obviously sing, but what I have never liked about Mariah is that she engages in vocal noodling, throwing out runs and scales regardless of how well they fit in any given place. Syesha did the same.
It’s like Ron Jeremy whipping out his manhood every time a camera was near despite the fact that no one would willingly do Ron Jeremy without significant pay. Or not, but whatever.
Someday, my similes and metaphors will be regarded as fine literature.
Brooke White takes on the song “Hero.” She goes for the piano factor, which is a good move when you’re not the strongest singer in the bunch. If your mouth can’t keep up, at least you’ve got your hands. So I hear. Man, I am almost too crass tonight for even me.
Overall, a very level performance, a bit squelchy in places, but passable, a good try. Although Simon says the “bit in the middle” was missing, while Randy says “the meat was in the bun.” And I thought I was crass.
Kristy Lee Cook. She can sing, and she’s pretty. And she’s pretty, and she can sing. Paula rambled a bit like that, didn’t she? Simon is off the mark, although I admit my own weakness for the pretty girl.
Things are really cookin’ now (arrrgh), as David Cook and his adolescent beard are up next.
So, he plays the guitar for Mariah but not for the people? I feel so let down. I also feel this performance would have worked a lot better had he actually been playing the guitar, but it felt to me like something any hair metal band could have done. That said, the change up in the arrangement was daring, even for a boy who struggles to grow a beard (myself included, and you should hear how I change up arrangements of Mariah Cary songs).
Jason Castro is – right this moment – wishing he had opted for diapers instead of the big boy pants, because David Cook hoarded a lot of praise just then.
And, sadly, I missed the whole performance because the wee Fiona stepped in a hairball on her way to bed.
* I’m actually pretty happy, especially now that you’re here, dear American Idol consumer. Have you lost weight? You look fabulous!