“It was the beast of times; it was like er, mmmgghdddtttbllg, something, something, yeah London. And don’t forget Paris.”
The preceding sentences would win the Nobel Prize for Literature if judged by the American Idol Judges.
Yes, St. Pauli Girl and I are watching another fine season of American Idol. She loves anything involving singing while I’m all in favor of anything to relieve winter boredom. Every week the judges inform us that this is the best crop of talent ever on the show. If so, I’m glad we waited until season 9 to start watching the show. Prior seasons must have included deranged lunatics reciting poetry William Shatner style.
Last night two performers completely forgot the words to the songs they were singing. One was the high strung woman who actually quit the contest the night before because she either went off her meds or needs to get on some meds. The other was the cowboy with the deep low voice that would cause the throbbing subwoofers in your car to blow out the windshield. He freely admits he only knows one song and has only survived because of his low voice. Somehow, the judges promoted both of them to the next round.
I don’t think it’s too much to ask a singing professional, an “idol,” to know the words to a song. Is this some token gesture to make Christina Aguilera feel good about herself for taking a meat cleaver to the national anthem? Really, out of 5 million auditions, the judges narrowed it down to 50 finalists, and two can’t remember the words to a song? And the judges thought the guy dressed like a transformer was stupid.
The second compelling story of the week featured the 15 year old chubby kid who got kicked out of a group by the guy wearing giant round glasses that made him look like Dexter from “Dexter’s Laboratory”. The judges gave the chubby kid a free pass to the next round. And then, after admonishing Disco Dexter, they promoted him as well.
Simon Cowell must be rolling over in his grave. He would have taken the crazy girl’s Hollywood ticket away on the auditions show after she freaked out--the first time. He would have made numerous fat jokes before dumping the chubby kid, told Disco Dexter “those glasses will help you find the exit door,” and advised the low-voiced cowboy to join a barbershop quartet.
I’ve had enough. If you’re going to reward butchered singing, there will always be only one American Idol: Lieutenant Frank Drebin.