Well, let’s just say I’m very glad I didn’t hold my breath from the last episode. There are a lot of things worth passing out for, actually, but this was definitely not one of them.
We open with my favourite picture of Ryan ever, and how sad am I that I’ve already seen it many times before. This is apparently my life.
At this point they say something about the elevator which I completely miss because something more important was going on, perhaps an itch or a strange noise from the kitchen. Don’t worry, though. It’ll come back to haunt us all.
Dewone is our first contestant, who they show doing the Carlton Dance before we even heard him open his mouth. Oh yes, I can see this ending well. And then we are – just for me, I’m sure – reintroduced to the elevator that will take each contestant the 27 floors from the holding room to the judges. It’s a thing, you see. Dewone is about as good as you’d think.
Moving on! Keia is my new sekrit tv girlfriend (what? They’re tv girlfriends. I can have more than one), and she’s an absolute doll even before she sings. Which I got to hear about two seconds of before my livestream cut out. But apparently she did good, because the next thing I know she’s waving a golden ticket around.
In quick succession: Miriam (yawn, sorry!), Noel (ditto), and Tisha (more interested), all of whom we’ll apparently be seeing in Hollywood. Can it be Hollywood tiem nao?
(I hope I got those names right. I’m reading them from an itty bitty little livestream feed with one contact in and one contact out (don’t ask) and it’s just not a pretty scene.)
Jermaine has great taste in music, and a good voice, and I’m…just not feeling it. I loved the interpretation right up until that gratuitous run at the end. That stuff will just never win me over. (Unless you’re Adam Lambert.) (And even then.)
For perky Christy Marie, the TV host, I wrote “You don’t suck, but I can’t take this.” I have the strangest feeling I wrote that exact same thing last year. For someone named Tatiana. Thank God they nipped this one in the bud.
[Okay, for this elevator montage they should be playing Love In An Elevator, am I right or am I right?]
Finally they show us “small town girl” Vanessa, who they’ve been teasing us with since yesterday. If she sucks, they’ve wasted a lot of my time, and if she doesn’t that’s some hardcore pimping. I mean, is she for real? I am from a tiny town. Tiny. (Less than a hundred people, no lie.) And believe me, I was a lot more worldly than that by the time I hit junior high.
But you know, I like her. I like her in spite of the edit she’s getting. I like her song choice and I like her perseverence. I hope she doesn’t have a complete and utter meltdown in Hollywood.
And then of course they follow her with Jesse. I don’t even know what to say about this. Well, no, I do. American Idol? You are so not as funny as you think you are. Also, Mary J Blige, please marry me. Actually, I said that last one a lot tonight.
Montage of tears. Oh, montage of tears. I don’t begrudge your inevitable appearance, but this is one time I think they could amp up the drama just a little, to keep me entertained.
“Oh, Holly, no. Just no.” That is literally all I wrote for her audition, wherein she dressed up like a guitar. And got through to Hollywood. (Mary J Blige, you are my soulmate!)
[If they would only keep all the clips of bad singers to under ten seconds each. I could live with that.]
Mallorie comes in and sings a countrified version of Piece of my Heart, which isn’t nearly raw enough for my taste in that song, but she’s got her thing and she does it well. I can’t deny that. It’s not my thing, but it’s a thing.
Now, something else happened after that, but I was so distracted by the fact that they were playing Kris Allen’s Before We Come Undone that I could not tell you what it was. No lie. (Come baaaaack, Season 8!)
It’s almost over, right? Right? Apparently not. We have Skii bo ski, who is just one enormous WTF. He is like the living, breathing embodiment of WTF. Sadly, he can also sing, prompting my favourite line ever from Randy, “Shut up, you’re through to Hollywood.” This line does not deserve to be buried in a single audition. It should be the motto of the entire audition phase of the process. Instead of “yes” or “no”, you get “Shut up, go home” or “Shut up, you’re through to Hollyood.” I would watch the shit out of that.
Best friends auditioning together? Oh, this cannot end well. (Spoiler: it doesn’t.) Carmen and Lauren insist they’re both equally talented. They’re also both liars, because no way did they not know that Carmen can sing rings around Lauren. The editors then do me proud by hammering the tragic best friends point into the ground. I feel like this is some sort of challenge in the editing room, to keep it interesting. Who can make the most over the top segment without crossing the line.
I mean, there’s got to be a line somewhere, right? Right?
(Mary J Blige, seriously, I’ve got a ring all picked out and everything.)
Blah blah blah, string of bad girl singers with surprising poise and self-awareness. I can dig it. And now we’re almost done.
Brian Walker is a cop who wants to sing. That’s a great idea! They should make a television show about it! They can call it Cop Roc–oh, wait. Nevermind. Anyway, the guy’s actually really good, and I could not possibly care less. Because that’s just about the most boring style of singing I can imagine. I’d like to think that if I could do more than just carry a tune, I’d do something more interesting with it. Anyway, he’s through of course.
Lamar, aka Shouty McShouterson, is…something else, hoo boy. Lamar, not only do you need to stop saying words, you need to stop singing them too. Please. Any time now. Troll, or just some serious anger management issues? Hard to say, but his “Are you sssseriousssss?” made me crack the fuck up.
(I’m in Canada, Mary J, we could make it work.)
I would like to be angry about the last audition they show, because it doesn’t not even have the pretense of being a legitimate audition and I’d actually like to see something of the people who made it through, but… I can’t. Because it’s General Larry Platt singing an original composition – Pants on the Ground – and mark my words, it is going to be a cultural touchstone of this season. Less than two hours after the show aired on the east coast and it’s already trending higher than Haiti.
[Speaking of, Doctors Without Borders is one of many wonderful organisations to donate to, no matter where you're donating from.]
And yes, TGIO, that is the end of the show. 25 tickets to Hollywood and I don’t even know how most of them are. Good job. Chicago, please don’t suck.
I have decided, against all common sense and better judgment, to actually watch every episode of American Idol this year. Even the audition shows. Even the results shows. I’m not just going to youtube the performances I hear are worth watching. I’m going to watch it all. And then, in April or so, I’m going to look back and laugh at myself.
And you’re going to suffer enjoy it with me.
First up, Boston auditions! Where it is cold and raining and it’s a sign. (Spoiler: no really, it is.) [Blah blah blah, chaaaaanges. A star is born. I miss you already Season 8.] I watched this on a livestream so I can’t fact check a single thing in this post. I’m pretty sure it’s not going to matter. It’s all recapped from the contents of four electronic sticky notes anyway.
First up, Girl Who Rocks the American Idol Game Whose Name I Did Not Write Down. (There’s an American Idol game? Really? I fail at pop culture.) Despite the fact that I’m dying for someone completely socially awkward to make it really far, this one could only end in tears. Starting the year off with a bad audition, Idol? Was this really the wisest editing decision? Are you trying to tell us something?
And then we have Maddie, the first of many contestants with a oppressively forcefed backstory. Despite the fact that she seems sweet, as do her brothers with Down Syndrome, I would’ve been teeth-clenchingly resentful if she hadn’t sung Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. Anyone who sings Leonard Cohen on American Idol is so much win. Thank God she did it well.
[And then there were some guys or something, but I wandered away to wash dishes.]
Then, in quick succession, Jennifer (ooh, that’s different), Claire (oh god, power ballad) and Jess (my current sekrit TV girlfriend), who all apparently are going to Hollywood. Go Jess?
Amadeo arrives smothered in stereotypes, which does not stop the editors from piling a few more on. Nor Kara from putting the Italian Cherry on top. (Something went wrong with my metaphor there, but somehow I like the mental image in spite of that.) He rocked the song choice, though. I kind of like him in spite of myself, though I can’t see him getting far.
And then we’re presented with sensitive, soulful Derek, who likes puppies and rainbows and long walks on the beach, and looks like Fabio’s much-less-attractive cousin. Maybe he can blame the fact that he stopped and smelled the flowers for the fact that he has what might be the most nasal singing voice I’ve ever heard.
Oh, Idol Producers. Is there no cliche you won’t mine?
Montage of Tears! I actually like the montags of tears. It makes me smile. Does that make me a bad person?
Moving on faster than the actual show does, we have Mary. Who is obsessed with Anime! I kind of wanted her to be good too, because seriously, I’m desperate for the socially awkward, but it was not meant to be. She does bring us my favourite moment of the night, though, we her indignant “How dare you!” at her dismissal.
More boys fly by. We have Luke, who I knew would be getting through just by looking at him. He was okay. And Benjamin, who I totally grooved to. I was into it.
Which brings us to Andrew, emo-glasses Andrew, about whom much was made in the previews. I have this to say about it: Epic Troll Is Epic. Hats off to you, Andrew. You committed absolutely to your trolling and never wavered. Hats off.
Does Boston really have that many guys who can’t sing? My notes for this segment pretty much consist of “omgwtfbbq”, which really can’t be good.
[A sixteen year old with a voice I can't believe? Really, the only way you're going to pull that off is if she's a bass.]
Am I even halfway through yet? Did we really need two hours of this heavy-handed crap, when the best singers who are going to make it to the end were probably only shown in montage? I’m remembering why I usually skip all this and catch Hollywood Week. They could show an entire season of Hollywood Week and I’d probably watch that shit.
Ashley. I have a note that says “she has everything that they want” which probably means she is a woman who’s reasonably good looking with a powerhouse diva voice. I predict my own future boredom.
Tyler. I loved the shit out of Tyler. He came out there with his 70s stylin’ and he just worked it, without pretense. He’s my boy.
[Did I just see a Cale Mills clone on screen? It's possible I have the Kris Allen Band on the brain. All the time.]
They actually seem to be sending through a lot of people who are not stereotypically good looking. I predict 99% will be cut in Hollywood.
Protip: I don’t recommend turning my predictions into any kind of drinking game. You risk hospitalization if you drink every time I’m wrong.
And now Simon and Randy are late for day two because they’re making out in a limo. My notes say so, therefore it is actualfax.
Lisa. I kind of liked her in spite of myself, and thought she was going to be one of the good auditions. She…was not. Ouch. That was a lovely ass shot, though, even if Ryan’s “bottoms up” was a touch of overkill. And when it’s overkill on AI, it is killed dead.
Some guy named Ryan sings Ring of Fire, and I think this was probably only notable to me because Ring of Fire will now and forever be associated with Adam Lambert. Sorry Country Music. You’ve been pwned.
Mike Davis, apparently the only contestant I’ve given a surname. A sign? Who can tell. I’m going to give you my notes verbatim, because really they say it all. “he’s a dude. just a dude. actor on a speedboat? that’s a job? CODZILLA. Wait, that’s his singing voice? Really? REALLY? (wait, did he actually just ask kara out?)”
[I'm truly shocked at the lack of Kradison clones. Shocked, I say. Where's my montage of that?]
Honestly, when every other contestant has a sob story and they’re all playing Top My Trauma, it’s just boring. It doesn’t mean anything anymore. I think someone was singing at this point, but I went on a rant about all the yawn-worthy sob stories and all I noted was that she was good. So go you! Whoever you are!
I was feeling Joshua, actually. I don’t see him getting past Hollywood, but I was feeling him. [Then again, if I'd seen Kris Allen's audition, maybe I would've said the same thing. Wait, no. Kris is humble, but I fucking love the tone of his voice. I like to think I would've picked up on it right away.] Joshua’s “Shut up, please” was adorb largely because I totally would’ve done the exact same thing. Are we sure he’s not secretly Canadian?
[Forgotten lyrics montage. Bored now.]
Justin Williams (oh hey, he gets a last name too, I must have had time to kill) … cute and a cancer story? As long as this guy can carry a tune, he’s through. Aaaaaand, I’m right. Please don’t be a douche. (I’m informed that this guy was in White Chocolate with Kris and Matt last year. Someone needs to diiiish.)
And here is the moment when I become Judgey McJudgerson, because when you’re a guy described as having the voice of a three-year-old girl and the look of LaToya Jackson, and it’s accurate? That’s a little terrifying. Seriously. Be afraid.
And thank God, we near an end. Bosa is such a sweet and endearing guy, and I’m glad he got through, but that style is so not my thing. It’s a little like Chikezie, actually. I loved his countrified Beatles cover (no, really, I did), and I liked him, but most of the time I was just bored.
Leah Backtonolastnames. Again, this is the powerhouse voice that they love to put through, and that generally bores me to tears. She’s got this little edge, though. I don’t know. With the right songs, I think I could be into it. Maybe.
And we sign off with a few more golden tickets, the only name that I caught being Antoine (Antwon? No idea), who apparently I enjoyed.
C’mon Idol, show us some more of the good auditions. The bad ones can suck it. Dare I hope for Atlanta tomorrow night?