I got spies. Two
friends wound up at the show tonight, sitting in the
audience. They've promised to report back on any
weird stuff that losers like me--and you
too--don't get to see because we're not
holders of the hot ticket. So for the duration of this
recap I'm going to let them speak in their own
words. When you see brackets with the names [Aaron the Spy]
or [Tony the Spy] then you'll know it's
one of them. Aaron's a weirdo Gay who likes
Norwegian black metal and Tony's a muscles and
sleeveless T-shirt Gay. They're very different
and yet they both adore me. I'm universal that
way.
[Aaron the Spy:
Before the show starts the back-up singers sing this
10-minute "funk lite" jam where they go,
"Say
Paula...Abdul...Paula...Abdul,"
and the crowd is supposed to chant their names. Then they
go, "The Dawg's coming out!" and
you're supposed to do the Dawg Pound woof woof woof
and the backup singers go, "Randy...
Jackson... Randy...Jackson..." Then
they eject the judges out from the side door and Paula
runs around like a crazy woman hugging people and
stuff. The crowd is like 10% celebrities--I saw
Tori Spelling and Miss Jay from America's Next Top
Model--15% media assholes, and then 75% rich
junior high school girls having their birthday.]
Seacrest looks
good tonight I like his shiny, skinny blue tie. It's
very Huey Lewis in 1982. He introduces the judges.
Now, can anyone explain why does Randy does the
faux-booing of Simon every week? It's so lame, this
weird show of fakey misanthropy. And it's a word that
just sounds wrong coming from Randy's mouth.
Like he can't even do it right and is actually
mispronouncing it. And, finally, who on earth really still
believes that Simon is "mean?" Knock it
off, Randy.
Andrea Bocelli is
the guest star tonight. He's that Italian guy who
sings the songs that women my mom's age like to
hear while they take vanilla candle-scented
bubble baths. I remember once there was a whole bit about
Carmela on The Sopranos digging Andrea Bocelli.
He's also the guy who got all male diva on
Oprah when she had him on her show once. It was a
great episode. Oprah goes, "And now Andrea Bocelli is
going to sing "'The Greatest Love of
All!'" (or maybe it was one of those other
famous opera songs, I don't remember) and
Bocelli flat-out refused to do it on live television.
You could see the hate-fumes coming off Oprah that day.
They were purple.
They say
tonight's theme is the World's Greatest Love
Songs. But it's really King Romantico Bocelli
Sits in a Chair and Does a Lot of Not Much While
Songwriter-Producer David Foster Busts the Kids'
Balls Night. Foster has Poseidon-capsizing
tsunami waves of negative
don't-waste-my-time-which-by-the-way-is-worth-one-thousand-dollars-per-minute
energy cascading off of him. They've brought in a
representative Music Industry Asshole. Good.
It'll toughen these kids up. Something has to
prepare them for meeting people like Clive Davis and David
Geffen. Cut to Celine Dion cooing, "If God
could have a singing voice, he must sound a lot like
Andrea Bocelli." Personally, I always thought that if
God sang, he'd sound like Phil Harris as Baloo
in The Jungle Book, but let Celine have
her little opinions. Then comes the clip reel of
"Isn't Andrea Bocelli the Greatest
Singer in the History of Human Life as We Know
It?" Cut to Sarah Brightman cuddling up all
moony-eyed to Bocelli, fondling him as he sings some
vaguely opera-ish adult contemporary bit of
humpty-hump. Then cut to producer-songwriter David
Foster--who wrote "I Have Nothing"
for Whitney Houston--and Bocelli saying "David
is the greatest producer in the world." Cut to
the clip from last week--the most awesome one of
all--of the guy on fire jumping off the bridge as
Bocelli lays it down Rigoletto-style.
So the
singing...
McPhee kicks it
off. Her "I Met Bocelli" reel shows her
holding her own with him, singing something operatic.
Then she takes the bull by the horns and dives right
into David Foster's "I Have Nothing,"
basically daring everyone to start shit about it. And
they do. She knocks it out of the park with full-tilt
cleavage and drama queen heaving and the judges scold
her for it. Because why? Just because, apparently. Like,
even Paula isn't on board for this. They all
dismiss her. She's dying inside and you can see
it on her face. Then one of them has the nerve to say
McPhee's got no business taking on a song
recorded by Whitney Houston in her prime. Have the
judges seen Whitney Houston lately? (By the way, I
just crossed myself and I'm not even
Catholic--that's how freaked out I am by
poor Whitney Houston these days. I don't make jokes
about her. It's a tragedy, and I genuinely fear
for her life. Take that, all you Advocate.com letter
writers who accuse me of unbridled hatefulness. You
don't know my life!)
Elliott is
Ryan's blue necktie twin tonight. Same shiny shade of
sky. Elliott's is wider. But it's
basically the same tie. And his bangs are finally
grown out enough to work properly on his head. Elliott is
going to sing Donny Hathaway's "A Song
for You." This move means Elliott has secret
knowledge. He knows the obliterating power of a Donny
Hathaway song and he's going to unleash it. And
if you don't know about the late Mr. Hathaway,
then I suggest you go back and start with "The Closer
I Get to You," his biggest hit, with Roberta
Flack. Then you'll begin to understand. Donny
Hathaway was The Man. I can't wait to hear Elliott do
this because he's going to wreck shit (P.S. Dear Old
People, "wreck shit" means he's
going to sing very well.).
He sings. They
close-up on his wascally wabbit teeth again. Damn that
camera crew!
And I am correct.
Paula is reduced to sobbing wreckage. So now it's
official for me. I love Paula Abdul right now and for all
time. I love every whacked-out thing about her. I love
her inability to construct coherent sentences. I love
the tard way she claps her hands. I love her terrible
fashion choices. I love her inappropriate flirtation with
male contestants. I love the white eye shadow
she's got on tonight. I love that her tears
make Simon crack up. I will be the friend who really
"gets" you, Paula. I will be your designated
driver whenever you need a late-night burger from
In-N-Out. You are forever my girl.
[Tony the Spy: I
sat right behind Elliott's and Paris's
families and--big shock--Paris's
family is more fun. Elliott's clan is nice but more
conservative, all wearing yarmulkes and whatnot. I spoke to
Elliott's cousin, a young guy who referred to
himself as Elliott's "mentor." This
sounded weird to me, but what do I know? I told him how I
approved of Elliott really changing his look. He was
hesitant to go along me on this at first but I said,
"As a Gay, don't think I haven't
noticed." That actually worked, can you believe
it? He melted, as if his safe answer would never hold
up against my gayness. Like, it reminds you that we have
everyone who doesn't live in New York or Los Angeles
snowed and that to them being gay means that you are
automatically an expert in fashion and styling. He
just deferred to me after that. "Yeah, he does look a
lot different," he said.]
Tons of
commercials time... Wow, a new movie with Lindsay
Lohan. It's called Just My Luck, which
is kind of what I was thinking when the commercial
started.
And it's
also time for The O.C. senior prom! Which one of them
will die in the drunk driving accident? And what designer
will they be wearing?
[Tony the Spy: In
the commercial break after Elliott sang, McPhee's
McFather comes over to the judges' table to complain
about how they dissed Katharine. Simon and Randy get
the hell out of there, but Paula gets trapped by him
for the whole break, much of it with her hands holding
his face, consoling him while he cries. I can see Paula
clearly, mouthing stuff like "It's just
our job" and "She's gonna be
fine." I lean into Paris's mom and
grandmother and whisper, "I didn't know you
could do that." And Mom whispers back,
"We're not supposed to..."]
Pick Pickler is
next. "I don't have a boyfriend! I'm
lonely!" she wails. So the Constantine thing
was all rumor then? Like it matters. Then she goes on
about the movie Ghost. Of course she likes
Ghost. It's the default romantic drama
for people with no opinions about anything. They see
Ghost in the $8.97 DVD rack at the checkout in
Wal-Mart and go, "Oh, look, a movie," and then
they buy it. "You know that movie Ghost?
The little pottery scene?" Pickler says.
"Isn't that sweet? The little pottery? I
don't have anybody to play pottery
with!"
Hey Pickler, I
have this book you should read... It's called
The Second Sex... Yeah, it's by
this French chick Simone de Beauvoir... No, really,
it's pretty good... Look, you can just keep my
copy... It's my gift to you since I never
voted for you, like, even once... No, not even when
VoteForTheWorst.com told me to.
The
"Pickler Gets Ignored by Bocelli" reel rolls.
Foster is tentative about Pick Pickler. Bocelli says
he knows she's blond. Ouch! And can I just
complain about the editing process again here? They show you
the part where Foster is telling her how to do the big
finish. And then she takes a practice stab at it. And
then another. Well, thanks, now we all know at what
point in the song we're supposed to be the most
moved. They did that with McPhee too. Could I please
be allowed to be surprised by what these kids are
going to do when they get to the "love me NOW"
part of the song? Geez.
So Pick Pickler
tries her hand at "Unchained Melody." Along
with spinach salad, naughty little minxes, and
calamari, she does not know something she should have
done her homework on. That this is Simon's all-time
favorite song. She's doomed. Even if she does a
passable job, he'll tear her apart. And so what
does she do? A not-passable job. She's pitchy.
Again. And she's got the Dead Eye happening. Again.
Simon goes on the attack. Then the
"Ahhhh-ahhhh" theme music cuts him off. He
gets pissed. But so what? Let him.
Here comes little
Paris. Big Stacy Lattisaw hair again tonight. I love
her best in that hair. Bocelli calls her
"incredible" and "spectacular"
and he can't even see her hair. She does "The
Way We Were," and, again, it's just
beyond her years. Paula tells her she oversang it, and
that's kind of true. But she was still powerful
and delivered it solidly. I can see Paris being the
140-year-old Miss Jane Pittman lady someday and still
singing all boldly. The judges seem kind of over her,
though. I get a "please go away" vibe
from them.
[Tony the Spy:
Paris's grandma, Ann Nesby, has clearly negotiated
her Jesus-ness with her love for the Gays. Or at least
this Gay. But I just suspect she's always
sweet. I said, "Girl, I bet you can't even get
your nails done anymore," and she was all,
"Honey, I can't go anywhere, but
I'm so proud blah blah blah." Then I asked her
if it was sweeter watching Paris have fame, having had
her own, and she said she is prouder of Paris than she
ever was of herself. And I believe her. Then Miss Jay came
and sat down with them. They didn't even know
who he was, he just joined them. In fact I think he
stole the seat of one of Paris's cousins. He
just plopped his ponytails down and got out his sequined
Sidekick. I hate those sequined Sidekicks. Also,
Paris's mom is younger than me, I think. I find
that troubling.]
[Aaron the Spy:
Paris is so tiny. You can't really tell on TV how
tiny she is. She's like Dio. That tiny. But
loud. I don't know how she doesn't
overmodulate their microphones. Seacrest is tiny too, but
dude-tiny. Maybe 5 foot 5. Like a wee little ninja.]
It's
Taylor Hicks time. Bocelli says, all noncommittal,
"Taylor is a good singer. He's very
interesting." Uh-oh. That means Bocelli hates him.
Then Foster chimes in and says that Taylor has
"the most charisma." OK, so now they
double-hate him. Hicks must have been too intimidated to do
his signature flailing. He probably even forgot to
whip out that trick where he turns his head 360
degrees. Darn it, Hicks, make a good first impression!
He's going to do James Ingram's "Just
Once." Now, there's a person I
haven't thought about in forever. Where did James
Ingram go off to?
After last
week's trip to the dinosaur museum, Hicks is ready to
chaperone The O.C. senior prom in a velvety
tuxedo-ish blazer. Jaunty little red pocket square.
It's kind of cute when the teachers get all
dressed up, isn't it? Then they dance together and do
their dorky old-person moves. It's embarrassing
but then kind of hilarious when their photo ends up in
yearbook with the caption "WTF, Mr. Hicks?"
under it. The yearbook adviser didn't know what
WTF meant, and so we told her it stood for
"Workin' That Funk!" and she believed
it. Now it's forever.
The thing about
Hicks singing is that he seems less happy with ballads
than with big stompers. He seems to get nervous and often
winds up pitchy when he's got to slow down and
hold a note. It's almost like he doesn't
think he's really singing unless he can wave his arms
around and do kung fu kicks. But it's fine. Not
awesome. His hair looks good tonight. I know,
I'm grasping for something decent to say, but I just
got on the good side of the GrayCharles.com people and
I'm trying to keep the good feelings going. You
don't want these folks mad at you.
Randy hates it.
Paula yells, "He looks handsome!" Simon calls
him a lounge singer. Then Paula goes ape-shit. She
jumps up and starts pointing with this crazed, almost
angry look on her face, stomping her feet and yelling
over Simon. I replay it on TiVo because it's
incredible to behold and because I can't make
out what she's saying other than "WE! LOVE!
YOU!" Whoa, Lady Freak-Out!
Daughtry ends the
night. His Bocelli clip is strange. Foster tells
Daughtry to stop throat-singing and pull it up from deeper
inside. I'm not a singer and even I knew that.
Daughtry's all "Thanks for teaching me
this." Unfailingly polite, this fella. Then Bocelli
lies down on the hardwood floor to show Daughtry how
to sing while lying down on a hardwood floor. Sure,
why not. Daughtry takes his turn at the
lying-down-singing but lies on the carpet instead.
Whatsamatter, Mr. Rock, too soft for the hard floor?
Does big baby need a luxurious deep pile rug to
recline on? C'mon, tough guy, get on the wood! This
show isn't called Comfy Idol! Be a man!
Then Daughtry
sings. He's wearing a creepy three-quarter-length
coat. Like the kind Robin Williams would wear to the
Oscars so he could think he looked avant-garde. He
sings Bryan Adams's "Have You Ever Really
Loved a Woman." When did this become one of the
Greatest Love Songs of All Time? Seriously. Like, the
"Macarena" song thinks this song is lame.
And that's
when I decide that Daughtry is possibly playing us all.
Maybe he has the best taste in music ever but
he's just keeping his cards close to his chest.
Maybe he intentionally sings the assiest songs he can find
week in and week out (not counting "I Walk the
Line" of course) just so he can say,
"You know what? I can make even this piece of shit
sound decent." What if he's the Evil
Strategy Genius? I have to start telling myself this
to keep any enthusiasm I have for the man. Naturally the
judges can't shower him with enough love. Randy:
"Amazing! Love the jacket!" Have you
ever seen those old pictures of Randy from the late
1980s and he's got that giant Kid-N-Play hair? Of
course he loves the jacket. Paula:
"LoveyouloveyouLOVE! YOU!" Simon says
something effusive. I forget what.
[Aaron the Spy:
By this point in the show I was bored and thinking about
sex. We were right next to The Price Is Right studio,
though. That was something.]
On to Chopped
& Screwed night...
Simon apologizes
for harshing on McPhee last night. Maybe the McFather
got to him too? Then he asks if Paula and Ryan are speaking,
referring to the tabloid rumor of a feud between them.
They ignore him mostly. Paula says something about
there being "nothing but love." So who knows
what's true. All I know is that I'm on
Team Abdul.
Ford Commercial
time: They sing "Call Me" and look for a lost
doggy. Hicks gets his serial killer face back on to
fake-drive the Ford that will help them track the lost
doggy. They find the lost doggy, who runs away from
them all. Then Andrea Bocelli leaps out from the shadows and
snaps up the dog. He's going to use its skin to make
a fur coat for David Foster. OK, lie. The doggy leads
them all back to his doggy-wife and their puppies.
PUPPIES! The end.
Andrea Bocelli
sings. I think it's called "Because We
Believe." I have no idea what the lyrics are.
The only one I catch is "we were born to
shine," which kind of tells you everything you need
to know about the song. He's a singing machine,
this dude. He doesn't break a sweat and he hits
that one opera-y note at the end like a pro. Because he is
one. So, yeah, awesome, whatever. I am so absolutely
not his target demo.
Cut to eliminatee
Lisa Tucker. You know, the Lion King teen. Ryan
says she's going to be on The O.C. this week.
At the prom. Sneaking drinks when Mr. Hicks has his
back turned.
Then Seacrest
plays the divide-'em-up game. McPhee and Daughtry in
one group, obviously safe. Elliott and Hicks in
another group, possibly not safe. And Pickler and
Paris in the last group, definitely not safe. Paris is
standing as far away from Pickler as she possibly can and
still remain in the shot. Seacrest tells Elliott and
Hicks that they're safe and Hicks does a combo
thumbs-up-spinny-hands move combined with a full-body
supermodel-hunch. That means he's happy. Daughtry and
McPhee are safe too. And then it's Pick
Pickler's time to pack up. Her "You're
Dead" reel plays. It's her greatest
doofy moments, naturally. A shot of her with her hot
prison dad. Cut to Elliott crying. Isn't Elliott the
sweetest guy ever?