Catch the Dorktrain to Nerdtown!

So after approximately 43 episodes containing at least 6,721 song butcherings and 347 different outfit changes (63 by David Archuleta alone containing 112 tiny, little jackets,) our American Idol journey has come to an end. I can’t believe that I’ll need to wait another eight months to hear, “This… (crickets chirping, I’m starting to feel a little bit awkward, oh boy, I think that I’m starting to sweat a little bit. Dude, could you just get to it, already? Don’t people need to sing? Aaaah, Fantasia Barrino!) is American Idol!” I really think Seacrest was starting to get a little bit full of himself, especially there at the end with all of his stage makeup. For a minute there, he really looked like a more feminine version of “Jem and the Rockers” especially once the show moved into the decidedly more cavernous Nokia Theater.  

Fire! Finale. And more fire!

I hate to admit it, but Simon actually knows what he’s doing. He’s been campaigning for approximately the past 10 weeks for a David/ david Battle Royale, and he got his wish in the final. (And the conspiracy theorist in me can still imagine Simon and Nigel in a little back room manipulating votes like a Ghanan presidential election. Especially after Taylor Hicks managed to win two years ago against Simon’s wishes, was dropped from 19 Records (the American Idol label) after poor album sales and was not even mentioned during the final when they showed images of American Idol “superstars”–Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson and…Chris Daughtry (!!!!) who took fourth! They really hate Taylor Hicks! And I believe that since then, both Simon and his Red Sea-parted hair and Nigel and his Leif Garret flowing locks have decided to wrest back control of the voting since the American public is so haphazard. That, and Tupac is still alive, working in the post office in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.) 

But give it to the curiously coiffed duo, they certainly know how to pick a final. I dare say, this was the most entertaining slugfest since the weekly arguments on “The Golden Girls” or any conversation with George and Weezie from “The Jeffersons.” But pardon for a momentito, what was up with the lame boxing metaphor? I mean, I understand that this is a “Heavyweight Bout for the Title of the World” and everything, but do you really need to slap our faces with it? Putting the David’s in little boxing robes AND boxing gloves? (And by the way, didn’t little Archie look like the anti-Hugh Hefner in his little robe? Even though the size 6T fit him like a glove, he never really seemed quite uncomfortable in his silky adornment, but at least he gave it a try.) And interview portions with Jim Lampley? I mean the guy’s got an impeccable hair line and dates more than ABC 4’s Randall Carlisle, but I don’t think we need his playful boxing metaphors sprinkled throughout the broadcast. Even Michael Buffer got to take over the pre-show announcing duties for Seacrest, and although he has an impressive voice and says his now cliche’ opening line with panache, I just wanted to hear some music after 5 months of buildup. I admit I wasn’t really ready to rumble.

I’m pretty sure that Archey lost because of THIS face.

I’m sure no one remembers now as it’s been so long ago now, but for the final showdown, both of our Davids were given a chance to perform three numbers. One selected by Clive Davis, who’s about 6000 years old and yes, does have a knack for discovering new talent (Janis Joplin, Miles Davis, Mariah Carey, Leona Lewis, Alicia Keys, etc.) and has the creativity of a bran muffin when it comes to selecting songs from the pop music library. There’s got to be at least a good 12,000 songs to choose from (2 for every one of his years on the Earth) but instead of picking those, he selects “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” from U2 for David the Elder (because in Clive’s words, he still hasn’t found what he’s looking for. Get it! He doesn’t yet have the title and is not yet complete? So what better song to sing than a song that has all of those words in the title and chorus!) Mr. Davis you’re a genious. No wonder your record label that you started a scant five years ago has kicked you to the curb!

And for little Archie’s song, the Clivinator has selected the all time classic “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” a personal favorite of Clive’s as he’s currently battling the sun and Father Time himself in his spare time. Please Clive, let’s not make this personal. We’re sorry that you’ve been reassigned, but why do you need to give little david a song that has already been attempted by a trio of lackluster American Idol candidates (Justin Guarini, Jasmine Trias and “shudder” Clay Aiken?) Are you trying to get the young man killed? Nice work, Clive, now please proceed out to pasture, buy an island and actually enjoy your millions while you still can.

And I beg to currently disagree with the most irrelevant judges in the history of the world behind Antonin Scalia and David Hasselhoff. Both “5-Phrase Randy” and “I Thought Your Dress Rehearsal Was Disappointing” Paula were way off as I thought that “Rocker David” (not his real name) did a great job with his stodgy U2 anthem and actually made it sound fresh and new. Something I’d buy? Yes, and I might even use money. Tiny david Archuleta also did a good job as well with the lamest song since Carly Smithson’s trainwreck “The Show Must Go On.” I don’t know if it was his “best performance ever” or even “molten hot.” I was thinking more along the lines of “pretty good” and “Please stop squinting at me. I’m not the sun, or even very far away.” And I know he can pretty much “sing the phone book” already Randy. Could you come up with something new and fresh for each show, please? Could you borrow Paula’s writers to come up with something like, “You can sing a soup label!” or “You could sing the entire list of captured criminals from ’America’s Most Wanted–Starring Adam Walsh’ from 1986-2001!” or ”You could sing the entire Paula Abdul discography and make it sound better than she ever did!” but then, I guess that applies to pretty much anybody.

David. A Jacket. A Match Made in Heaven.

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So here we are. Almost to the end of our “journey.” I feel like I’m losing a friend. A three headed friend that combs their hair differently every week and smiles WAY too much.

Must. Keep. Smiling. For. Ever.

If we’re being honest with ourselves however, this week had about as much suspense as an episode of “The Cosby Show.” We all know the Cos will come out wearing some fruity, colorful sweater that only rich people in the ’80’s wore and dispense some useful fatherly advice to Theo. Or troubled Denise. Or that annoying white kid they introduced around the sixth season to make the show more interesting. And Mrs. Cosby and Vanessa will always be super annoying. Every single week. I think it would surprise no one with a pulse and television set that we’ve been gearing up for a head to head David-fest these past few weeks, especially when the producers and Randy Jackson are picking “songs” for our dear, doomed Syesha. Like Al Gore at a NASCAR race, she didn’t have a chance.

Yeah. This week is kind of like that.

So in case you missed the very special format presented to our top three kids, they will be singing, appropriately enough, three songs. One of their own selection, one from the judges, and one from the crappy producers that will suck and immediately usher one of the kids out the door to a life of relative obscurity. (Hello, Syesha! Good to have you here.)

Little David started us off this week and it was notable because this was the first week that he didn’t have his horrible stage dad that is living vicariously through his young son guardian with him to assist him in the arrangements of the song during the week. Apparently last week he got into a little bit of trouble when he forced young David to insert a line from Shawn Kingston’s ‘Beautiful Girl’ into his rendition of “Stand by Me”. Apparently this is a big deal as all songs that appear on the show have to be cleared and have royalties paid to the artists and publisher. Obviously singing three bars from an uncleared song could end up costing Idol some serious scratch. And after seeing their ratings, man, they are hurting for cash. They might need to put FOUR Coca-Cola cups on that desk instead of three just to make up for it. And good call on the producers here in “banning” his Dad, because I’m sure back in David’s little Idol hut, where he friggin’ LIVES with his father, they probably spend no time at all talking about the songs he’s going to perform, or the arrangements he should do or how his Dad and his jaunty cap are slowly sucking the life out of his teenage son day by miserable day. I’m sure they spend their days mostly playing catch and maybe braiding each other’s hair. I trust there’s absolutely no talk about song choice or arrangement until Davie hits the rehearsal space. Nice job, Idol!  

So Paula’s intern Paula selected some Billy Joel drivel “And So It Goes” for his first song.  He actually did a nice job with it, and remained his same boring self. David is quickly becoming the straight Clay Aiken of this season. He enjoys a nice ballad, makes sure he has hair covering his ears, says “Gosh” an AWFUL lot and he will probably come in second in this competition. And I have to admit when Paula called him a “storyteller” I got all goose bumpey. I just love stories! Especially when they’re told with enough Stevie Wonder runs to power a small country. 

The “storyteller” in action. Paula is like a rare, priceless jewel. That you wouldn’t mind losing.

Trying to show that he’s actually a seventeen year old boy and not just a singing robot that his father manufactured in the garage, David then tries a Chris Brown “joint.” (If dorky Randy can say it, so can I.) Interesting side note, David and Chris Brown are close to the same age, but Chris Brown certainly seems like he could eat little Mr. Archuleta for breakfast. With a side of Frosted Flakes. And he dates Rihanna, a self-proclaimed maneater! I can’t imagine our little David even mustering up the courage to ask a girl on a date unless it’s through song. Without clearing it through his Dad first. When all was said and done though, I thought that he actually did a good job with this one, even though singing it goes against all of the cultural training that he’s had his entire life as a white Mormon kid from Utah. Not only did he have to refer to his “boo” twice, (and he probably had to look that one up on urbandictionary.com too) but he also had to move around awkwardly while trying really hard not to lick his lips while squinting seductively at the same time. There was a lot going on here in David’s little master class! It was much like a 13-year old me at a church dance. All limbs, no rhythm, weird hair and sheer awkwardness, but still the young ladies are drawn like a magnet to a bag of hammers. It’s hard being Davie.

Hip T-shirt? Check. Finger pointing to the crowd? Check. Obvious awkardness? Double check.

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For a show dedicated to the rock n’ roll music, I’m going to have to disagree with Paula as after watching, my appetite was not satisfied. (Even though I think she was REALLY trying to come on to our poor, defenseless Cookie, in her creepy, Paula way. She needs some lovin’ y’all!) Oh no, I am still left “Hungry Like the Wolf.” Ha! I was expecting Disneyland and was instead served some piping hot Knott’s Berry Farm. And you don’t do that to a six-year old!

I’ve also heard that last week’s rant  entry was a bit long, so I’ll be keeping this entry to a scant 8000 words. You are welcome, whiners.

This week, the kids sang songs from a list of 500 Songs that Shaped Rock n’ Roll. After perusing this list, it is apparent that I could get into the Hall of Fame without too much work. Country Joe and the Fish? Culture Club? Some band called Moby Grape? Seriously, is there ANY criteria in place to shape rock n’ roll? This morning after eating my Grape Nuts, I think I shaped some rock n’ roll of my own. Put me in the hall!

I could very well be enshrined here one day.

And in case you haven’t noticed, this week we were down to only four kids. That’s right, four. Apparently, this little train ride that we’ve been on since January(!) is shortly coming to a close.  And as for the rules, the kids are singing two songs a piece and then getting a critique after every song. Thanks for spelling that out for Paula there, Seacrest. It’s nice to get the format out of the way right there at the beginning. We certainly don’t want to serve up any curveballs to these ”experts” that make millions to sip out of their Coke cups. It frazzles them!

The hardest job in the world. That a monkey could do better.

Bucking conventional wisdom, the producers decide to put David Cook up first. This should have been Jason or Syesha’s spot, but Jason was too busy installing elaborate hippie jewelry in his braids, hanging out with his friends, packing his duffle bags (because you know he doesn’t OWN a suitcase) and not rehearsing or practicing. Because oh yeah, he’s already given up. The Cook starts off with Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf” which last time I checked, is a song that contains absolutely zero rock. Since Seacrest constantly reminds us that Cook’s name is actually “Rocker David” you’d think that this would be his night to shine. To rock out with his crockpot out (or however that saying goes.) But this song didn’t contain any of that elusive “David Cook Magic.” And no rock whatsover. And quite honestly, it seems like that magic only happens when David takes a sucky song and totally changes it so it blows less, or when he’s acting stupendously smug on stage and writing commands on the palm of his hand to show us as he hits the crescendo. So no. No magic this week, although “Baba O’Riley” was on it’s way to being cool, but with an elapsed time of 45 seconds, there was hardly any time for the Cook train to get on the track! One good thing however, is that with our contestants singing two songs, they get to scurry backstage and switch into another outfit and maybe reapply hair product.  David apparently enjoys a nice blazer, and swooshing his hair forward over his gigantic forehead, but what’s up with that weird, chain-y dog collar thing around his neck? It sort of accentuates your doughy whiteness, don’t you think, Dave?

Does this microphone stand make me look fat? No. But your necklace isn’t helping.

And P.S. a big shout out to loyal reader Pattie for finally letting me know just what Dave’s acronym stands for. Where I thought it stood for Abnormal Coordination, instead it stands for Adam Cook. Not only his brother with brain cancer, but his personal hero as well. I figured that it had to be something noble and super-sensitive like that, because if you recall, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber was able to pick up on Dave’s sensitivity when he made him sing that sucky Phantom song really close to his face. Like, awkwardly close. Like almost kissing close. Lloyd Webber gives me the heebs.

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