It’s official. Season 8 is trying to kill me. Kittens, where to even begin with top downloads night? Is this a thing? I think this may be the worst theme they’ve ever had. Worse than Songs Gwen Stefani Likes night. Worse than Inspirational Songs night. Worse than Songs of the 21st Century night. Because at least those are things, no? Top Downloads? From when? Half the kids jumped into their way back machines and revisited those halcyon days of downloading from the late 70’s/early 80’s when polyester was king and everyone had an IBM 7000 in the cold storage wing of the downstairs rec room. Feh. Simon Fuller has obviously been infected by the stupid virus, for which Judge #4 is patient zero. Let’s examine the ways in which the show is slowly chipping away at my soul.
The bad fashion is giving me night tremors
I know, I know. It’s always been bad, but this year it’s even more aggressively awful. The judges’ entrance is forcing us every week to confront Paula’s wardrobe head to toe. And this season, she’ll really not be happy until she shares her breasts with the world. The angry trannys in hair and make up keep forcing Lil Rounds to wear ever less convincing wigs from the Diahann Carroll Dynasty collection and that shit is just not right. Last night, the crack whores in wardrobe outdid themselves and put Allison in a tartan picnic blanket with bedazzled piano key shoelaces used as piping and white, high heeled orthopedic shoes with Chia Pet hair and it was not of the lord. And that’s not even counting the aggressive wrongness of Tattoo Sleeve’s “M” rhinestone belt buckle worn as a necklace, mom jeans, and turquoise bustier (and every other outfit she has worn so far this season) or the fact that White Stevie Wonder’s entire head looked like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket just before coming on stage last night. Stop the madness. (That’s a shout out to Simon’s complete and total metamorphosis into a Susan Powter clone)
Paula continues to be the only judge who makes even a lick of sense
And that’s what’s wrong with America. She’s using actual musical terms and giving specific critiques to the kids. And hardly even one “rainbow” or “colors of your voice”. She slaps these kids down when they suck, sometimes hard. Bitch has some venom in her. And that is something that we did not need to know about Paula Abdul, kiddies. It’s like walking in on your sweet auntie getting herself off with her vibrator. Illusions shattered. Judge #4 has forced Paula to get off the sauce and actually up her game just by her mere presence. And in doing so, we’ve all lost something precious. I can’t even go there with Judge #4 and the Dawg and their club for stupid people because y’all know all about how I feel about that. I'll just say that when I do not derive enjoyment out of audience members openly heckling Judge #4 as she is trying to give her "critique", then the terrorists have won. And Simon, my Simon, being co-opted by the evil that is this show. Pimping not for himself, but insted getting pimped out by Daddy Fuller. Refusing to say the things that need to be said, that everyone at home on their couch is screaming at their TV, because he’s afraid to upset the show’s apple cart. Y’all, my heart is broken. Simon and I, we are no longer as one. And you can tell that it’s killing him. The teeny tiny amount that he used to care about the show and these kids is gone and he’s reduced to dicking around and drawing mustaches on Paula and screwing with Judge #4 (which is awesome but also a total dick move). Kittens, we just need to start all over again.
Half of the kids on the show are actively gross and unpleasant
In order of appearance:
Megan Corkery/Turn Your Lights Down Low - Everything awful about Tattoo Sleeve was on front street last night. If she doesn’t go home now, she will waltz away with the S8 crown, kiddies. Her voice sounded like it always does and if you like that, then you are a nutbag and if you don’t, then you can hear, so what else is new? The song choice was once again a song that was not a song. Bob Marley songs are a movement and unless you are one of his fifteen million children or a former member of The Fugees, then you can’t sing them. Period. The outfit screamed “I’m quirky!” without actually being unique or memorable in any way. And the attitude was way out of proportion to the actual talent level on display. She’s more disgusting than Rose Flack’s feet and people out there love her and vote for her. That frightens me, noodles.
Danny Gokey/What Hurts the Most - His performance was not even half as good as that fat kid on Youtube. And the Dead Wife grossness was back in full effect. He has a beautiful voice and while there were some pitch problems here and there, for the most part, he rocked that song. Which makes all the other bullshit that comes with his particular package even harder to take. Because he doesn’t even need it, darlings. He doesn’t need the smarm and the cheese and the Dead Wife backstory. He could win just because he is a good singer. What? But instead, he does the Oprah thing of putting all of his business in the street and asking us to justify his entire existence on this planet and in particular his cynical decision to go on a TV show watched by millions a minute after his wife died tragically young. You know what, noodles? Fuck that noise. It’s gross and wrong that he’s trailing his grief and need and not dealing with losing his loved one all over my TV every week. Gah. Hate. So. Much. Hate.
White Stevie Wonder/Just the Way You Are - In the 1979, leisure suit wearing, lounge lizard lovin’, white man’s fro version of the world that he lives in, White Stevie is rocking the shit out of this competition. In the real world, he can’t sing and all he is is his challenge. And that’s wrong. America needs to go read No Pity and stop babying this fool who any right minded person knows will never, ever, ever be a pop star. Not an adult contemporary star. Not a country music star. Not a star of any variety, stripe or flavor. He’s not even good enough to open some of the smaller rooms in Vegas and be voted Entertainer of the Year for a million years running like Danny Gans or whoever is popular in Vegas at the moment. He just does not have the juice and it’s wrong and says bad things about Americans and our core values that we are keeping this fool on the show. And his refusal to get up from the piano denies us our god given right to see pratfalls. That’s all.
Matt Giraud/You Found Me - Oh, look! Yet more new and interesting ways for people to be nasty pieces of work. Charming. Matt G. is all unearned arrogance and imagined charm that adds up to a whole lot of nothing. The song didn’t suit him. The goat voice was back in full vibrato’d glory. I was just praying that the swaybots would turn into a raving group of Maenads and tear him limb from limb in a Bacchanalian festival of carnage. But no such luck, kittens. The forehead tumor lives on to grow even bigger and more grotesque. And he lives on to smarm and smartass his way towards becoming the authentic tool that he was born to be. Why doesn’t Ryan just pull out a pistol and shoot me now?
The other half of the kids on this show are hopelessly misguided with occasional flashes of brilliance
It’s the occasional flashes of brilliance that will kill ya. They tease and taunt and give just enough to live on until the next week, and then they break your heart in just that way that burns. They know how to make it hurt, darlings, but keep you begging for another slap.
In order of appearance:
Anoop Desai/Caught Up - He was trying waaaayyy too hard to get his sexy on. It was a total watch from the hall moment, no? He is geeky, chu chu fly fabulous and his sexy and swagger are off the charts, but in a whole different way than Usher. And to see him try so desperately to be down in that very specific, hot boy way was painful and utterly creepy and unnecessary. Poor Anouk, standing there in his Rhythm Nation cast off jacket with his still too bushy by half eyebrows and his stale riffs. I just wanted to give him a hug. I mean, when you get so off track that you can legitimately get ripped on by Judge #4, then you know that you have gone way, way off track. His authentic swagger is fire, but this put on crap is beyond ridiculous. First time ever that I hated him.
Adam Lambert/Play That Funky Music - Oh, baby, no. Was it amazing? Sure. Was it creepy and hot and sexy and off putting and dangerous in a Broadway Jets/Sharks knife fight kind of way? Well, sure. Because it’s Adam. And he’s like some freak of nature man/woman/boy/girl sex icon who is not really attractive but totally hot and unwatchable except he isn’t. That is the Lambert magic. But this was, to steal from Simon, indulgent nonsense. This was fucking with the home audience just because he can. Just having fun pleasing himself. And that’s not what this show is about and it’s not what he’s here for. He’s here to please me. This is the ultimate “Dance, monkey, dance” show. And if you don’t care to dance, then take your broke broke home. Sigh. Of all the most popular downloads, this is the one that he chose? Hell to the naw, kittens. We are not amused.
Lil Rounds/I surrender - This is the last week that she escapes hateration, y’all. And not because she let them trick her out in that swap meet synthetic hair or because they stuffed her into a seafoam green, gauze sausage casing that made her resemble the Venus of Willendorf, or even because she decided to sing Celine even though, as we’ve discussed, she has not got it like that. No, she will join the hall of offenders for letting the show pimp out her kids to save herself from elimination. The tears and Ryan in his bespoke, London cut, impeccably tailored suit at his ultimate of adorableness with those tiny kids and even the Dawg being humanized by that little ball of wonderful and all to distract us from how incredibly suck ass her performance was. And none of them called her on the pitch problems or the lack of breath control that made her cut short every single glory note and gasp her way through the back half of the song. And OK, Simon makes the point that while she’s a good singer, she’s not a Celine singer. She’s not a Whitney nor a Mariah. She can fake Mary, but she’s really not that either. She doesn’t belt. She grooves. So groove. Or be relegated to the scrap heap with Danny and Megan and Matt G. and the rest of the losers.
The other other half of the kids on this show are victims of the out of control pimping going on
So, there’s always out of control pimping going on, right? After all This. Is. American Idol. (Cue music) But normally, they are pimping talented people. People who would enjoy a legitimate shot at winning anyway, which is why the pimping is so annoying. Not because it’s manipulative because this show is all about manipulation, just like the country whose soul it mirrors. No, it’s annoying because it’s unnecessary. The people that they pimp are the ones who would already be winning. But this year, something special is happening. They are pimping ghoulish widowers who probably would’ve never made it out of the early audition rounds without massive propping. Simon, of all people, is championing a blind cruise ship singer’s talent and declaring him one of the best of the night. They are stepping over cute, commercially viable artists who scream out “Get money!” in favor of the mediocre second alto to the left in any black church on any given Sunday. I may not have enjoyed the Fivehead, but he had a kind of a whacked out star quality that was undeniable and he didn’t make it to the top of the heap by capitalizing on his cancer stricken brother. I have no words for what happened to Allison and even Kris a little bit last night, and really over the course of the entire season. It’s foul and makes me hate myself for loving this show, which is anathema to me because I have no shame about liking schlocky pop culture. Party foul, kittens.
In order of appearance:
Allison Iraheta/Don’t Speak - A great song sung greatly by my Manic Panic chola last night. Was she done in by the Halloween wardrobe? You have eyes, don’t you? But as Paula wisely noted, she’s sixteen. And I think she’s also kind of stupid on top of that. Of course she would wear that. She’s a minute out of playing dress up in her mama’s bedroom. Let’s talk about the voice, though, shall we? On this. A singing show. A competition. To find a pop superstar. With a good voice. Remember, noodles? She turned it all the way out again. Some more. As usual. Throw up a finger to the two Simons. We get it. You don’t like Allison and you don’t think she should crash your top 2 party. That’s because you have lost your minds in this, the season determined to kill me.
Kris Allen/Ain’t No Sunshine - Not what I would’ve imagined out of this kid at all. He continues to surprise and impress, to stretch and grow. It was a competent vocal, not the best thing ever and perhaps his voice is a tad too light to really bring it with this song. But it was a hell of a performance. When did this kid become so dead sexy? God damn, y’all. He’s fine. That was definitely some baby making music that he laid down on that stage. And pimp slot aside, he did not get the props that he deserved. That was not just his best, but the best of the evening, right? And putting him after Adam who is a bonafide sex machine just takes a little bit away – makes us remember that Kris is Disneyland sex whereas Adam is Times Square pre-Guiliani era sex and why that matters. Any other year, they’d be pushing this kid like Ecstasy at a rave. This year, if you don’t have a cute child or a dead wife, well then you just can’t get no love from the Idol crew.
Fivehead and Lady Gaga are the results show musical guests
Kittens, I didn’t even write about last week’s results show because I’m not getting paid for this shit, so why put myself out? And y’all should be prepared for that to happen again. Hell, given the sentence above, there’s a strong possibility that I won’t even watch. If anyone other than Tattoo Sleeve goes home, it will be the wrong choice. And we’ll still be left with a pocketful of manure. And I honestly would rather chew glass than listen to Fivehead. So you’ll either hear from me tomorrow or next week, but really does it even matter anymore, kiddies? Ju’not and Ricky Braddy should be tearing a swath through the competition en route to their epic showdown at the Kodak right about now, but instead we are served up this hot mess.
Killing me softly, y’all. I swear.
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