American Idol S8 Ep 6 Embrace What Is Right

Noodles, tonight I'ma have to put on my black girl pants, so if you are easily offended by broad, racially based stereotypes or slightly less than PC humorous musing, you might want to take the day off from this recap. Everybody else ready? Alright, let’s go.

Salt Lake City white folks, y’all need a talking to. You seem like really nice people, despite Ryan Seacrest’s best attempts to throw salt in your game. (Tsk, tsk AI producers. Your manipulation is showing and it’s not a good look) However, it’s my duty to inform you that there are many, many things that for reasons of history and heredity, white folks should just not do. And you managed to do almost all of them last night. I forgive you, because I really don’t think you know any better. I mean, you could only scrounge up like two little black contestants over the course of the entire night, so who is there to school you on what’s right? I am, that’s who. The bell has rung. Class is now in session. Begin.

Lesson #1: Fat white women cannot wear ho’ gear.

I don’t have much against fat people. (Well, that may not be entirely true, but let’s just go with that for now). I don’t even have much against fat people wearin’ skimpy clothes. Many, many volumptuous (It’s a word. Look it up in your ebonics dictionary) black women and luscious Latinas know how to rock a tight jean or a micro-mini. I believe, based on my extensive research, that this is because the black girls and the Latinas start out curvy and while they may get bigger, they don’t get any less curvy. They just get more curves to love. Not so the fat white woman. Case in point being Miss Tara, the terror goth from last night’s show. Looking like a lump of Play Doh rolled up in black duct tape and plastic shoe laces. No curves, just an up and down block of bulk. Forget about the singing, because she can’t. This is why ho’ gear on fat white women is wrong like a wrong thing. Don’t feel too bad, fat white women. Even skinny white women have trouble carrying it off. Just think of bikini girl and her sad excuse for an ass. In fact, we could have Lesson 1.5 be “White women, step away from the ho’ gear entirely.” But that’s a lecture for another day.

Lesson #2: White people don’t have enough soul to try to sound black.

There are exceptions to this, like every other rule. Robin Thicke, we love you. Here’s your honorary ghetto pass. Teena Marie, you already got yours for life. We even had an example from last night in Frankie Jordan, who threw down with the Wino cut and had enough sass to satisfy any Sapphire. She even had the makings of a little Mariah “Is she or ain’t she?” mixed-ness going on (and she’s down with the swirl, so hello, she’s all good). But for the most part, this lesson is an ancient truism. I don’t care whether it’s Megan Corkrey murdering “Can’t Help Loving That Man of Mine” in an effort to be the white Lady Day or Andrew Gibson trying to belt out a spiritual. It’s wrong and unnatural. I mean, just contrast last night’s bad song choice tragedies: the Osmond fool and Austin Cisneros vs. Jarret Burns and Taylor Viafauna. Osmond fool singing Take 6 barely gets through and ends up looking hella shady. Austin Cisneros sings not one, but two bad songs, one of which is a treacly Raffi cut that lives in the ghetto behind spiritual town, and seems like another Will Malakar in the making. (And btw, Riverton HS, if this geeky fool is what passes for top of the social caste, then you need to step up your game. Seriously.) Now, I don’t believe that either of these fools has a bad voice, and they tried to riff it up and do a few runs, but, well, see the lesson above. In the meantime, over in soulful central we have Jarret Burns, who chose to sing the most played out song of this whole audition cycle (and if I run into Corinne Bailey Rae on the streets, I will punch her in the throat) and turned it out. And Ms. Too Tall Taylor Viafauna throwing down on “Joyful, Joyful”. Lord, we adore you! Let the church say “Amen.” What I’m trying to tell you white people is that, y’all can often sing. I mean, some of y’all have great voices – even if you can’t blow like the original AI exception to this rule, Ms. Kelly Clarkson. But when you try to fly too close to the sun, well, you just wind up melting off your wax wings, don’t you? Don’t get got, suckas. Just stick to the Jack Johnson and Maroon 5 and you’ll be fine.

Lesson #3: White people . . . crazy and nasty.

Now this is not true for everyone, white people. Even Neecy Nash knows that. But y’all sure do sometimes make it easy to generalize. The crazy man with the stringy blond hair and the tongue? Only white folks rock the trashy quite like that. Would a black man have come into the audition room with Simon’s head on a stick? And on his t-shirt? Accompanied by another man in a big ass pink bunny suit? And then have Greg the bunny feel all up on Simon? I think not, Chris Kirkram(?). That’s some special white blend of crazy that they don’t even sell in Starbucks. And did I see in the second montage of sucky contestants some poor little white girl who had mugged Waylon Flowers and stolen his Madame puppet? And brought it with her to the auditions? Why, white woman, why? But the epitome of this phenomenon. The example that cannot be denied, was Rose Flack and her bird’s nest hair and her nasty ass feet. Ewww. White people, parents die. People have hard times. Shit happens. That does not grant license to run around like a neo-hippy poser with your dreadlocked brother, wear pickaninny braids or not bathe. And maybe she does bathe, I don’t know. But when the soles of your feet get so black that the crust on the bottom makes it look like you just walked over a recently tarred blacktop, you call your whole hygiene routine into question. Rose is not the worst singer in the world, although I was left severely underwhelmed by her wan Carole King impression. But y’all, I just can’t get past the nasty.

Thank heavens tonight is the last of the audition shows and Hollywood week is on its way. For the white people who made it through from Salt Lake, please think on last night’s lessons. Internalize them lest you face a group sing beat down of epic proportions. I hope we don’t have to have this conversation again.