Kittens, I’m still on sensory overload. There was so much happening in last night’s penultimate Hollywood Week episode. It’s like Simon Fuller realized that he has been dishing up steaming hot piles of crap for the past five weeks and tossed everything but the kitchen sink into that episode in an attempt to atone for his sins. And it worked for me. I mean, yes, there was too much of the too much contestants. Tatiana. Nick/Norman Mithcell/Gentle. Danny Golke’s less talented hanger-on. Loud Puerto Rico boy. But even a moment of them would’ve been too much. And there was way too much of the judges standing around looking at photos and not doing anything interesting. But there was also singing. Lots of it. From familiar faces and from awesome people we had never seen before! (Why hello, Jun’ot Joyner and your charming rendition of that Plain White Tees song and your actually adorable son)
And I think it’s time for a fashion note. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, not really, but let’s do it anyway. Y’all, I really try to ignore judge #4, but she is so egregious. Kara DioWetSealwannabe, what the fuck were you wearing? Why was she rocking trends that are a) two seasons behind the times and b) 15-20 years too young for her? And still, she was outdone by Paula, the Chuck Norris of crazy, and her scrap metal necklace and jumpsuit combo. Please cede the floor, judge #4. Your presence is neither needed nor wanted.
Much like our show last night, this post is taking a long time to get to the heart of the matter, no? I mean, did we really need eleven hundred minutes of recap to kick things off? Note to show: we have been watching. We already know what happened. And if we weren’t watching, well that was probably because we didn’t want to be bothered with early round audition footage, hmmm? So why do you insist on wasting our time? Just let Seacrest get it poppin’ and everything will be OK.
Adam Lambert – They didn’t need to give Mr. Wicked the #1 spot. I already half way adore him. And sadly, he didn’t sing all that well last night. He was all nasally up in his nasal. And Believe? As a ballad? Ok, yeah no. Damn Daughtry and Fivehead. Look at what they have wrought. Still like this one, though, and think that he’s a comer.
Time for a random musing #1. Damn, Matt Brietzke looks like a serial killer. He can’t get on the show y’all. Sometimes it runs late and I’ll get nightmares if his mug is the last thing I see before bedtime.
Danny Golke Hanger-On Par Excellenc, Jamar – I hate him and he sounded like ass again last night. So affected on a song already drowning in affectation and for the love of all that is holy, what is up with the cheek piercing? It’s soooo distracting. I really loathe him, noodles. Can we send him home already?
Danny Golke – Being totally awesome some more. It’s so sad that he apparently comes in a two-pack with his buddy, because heck if he didn’t sound just lovely last night. I love I Hope You Dance (which apparently puts me in the same boat as half of the auditioners last night) and I’m glad that he did a more R&B version of it. Maybe a tad bit overdone on the riffs, but I could listen to his voice all day AND he made Paula get up and do the rodeo dance, so he’s money. And not even a mention of the dead wife. Well played, show.
Random musing, part deux. Kiddies, why does Randy look so confused this season? Perhaps he thinks he’s showing up for a taping of America’s Best Dance Crew and then he spends the rest of the episode wondering where L’il Mama is and whether or not JC will lend him one of his old t-shirts from his N’Sync tour dates. Season 8 Randy makes the baby Jesus cry.
Anouk Desai – First off, I keep seeing his name all over other parts of the interwebs as Anoop, which is fine because it reminds me of Snoop and I think a Snoop Dogg joint with Anoop singing the hook would be killer. But since I started him out as Anouk, Anouk he shall remain. Second, he tore it down with My Prerogative. That is one funky, funky Indian boy. Third, I would’ve loved to hear more than the ten notes of it that we got. But no. I guess we just had to hear the loud PR boy so I could hate him. Still. Some more. And we really needed to be subjected to White Stevie Wonder with his breathy, thin voice and his completely atonal and off pitch song and his freak me right the hell on out non-seeing eyes. Ewww. And Kendall who? Mishavona what? Why are we seeing these folks just now? I don’t know them and don’t care. Bring me the nerdy hot Indian boy who can blow the doors off. But no, because then we needed to watch Tatiana continue to sing poorly, embarrass herself, and be delusional and crazy some more all the while not amounting to even a tenth of a poor man’s Mikaela Gordon. Please go home. If you can’t tell, this was the part of the show custom designed to irk the shit out of me. We had to see Nathaniel and his fake drama and his little guitar, but can only get a minute of Jasmine and her apocalyptic cuteness? Baloney.
One thing I will give last night’s show. They did give at least a brief flash of most of the “stories” from the earlier rounds. Whether it was watching Joanna Pacitti and Fro Man forget their words (and you can guess who got a “Hell yeah, you aren't that good anyway!” and who got an “Awww, baby. That's alright.” from me for that) or hearing Anne Marie Boskovic and Jackie Tohn do what appeared to be lovely takes on I Hope You Dance, there was some actual follow up going on. Heck, we even got He-Man Oilman Jeremy Sarver still sounding lovely and making me thoroughly enjoy him and his authentically cute baby. What? They also actually let us see and hear evidence for why some of the early round airtime hogs were (or should have been) let go. India, it turns out really couldn’t sing, a fact which we have known all along, I might add. She should go find MC Search. I’m sure VH1 will do another Miss Rap Supreme. Leneshe, as much as I adored her after her first audition, stunk up the joint last night. Her voice sounded horrible and white capri leggings are never a good idea. And the curly weave wasn’t working for her at all. If I put her ouster up against the fact that Tatiana was allowed to continue her existence in this competition (and maybe even on this earth) than, no, I do not understand it. But just on her own merits, the judges made the right call. We saw Nick/Norman Mitchell/Gentle shriek horrendously and sap all of our energy and yet somehow escape getting sent home at last and Kai Kalama continue to be a bad singer and miraculously stick around. Maybe it’s the hair? Could we do a Samson thing on him, kittens? Because his voice is not aesthetically pleasing.
And then, just like that, it was time for the rooms. And this is where AI’s Hollywood week formula started looking a tad threadbare. The seams are starting to show, show. Who didn’t figure out instantly which rooms would go through and which ones wouldn’t? (Although the terror faces on Room 4 when Tatiana walked in and Matt Brietzke’s “So, it’s a no then?” were priceless) I mean, the cut room was full of nobodies plus India, Leneshe, and Michael Castro’s truly unfortunate new coif. Obvi, they were toast. Room 1 had Danny, Lil, Anouk, Jamar and Jackie, and if the others in that room couldn’t figure out that they were safe from the jump, then they are not smart enough to keep breathing let alone to stay on American Idol. As for the other two rooms that got through, well, we heard the judges say that they put 44 on to the final leg of Hollywood week and we can count. Both rooms had to get through. Sigh. Maybe we can try something new and different next year, yes?
So that’s the whole kit and caboodle, noodles. Tonight we’ve got two hours of the chair at the judges’ mansion. And kittens, if the judges actually have to live there during the season and we get footage of that as part of our “behind the scenes” package, then I will take back every bad thing that I’ve ever said about this show and worship it even more than I already do. So, you could say I’m hyped. I’m even willing to get over the fact that apparently there’s no elevator of doom anymore. We’re so close to putting this show into your hands, America. Can’t you almost taste it?
To close, I must give props to that magnificent bastard Simon Cowell. Whether he was practically falling asleep and/or rolling his eyes in contempt at some of the less credible kids, leaving Paula hanging on her high five, or not being assed enough to hang around and fuck with the kids’ heads in the 4 rooms, he was in full Cat Daddy splendor last night. I love you, Cowell. Make ‘em bleed tonight.
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