Something Wicked This Way Comes

So I've made it no secret over the last several weeks that I'm a "fan" of American Idol. And as I watched tonight's inevitable trainwreck come screeching to its irrevocable, heart-breaking conclusion, I vowed that I would make my voice heard over teh interwebs. No matter that my blog is pretty much an audience of one. I sound my barbaric yawp, over the roofs of the world.

The bottom line: Sanjaya stays yet another week (is it thanks to Howard Stern, votefortheworst.com, his legion of Fanjayas, or the unholy trinity combined? Only the computers that tally the votes -- this week is touted to be the biggest turnout yet -- know the real truth)...and Gina is gone. Buh-bye.

I can't say that Gina has the most accomplished pipes of the nine remaining finalists. My personal favorite is Melinda Doolitte. I don't buy her "what, lil' ole me?" act, but I don't vote, either. That said, Gina certainly doesn't lack in spirit, or in gumption as my great grandmother would call it. More than that, she's truly magnetic. I have enjoyed watching her interpret each week's musical missive. I've stayed riveted to her performances, unable to disconnect myself from her energy and her eyes. They soulfully connected with the audience this week, I believe, in a way that only those that were there could have truly experienced.Singing one of my favorite songs of that era (coached by Tony Bennet, who ended up bowing out of the live performance to be replaced by Micheal Buble), and surprise, I learned something new: that Smile was written by the inimitable Charlie Chaplin. As Randy said, it was a very "controlled and understated performance from the rocker girl." After tonight's elimination, it was a tear-jerking, cruel twist to watch her sing it again at the close of the broadcast; thank God my DVR cut it short. And it made it harder for me to not wish ill on the boy wonder (my first initial reaction was -- couldn't you just overdose on curry and lose your voice next week? Puh-leeze?!). Seriously; to watch one more talented performer get the axe, as Sanjaya and his Sybil-like hair live on another week, is enough to make me throw up a little in my mouth. Mmmm. Backwash.

So I'm sad to see another hopeful fall. My personal message to Glocksen: you stayed true to yourself, you even put that tongue stud back in, girl. Keep rockin'. May left-winged angels carry you to a record contract that doesn't include Clive Davis, who reminds me of Ed McMahon, like, 15 years ago.

I'd like to mention this, as well: what the smuck is up with our esteemed judges?! For the past six years, they've been bally-hooing about contestants taking on songs and singers that are "too big" for them. Yet, 17 year old Jordan Knight tolerably belts out On a Clear Day, and not one of those bobble heads can bring up the fact that Barbra Streisand in her heyday recorded the same song (albeit for the soundtrack of the wacky pre-Shirley MacClaine (the unofficial 80s reincarnation queen herself) movie of the same name)?! Hellooo, McFly! Don't even get me started on the rip-off artist Catherine McPhee, who shamelessly passed off Jane Monheit's poignant arrangement of Over the Rainbow as her own (granted, it was likely not Monheit's either, but she did it "first"!), garnering Simon's adulation ("that was the best version of the song I've ever heard"). And prior to that, Mr. Chris "Heavy Rotation" Daughtry sings I Walk the Line, and he's miraculously modernized the song; never mind that Live did it first (I was priveleged enough to hear them perform it live *har har* in concert at Blossom, almost 10 years ago). Chris Daughtry wishes he was as wickedly entitled as Ed Kowalczyk.

As I spew all this worthless vitriol, I realize that I've never really been an American Idol fan, as much as a reluctant witness to the grotesque Something Wicked This Way Comes parade. Pulled in by the carnival of it all, it's now more than ever about peering through the dirty glass at Lobster Boy (useless trivia: I had driven through Gibstonton more than once; no great shakes), with a little bit of the Gong Show & Star Search thrown in, for good measure.

The sick little twit in me can't wait for So You Think You Can Dance to start.