Who can forget the first time they saw five attractive but slightly different looking men reaching out from the radio or TV screen and begging you to be their girl? Truth be told, boy bands have been around for a very long time. The Jackson 5 was technically a boy bad and one that actually played their own instruments (or get beat by Crazy Old Man Jackson). The brilliance is undeniable (oh and look who shows up at the end of the video).
My favorite boy band of all time (yes, I know all the choreography of this video by heart) is New Edition. Not only did they have so many great hits starting with “Candy Girl,” but they broke up to give us the wonderment of Bobby Brown – BOBBAAAAYYYY!!!!, Bell Biv Devoe, a sensitive Ralph Tresvant and later Johnny Gill, my my my.
Then these guys came along acting like they invented the boy bad. To be fair, the reaction to them was like they invented the boy band. Seeing them in concert – I had a good reason – what just that because I could not hear a single thing over the constant shrieking of prepubescent girls…and their moms.
This is not good. This really is not good. When the night starts off with the singtestants who have been voted off in the prior weeks: Gloria Estefan, Jr., Earth Mother Naima, Not Diana Ross, Pocohantas, Clever Girl, and the man you shield your child’s eyes from, it is not a good sign for the rest of the night. They came out screaming Pink’s redemption song, “So What,” and I couldn’t agree more. No, you are not a rock star. Not at all. In fact, you didn’t even win the tenth season of American Idiot. Who’s gonna win, asks the Fly Girl. The reason she asks is because no one knows. That’s how bad this week was.
Let’s just reflect for a moment on the twatwaffle that is Paul McCreepster. He was brought back and allowed to wear the only clothes in his bedazzled hobo bag. You see, after spending his last sheckels on this Elvis Impersonator knock-off, it’s all he’s has to wear (the last one being his selection for last night’s thing of my nightmares). Here’s the evidence:
Look McCreepster. We see you AND your magic suit of roses. We do. Now, go take a nap somewhere with Solange Knowles, Karina Smirnoff and the Karadashians. Moving on to the performances that actually matter.
I will not slash your tires this week:
It’s so nice that Courtney Love got a weave and a gig singing back-up for Idol singestants. She did a great job singing with that little trollop from high school, Hailey. Hailey has the crazy phantom Mariah hand but the love-child of Joan Osborn and Natasha Bedingfield chose a song that fit that gritty voice of hers and oh how she growled. How has she not lost her voice yet? Better yet, why? Adele will always and forever do everything better than this little captain of the cheerleaders, including breathing, but her performance didn’t make you scrunch your face up and cry into a pillow like when she stole your boyfriend.
One thing that is missing on the regular from Idol is someone who brings the R&B. And not in the Luther/Teddy Bear way but someone more like an Usher or a Ne-Yo. Not since that kid who wore the hat every week has any man tried to dance and sing at the same time. No, not George Huff. The other guy. So for that reason, I appreciated Stefano’s performance. Plus, arms.
Have an antifreeze-laced smoothie:
Overgrown Baby Gay Kurt has completed his move into Adam Lambertsville. He unpacked his chains, hung the leather curtains and sound-proofed the boudoir. What in the Mad Max and the Thunderdome is this, anyway? Watch if you dare, but I do not recommend it. My ears are bleeding and every dog in the neighborhood is at my door.
Get that aw-shucks-country-bumpkin offa mah tee vee. “Run around like you did for you last girlfriend,” says The Old Lady to Alfred E. Newman. Oh right. Like he’s had one. YOU HAD A DECADE WORTH OF SONGS AND THIS IS WHAT YOU PICKED?! This was something that some dudes in Nashville drummed up over their Starbucks venti mocha frappaccinos one afternoon. And shut up, audience. Stop clapping. You too, mee-maw. You know what? You are all kicked out. Every last one of you. My laser site (relax, it’s a cat toy) was on Alfred E. Newman’s wiggly bobblehead within 2 seconds of him singing “we were swinging.” I wish I could sweep his legs like Ralph Macchio did at the end of Karate Kid. Wax on, get off.
Jacob is a trickster. He knew what day it was. He knew was Luther’s birthday yesterday. He chose that day to bring out his Luther and it was so NOT Luther. I suppose Jiminy Cricket just gave up and gave in to Jacob and his cheeseballs. So he got to tell us that his father died when he was young, and that he wanted to sing this song for him. That’s sad, truly. But to sing this song about Luther’s deceased father, on Luther’s birthday, and dedicated to his own deceased father? Pass the bottle.
Speaking of hitting the bottle, The Old Lady got bleeped twice. TWICE! This is American Idol, lady. A family show. Despite Fozzie Bear’s increasingly crazy eyes (during a Maroon 5 song?), the judges tripped over themselves to praise the gingerbread headed wonder. No talking about choosing a Maroon 5 song, huh? Nothing at all? And adding to the silliness, Seacretin came out wearing a beard. No, Julianna Hough was not draped over his shoulders. He was making a funny by fake gluing on a fake beard. Oh Seabiscuit, we are so on to you.
So little Lauren got a gift certificate to Wet Seal and sang some stupid song that would have made Simon’s eyes roll so far back into his head that they would have been lost like your poor meatball all covered with cheese. This was 100% Velveeta and she knew it. Everyone knows it. Has anyone on this season’s Idol heard of any of the following country artists: The Dixie Chicks, Alyson Krauss, Dolly Parton? Apparently not. Truth is, there is no one here this season to put the fear of Gawd in their little patoots. Simon would have taken a lightsaber to this night. Here we are, a perilous six weeks away from the next Idol being crowned and we are being served up benign drivel in a denim and lace mini-skirt.
So the interns at Jive Records are staying up late tonight, trying to get ready for whichever singtestant manages to outlast the others. After tonight, there is no winning, there is only staying alive – and by that, I mean those of us who watch the show every week.
**Author’s note: Upon review, I have noticed that I have twice practically quoted The Old Lady’s comments. I’m going to take some time, get jury duty drunk, and think about my life choices.
Bottom Three: Jacob, Alfred E. Newman (ohpleaseohpleaseohplease), Stefano
UPDATE: For the love of humanity, Idol. As if “Soul Sister” has not invaded every elevator, commercial, grocery store and orifice in America, you inflict it upon us. And it only gets worse, I don’t care how you feel about Coldplay (you’re probably wrong) but to have Baby Lock Them Doors to utter any lyrics from this band is like a lizard walking upright. I saw my future, and it was not pretty.
So Jacob gets his chance to speak the most, which everyone knows, means he’s on the chopping block. Diva? Defend yourself. Technical glitch? Defend yourself. Also, sit down…in the ejector seats.
Oh David Cook is there! Remind me again of who he is, mamma forgets. He’s last season’s winner? You don’t say? Why is every single thing he did on Idol better than that crap he sang? He looked hot, though.
Okay! Back to the dramz. Whatever on the dramz – Stefano got sent to the plastic chair of death. Surprise, surprise, surprise – not!
Then normally candy coated Katy Perry came out as Sigourney Weaver from Alien and sang with fake Kanye. Wait a minute! Kanye showed up in his ferret pelt coat that has been around the world maybe on too many times. I get the feeling that thing stinks as bad a roadkill. Good performance, though (for the people there).
The show returns and they do the lovefest “dim all the lights” [sweet darlin’ cuz tonight is on its way]. Our little rigatoni is going home. Our David Archuletta the Second is gone. Is R&B dead? Is it? Ursher seems to be doing okay but maybe this genre is experiencing a lull. Maybe, perhaps ‘Muricah wasn’t ready for the Italian Stallion to sing and hip thrust. So here we are. Carol King is next up. Best be ready to cut a bish.
Bursting onto the music scene from one of the least angstiest places in the world, Seattle, grunge took over the airwaves like the smoke from a campfire when the wind shifts. It was angry, intense and generally listened to in darkened basements filled with blacklights. Just me? Okay, then.
Kurt Cobain is the undisputed King of Grunge. He died when his wife Courtney Love killed him at his own hands and despite Pearl Jam’s attempts at dominance, Nirvana’s instant classic album (and cover), Nevermind, really signified the entire genre.
Maybe this is post-grunge but I like the lead singer’s voice, so screw it.
Welcome to Hollywood! What’s your dream? Is it to sing a song from a forgettable movie? You’re in luck! American Idol will promise you the world and then crush your dreams, in one fell swoop. Elvira is there? Is she going to be revealed as Seacretin’s mother? She truly is the Mistress of Milking of 15 Minutes of Fame. Take lessons, Idol Singtestants, because we won’t remember any of you in 6 months.
Reaching for the stars and catching them:
Witch! She’s a witch! Lauren made me like a Miley Cyrus song. I love that Kelly Clarkson is on tonight because you will understand what I mean by the comparison between Lauren and Kelly – The Greatest Idol of All Time (TM). I hope there’s a grand sing off a la…
VH1’s Divas Live. Dammit I miss that show. I mean, really. Dream pairings of real life divas sanging their ayasses ouff. BOW DOWN! BOW DOWN BEFORE THEM (not because you want to see what scraps Aretha left behind…Yeah. I said it!)! The trailer battles on 42nd Street. The hapless interns running to and fro trying to get the starlettes out of their ego-induced comas.
What I’m getting at is that Jacob took on one of the most incredible songs written and performed as demonstrated here and here (pass the tiss-ewes). So Jacob sang it with the restraint of a forewarned and humbled singtestant and took us to church. Apparently, his voice comes “from the place it’s supposed to come from” as Jenny from the Dump said. Where is that, exactly? I would have said it’s supposed to come from the baby of Whitney and BOB-AAAAAAY! But we know that’s not what happened. So, I guess she means it’s supposed to come from Fatburger.
Stefaaaanooooo. Weeeeelcome to Lavender Hill (*whispering* – I’m not wearing any panties). Really, I would have thrown mine onto the stage (despite his moon boots). I wanted to catch a rose that he tossed from the stage in me teeth. I wanted to go backstage and “surprise” him in his dressing room. Marry me, Stefano. We will have babies with great ass…ets.
I had some help this time in reviewing the show and that helped tremendously because I would have turned off Overgrown Baby Gay Kurt’s performance after the first two seconds. BUT! My headbanging friend jumped right in and sang the lyrics to the chorus as if OBGK was speaking English. I didn’t have a clue what that guy was screaming. Let’s not kid ourselves, having Ozzy’s guitarist out there was the tits and pretty much made that performance what it was.
I don’t know why the The Old Lady thinks it’s appropriate to continue to hit on the girl you hated in high school but he does. I thought Haley the show’s resident ho was pretty darn good belting out “Call Me.” Maybe she was singing it straight to The Old Lady so that she can get a “record contract” after she goes home because the other judges hated it with two snaps in a circle.
Did you see that advert for So You Think You Can Dance? Hooooo doggy I cannot wait to recap the shizzle out of that show!
Sleeping with the fishes:
Muuaahahahahaha! Goodbye, Scotty Alfred E. Newman Baby Lock Them Doors! You stunk up the stage worse than a circus elephant just off the Tallahassee to Nashiville train! No! No! No! Don’t tell me that he will not be in the bottom three! Nahnahnahnahanahaaa I can’t hear you.
Fozzie Wozzie was a bear. Fozzie Wozzie was not there. I thought we had established that close-ups of Fozzie’s eyes were NOT a good idea. Yet, I could have been his aesthetician at more than one point last night. Aside from him needed a good pore and pupil reducing treatment, that was way too Esperanza Spalding for Idol AND ESPERANZA SPALDING RULES! But she also got death threats for beating Justine Biebette for Best New Artist at the Grammy and now Casper the Floating Head Gingerbreadman will be ded. Ded, I say. Stoopid judges for their stoopid standing O.
The Sanjaya of season 10 is still there. I refuse to talk about him.
Bottom three: That guy, OBGK, Gingerbreadman.
UPDATE:
Hallaleezy praise Weezy! Before we get to the good news, I’m going to drive to LA and punch the Idol producers square in their necks for continuing to pair up Alfred E. Newman and Trisha Yearwood for a good ol’ ‘Murican hoedown. Just have them sing “Islands in the Sea” and get it over with. And then what in the name of Sarah Vaughn and Louis Armstrong what that? I’m tired. So tired. Because he was part of the last group of singers, I’m going to ignore their weird rendition of the evil and delicious “Sound of Silence” and “Here’s to You Ryan Seabiscuit.”
After The Greatest Idol of All Time (TM), Kelly Clarkson schooled them fools on how to last in the bizness, Seabiscuit dimmed the lights to watch someone go, like he has so many times before. One, two, three, they went off to the cheap seats – Haley the Show’s (well, you know), Peeping Tom McCreepster, and the little prosciutto, Stefano. Would the female tweenie-boppers of America send another chicky packing? We would have to wait until Hip Hop Ragedy-Anne sang something about how she wants a California King bed (can’t she just order one?).
So! Who was going home? Take off your rose-covered suits, kids, because it’s now in the safe recesses of McCreepster’s suitcase. Good bye, Paul! The only way you out-shined the rest was with your neon sign-bright teeth! Maybe you can go be Rod Stewart’s understudy while he is on tour. He’ll probably break a hip within the first couple of weeks, anyway.
I’ve had a rough couple of years. Between a divorce, a complete mental breakdown, three major appliances crapping out on me and getting laid off from my job I managed to get myself arrested for a DUI. I’m not here for pity though. I will briefly explain what happened that led to my run in with the law, what fun the legal system is and the soul crushing bullshit that is probation. It’s all public record so what’s there to be embarrassed about? Just don’t tell my parents. Shhhh…yes, I’m too old for this to be a real issue. It’s for their peace of mind.
I am not not not encouraging anyone to drink and drive. Not even after a couple casual drinks apparently (Grumble…). I realize I will be judged for what I did. This was emotionally hard to write. Partially because of just that and partially just because, do me one favor, remember we all make mistakes/ judge not lest/he without sin blah blah. If you’re perfect, lambaste away. Complaining and criticizing are easy. Also, I have some loaves and fishes you can go feed the village with.
A little more than a year ago I was despondent over some of the aforementioned messes (especially the marital “bliss”) and went to have a couple after work drinks (I had found a job by then.) with a friend. We did just that. Couple drinks, some conversation, I think I may have had a cry, gave my friend a ride to another bar, dropped him off and headed home. Then I got hit by a truck. An 18-wheeled delivery lorry to be exact. I won’t go into the details of the wreck but it was determined to not be my fault and I was not ticketed for it. What I was ticketed and arrested for was the couple of drinks in my system that I was stupid enough to tell the cop about.
I am of slight build and had been involved in a wreck so I had no chance. Between officer’s discretion and the fact that I was going to blow around the limit (Which I did.) I was headed for jail. First lessons had already arrived. Ladies, you have no chance of not blowing close to the limit with even one drink in your system. Biology is just biased that way. Everyone, don’t tell the police anything, ANYTHING except your basic information before you speak to a lawyer. Yes, they will get mad at you. Yes, they will threaten you. Just remember your Miranda rights and be polite.
My second set of lessons arrived with the field sobriety test and Breathalyzer. I passed the field tests but according to my lawyer, it was a risk even taking them. Don’t. You’re just giving them evidence and frankly you could fail them sober if you’re a klutz or tired. Next came the Breathalyzer. Again, don’t take it. You don’t have to. You will lose your license for refusing but guess what? That’s going to happen more than likely anyhow. Here are some states that have slightly different penalties… refusal of breathalyzer …basically same idea though. Really just the duration and fine differ. I didn’t refuse. However being as that I had a cold I was having real problems getting enough air into the bastard thing to register thusly the cop in charge of administering the test was getting quite pissed at me. The obvious solution to his frustration? To scream at me of course. I realize he is probably used to people faking problems but he was just giving me a panic attack. Maybe I should’ve passed out. Since they wouldn’t let me take my prescription (Prescription! Prescribed to me by a doctor!) I suppose it was an option.
Well after being yelled at, I went to jail. Honestly, so long as you’re not in some scary maximum/city jail, jail is a cakewalk. Don’t be an asshole, don’t ask other people what they’re there for, hell don’t speak unless spoken to and leave your politics at home, including vegetarianism. The food is the worst part. I really hate grits but jail grits…wow.
After getting out the next morning I had life to deal with. Hire a lawyer, get my temp permit license (They take it from you, no matter what, guilty or innocent, upon arrest.), ask friends for help (This town runs on DUIs. No problem finding people who’d been there before.) and of course, pull money out of my ass.
My court date was about a month after my arrest. My lawyer managed to keep my driving permissions, on permit, for going to work, school and medical. We don’t have much in the way of public transportation or cabs that are worth a damn here so I would’ve been screwed. A bike ride through the ghetto to work doesn’t sound too awesome either. There was someone murdered a couple blocks from my work not so long ago.
I was sentenced with the usual crap and my new life as a stain on society began.
Being a parolee is a life of paperwork, appointments and bullshit. For myself I had to…
Go to a victim’s impact panel
DUI School for 24 hours spread out over 3 days
Take a bunch of really silly tests about drug and alcohol that a middle schooler could pass.
Attend my parole meeting each month
Go see a shrink 3 times
Do 40 hours of community service
Be randomly drug and alcohol tested (Yes. No drinking a legal substance for a legal-age first offender and the alcohol tests are super sensitive so no cold meds etc.)
Go back to jail for 12 hours
Pay 200 dollars to have my driver’s license reinstated after 4 months
…All of these things were supposed to be done in a certain order which they, in hindsight, unsurprisingly, failed to tell me or put on my paperwork. Yay system. All of these things cost more money along with ticket fines and lawyer’s fees I was 10 kinds of broke and I still had to get my car fixed. Which brings me to another lesson. Pay everything ASAP. It’s really all your parole officer wants and then they ignore you largely. Also, if you’re late with any payments you go back to jail. Take out a damn loan. Sell a kidney in Eastern Europe. Seriously.
Going to see a shrink may have been the worst part. Invasive questions about my family life on a form seemed off subject and wooden but whatever. The socialism-hating flag-waving idiots in my town voted for this crap, right? This was neither helpful or really punishment. I wasn’t asked any questions that I see being any help to the legal system or society. If I had exhibited signs of serious alcoholism would’ve they made me go to one more session perhaps? Maybe a shrink who gave a shit would be able to help people. My burnt out public servant just had me fill out forms (Which are standard). These are not helpful therapists. It was like going to therapy at the post office on tax day. Awesome. Pointless. What do I know?
All in all it was a stressful nightmare. I was made to feel like a child molester or a child (I can’t decide), I was broke, everyone I met seemed to hate their jobs and I now have a serious disdain for how the legal system operates as I’ve seen it first hand. It’s depressing at best, a logistical nightmare at worst. It is a mistake you will pay for dearly and no one cares what the circumstances were. No grey areas. The legal system makes the DMV and IRS seem friendly and well-run. They have customer service departments even if they are crap.
I am lucky in certain ways though. As an artist, chances are it will never affect my ability to be hired anywhere. Though I will sit here and swear to you that I was not “drunk” I’m still happy to have not hurt anyone except myself. I did get hit by a damn 18-wheeler after all. I have a decent job so I was able to muddle through the costs. Had I needed to I’m sure my family would’ve helped as well. Again, they’re happier not knowing, I promise.
If it happens to you I’d say the two most important things to do are hire a lawyer and hang on to every single stupid piece of paper they hand you as filing mistakes are often, often made. And if you have any extra cash, get on some anti-depressants. Me? I’ll likely never go to another happy hour again, or have wine at a restaurant with dinner, or a champagne at a wedding, or a beer with my dad…because these are all situations where I wouldn’t be able to find a ride I’m sure and fuck it, I don’t want to know what happens to you for a second one.
Ahhhh yeah baby. I’m way too excited for this. I know you Crasstalkers have been ready and waiting for today since last week so here we go.
Sam Cooke is a beautiful man with a beautiful voice. This song is so heart-breaking, so wistful, so poignant. There aren’t enough adjectives that are fitting for this song.
Now, let’s get funky with The Staples Singers. Roebuck “Pops” Staples, the patriarch of the family, formed the group with his children Cleotha, Pervis, Yvonne, and Mavis. Fun fact: Bob Dylan wanted to marry Mavis and asked for her hand in marriage. Can you imagine the talent their kid would have had?
Let me to just also add that videos from Soul Train’s Soul Train line will not be turned away. If you have been to a wedding and not done a Soul Train line, you have not lived.
Elton John and Bernie Taupin created the songs that are the soundtracks to major motion pictures, Broadway musicals and generations of people the world over. So what would this week come down to? SONG CHOICE! With all the perfect, amazingly written and arranged songs the John/Taupin duo has gifted to the universe, of course it would come down to song choice, wouldn’t it? Because America voted off Casey last week, and the judges shot him from a cannon right back into the competition the coveted one-time-only Judges Save, we had eleven contestants to serenade us. Eleven will enter; nine will return. Oh the drama! Let’s go to the tape.
**Author’s Note: I wonder when American Idol’s interns will realize that the video link to the performances on the American Idol page says “What the performances again” (yes, I typed that correctly).
Wheat:
Hey. Where’s your boyfriend? He’s gone isn’t he? Yeah, mine too. That little tart Hailey slinked on the piano, dismounted the thing with the grace of a baby bird leaving the nest for the first time, and then finished her delivery of a sassy, jazzy version of…Benny and the Jets? Yep. The love child of Joan Osborne and Natasha Bedingfield found her sweet spot and created “a moment” for herself. Good for her. Goooooood fooooor her.
Do you hear that sound? That’s the sound of Randy back-peddling faster than Seacretin after announcing that his boyfriend’s name is Julian. He means Julianne! Julianne Hough, the female country singer/Dancing with the Stars champion! What were you thinking? The back-peddling is because Pia gave Randy the big middle finger and went with “Don’t Think I’m Not Gonna Sing Whatever The Hell I Want Let The Sun Go Down On Me.” It was another ballad, not something up-tempto, and she sang it so well that she made The Old Lady cry inside. Not the gentle cry of a few tears, but the howling ugly cry, contorted face and all. Oh, that’s how she normally looks? I see…
Our disembodied, back from the dead, gingerbread head got a beard trim. Nope. Still not talking about Ryan’s girlfriend – sheesh! Casey actually trimmed his unruly firebush upon the recommendation from one of the producers that he cut it off so that America can see his face. He didn’t go all the way, but we finally could see that there was something attaching his cranium to his corpus. Fact of the matter is, he picked THE SONG, “Your Song,” and he sang it well. It wasn’t Ewan McGregor in the elephant but it was sweet and heart-felt and that’s exactly how that song should be sung.
Little Lauren ain’t worried about a hot dang thing. She’s so solid in this. I would not be surprised if she Carrie Underwood-ed this entire season. Just you watch. On a related note, this may be our first all female final since season 3.
Chaff
Presented without comment:
What’s that you say, Country Crooner? You picked the only Elton song that had the word “country” in it? You don’t say. Lack of creativity? Check. Safe bet? Not so fast. But our little Crooner add-libbed a “Love you, grandma!” right into the middle of his song the hearts of the elderly ladies across this fine country of ours just melted. Puke. Truth is, every song he sings sounds like every other song he sings which sounds like every song you’ve heard on country radio. So, what happens to him on Idol hardly even matters. He’ll head to Nashville and get a recording contract.
African Earth Mother just booked her job at The Sandals resort in Montego Bay for a season. Good thing, Naima, because America is done with you. Well, except that many will see you on their honeymoon and at some point during your performance of the reggae version of “Sweet Caroline,” Kathy will turn to her new husband Bo, and ask him if he remembers where she’s seen this woman before. He will take a sip of his piña colada, slap his hand against his thigh, turn to Kathy and say “I don’t know, babe.” Kathy will continue to wonder about this as Diana DeGarmo joins Naima on the stage for a rousing rendition of “When You Believe.”
What’s a male diva called? A divo? Well, folks. Our resident over-singer Jacob went full-on D-I-V-O last night. He was just standing there in the middle of the stage singing “Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word” as the building crashed down around him, people fled the theater, stars exploded in the sky as our divo manned the stage like the captain of the Titanic.
Remember Michigan J. Frog? Okay, Stefano is my Michigan J. Frog. I carry him around in a shoe box and when it’s just me and him, he comes out with gleaming smile, his top hat and cane and just puts on a show! And then I put him back in his shoe box and take him to The Old Lady, Venus from the Block and the Dawg, and he just sits there. I even try to take him to a bar and show the locals what he can do so maybe I can get some free drinks and still, nothing. He’s infuriatingly inconsistent! I fear Stefano will always be Almost Famous.
Where does one find a rose-covered suit, an Elvis-impersonator’s garage sale? He’s like a magician with his bright white Julia Roberts smile, and his fake tan and his perfectly placed hair: look over here so you don’t see what’s going on over here which is the slow murder of your ears. Again, I just can’t with this guy.
TOE-TOUCH! I have been momentarily rendered speechless.
How do you solve a problem like Megia? She is a woman-child. Poor thing thinks she has to prove herself by singing songs that are much, much older than she is. I get it, I guess. She’s a bebe but doesn’t want to seem like the goofy, awkward girl who can’t walk in heels (she can’t) in a world of hardened performers who have been dropping CD’s at studios for years and performing in Coffee Plantations all over Los Angeles. Doesn’t work. Never has. Is Randy Jackson married? I noticed a ring. Anyhoo…
As the house boy band returned to the mansion, all but one sharing a knowing look before retreating to their respective rooms, Casey sat alone in the quiet and darkened kitchen. He knows. He knows they are all plotting against him. He knows that for the rest of this competition, he has a target on his back. But he also knows that tonight, he did it. He did it. He picks himself up from the table, gives props to the Taylor Hicks in the sky, and retires to his room to sing another day.
Bottom Three: Thia Megia, Stefano, Naima
UPDATE/SPOILER ALERT: Well that wasn’t a surprise. Our bird of paradise, Naima, and baby bird, Thia Megia, flew away tonight. Remember, if you love something, VOTE FOR IT ON AMERICAN IDOL or it will die a slow death of a reality TV star.
During its nearly five-year storied history, Twitter has remained steadfast in its commitment to bringing the best…or just bringing 140 character expressions from individuals around the world. The Twitterverse is filled with eclectic characters and contemporary celebrities who have filled the ether with their random thoughts on life, love and luxury.
In this weekly series, Danzing and Dancing Queen will risk brain cells and credibility scouring the Twitterscape to bring you the best of Twitter. We will then perform dramatic recitations of these tweets for your listening pleasure. Please, enjoy.
These were decidedly not heady times for music. It was pop crap wrapped in leather jackets, cut-up jeans, and topped off with Aqua net fueled hair. We should be ashamed of ourselves, really. But we aren’t. We were young and stupid and the higher the hair, the closer to (rock) Gods.
Someone who should be ashamed of himself is Brett Michaels. Ditch the bandana, dude. You’re not fooling anyone.
How many guys lost their virginity to this video? And by lost their virginity, I don’t mean with another person. No matter where she is now, Tawny Kitaen will forever be the “hot chick from the Whitesnake video.”
Gather round, chickens and I will tell you of the time that the Idols were handed the iconic music of Motown. Motown is some of the most singable music and yet, there are definitely some tracks of tears from the Idol stage all the way back to Hitsville, U.S.A. from some of our hopefuls. We are down to eleven, which means that not only will one unlucky Idolette will get the boot from the show tomorrow, but also from the tour and the planet. We all knew that this was going to be the equivalent of the triple jump at the Olympics for our Country Crooner, but for the rest of them, this should be easy, breezy cover band, right? Let’s just see about that.
The Good:
Thia Megia brought on a “Heat Wave” worthy of the Arizona summer. The youngin’ made it hotter than The Old Lady’s crotch in that Cache jumpsuit. Her rich tone and youth was perfectly suited for this Martha and the Vandellas ditty. Too bad it seemed like a magician cut her body in three because her head, torso and legs seemed to be separate from each other. All in all, Pochahontas redeemed herself.
That little Southern firecracker Lauren just keeps on hanging on. She is so very Kelly Clarkson that it is uncanny, even at this stage in the game. Her raspy voice and sassafrass did The Supremes well and she looked cute, too.
Jacob sang a duet with himself which is perfect on so many levels. Does he really need anyone else when he is making so much love to the audience and his own voice. You just can’t sing a DUET with your ego. I discovered, however, after watching for the show for the second time (yes, this is what I do for you, chickens. I watch the show twice to make sure there’s something I don’t miss), that if you don’t watch Jacob, he sounds better. So, after my initial angry typing of HATE HATE HATE, if you just listen to him and block out all the bunny impressions, he did well.
We knew this was going to happen but why oh why oh WHY did Country Crooner Edward E. Newman take on Stevie Wonder? I need brain bleach. It’s not that it was bad, but it made me want to cry because only Stevie should be able to “For Once in My Life.” I think they are going to make single out of that song and I bet it will do really well. Because he’s an American. A real American. Anyone want to bet me that it will be a certain Alaskan politician’s campaign song on 2012?
It pains me, PAINS me to put Paul McCreepster in on this side of the dividing line but he didn’t make me grab my rape whistle. He (thankfully) stood in one place and strummed his gee-tar and sang well enough. So there you go.
The Unacceptable:
Fozzie Wozzie is no Joe Cocker. Fozzie Wozzie was terrible – shocker! Fozzie is mad about something. Maybe it was all that Teen Spirit he was smelling last week. He scrunted “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” while performing that perilous trick of singing and walking at the same time. Not only did he look like a chicken searching for food, he sounded like he was being chased by the farmer at dinner time. Fozzie Galifianakis is too big for his beard. Time to knock him down a few pegs.
Did Stephano screw up the words colossally or did someone actually choose that arrangement? Lionel Richie should be rolling over in his grave. Don’t tell me he’s alive because he died last night hearing that jumble of words that was once his song. We really need to re-visit this video. It’s just the funniest, oddest concept. He’s a professor stalking his student – his blind student – and he asks “is it me you’re looking for?”
But I digress. Stefano, dear, you’re in trouble.
The thing about that girl you never liked in high school is that there really isn’t one thing you can point to that makes you dislike her. Well, except that time she made a play for your boyfriend. It seems that she just tries too hard all the time. All the time. And she made The Old Lady start screeching in her seat. Was Simon under there somewhere?
You know what’s not fair? Idol. You can be on top one week, and the bottom the next. I told Pia. I told her not to do this. She sang well enough but zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Yes, it was so Miss America – so pretty, so perfect. Too perfect. Better pick up the pace, picante.
That’s it. No more chances for African Earth Mother Naima. She tries to hard to be different and tonight was just silliness. She finally sang mostly on key but then she went and felt the need to really “connect to her ancestors” so she threw in some African dance. Um yeah no. Miss Ross never did that and neither should you, Naima.
Overgrown Baby Gay Kurt apparently thinks that “Living for the City” is a song about a man named Stefan who reviews the club scene for tourists visiting New York. Well, New York’s hottest club is called NO. It has Lambasters (Adam Lambert impersonators), screeching Seacretins, and babies wearing chain-covered leather jackets dancing on the bar. It’s not a place anyone should visit.
Me too, Paula. Me too.
Bottom Three: Hailey (her name is written on one of the seats), Stephano, Naima.
UPDATE: So America put Thia, Stefano and Casey in the bottom three. Each deserving of it (despite my blind spot with Thia). Casey was going home until enough bleeped out moments lead to him being saved by the judges and then more bleeped out moments followed. Good job, Idol. Congrats, America. This is your 2011 Taylor Hicks.
But we know that’s not what happened. So, I guess she means it’s supposed to come from Fatburger.
