Simon, Paula, Randy, and all those belters
After pointedly ignoring "American Idol" for four seasons, I've finally taken the plunge. Why
don't you dive right in with me and let's explore this "phenomenon" courtesy of this 3-disc
release from Capital Home Entertainment. I must admit at the outset that I can't stand this
show but that doesn't stop me from urging you to buy this set immediately. It's fabulously
hideous. Even the winners are vocal losers in my book. Here's a long winded rant on the
subject. See if you agree:
After pointedly ignoring "American Idol" for four seasons, I've finally taken the plunge. Why
don't you dive right in with me and let's explore this "phenomenon" courtesy of this 3-disc
release from Capital Home Entertainment. I must admit at the outset that I can't stand this
show but that doesn't stop me from urging you to buy this set immediately. It's fabulously
hideous. Even the winners are vocal losers in my book. Here's a long winded rant on the
subject. See if you agree:
Before I was a writer I was a pianist, then a songwriter and finally, a
songwriter that sang. I ended up having a great run -- fronting my own bands,
performing my own and other people's material -- and sang my heart out. One
of my bands once auditioned for "Star Search," the now defunct precursor to
"American Idol" and momentarily, it was a heady experience. But we quickly
discerned from the talent scout that the show was NOT LOOKING FOR ANY
ORIGINAL MATERIAL and couldn't we do a little something by Bon Jovi or Simple
Minds? Uh. No. Not that there's anything wrong with those bands. Well, could
you then sing more like Jim Kerr or Prince? Uh. No. No. No.
All this came crashing back as I sat down to watch the 3-disc boxed, Limited
Collector's Edition set of The Best & Worst of American Idol,
Seasons 1-4. This is not a show that prizes originality and oddly, not even
original "talent." Talent that has apparently been molded by a previous
generation of processed talent (with fingers pointed straight at Whitney and
Celine) is another matter. This show wants Star/Moneymakers and that's made
perfectly clear from the get go -- whether people understand or not.
The set is broken into three separate discs -- "the worst," "the best," and a
disc of extras. Naturally, I started with "the worst." Yes, these people were
dreadful and it's apparent that they are barking (literally) up the wrong tree
and yes, they need to stick with their day jobs. But a little of the "tough love"
from Simon goes a long way. He's about as witty as that other nasty Brit -- the
mean lady emcee from the now departed game show, "The Weakest Link."
That of course is the point and so naturally Cowell wears his "man you love to
hate" badge with honor. He's fulfilling his role as the Negative, Paula is the
Positive, Nice One at the other end of the meter (yin and yang judging side by
side) while Randy is the happy medium (he really should be sitting between the
two).
This was apparent simply from the commercial clips I'd seen and terribly obvious
after watching both the "worst" and "best" discs (even when he's positive,
there's a negative undertone of control to Simon -- correct me if I'm wrong).
What I didn't think about was that this set would so blatantly reveal the herd
mentality -- not just of this show (although it's brutality is equally fascinating
and repellent) -- but of all the reality series out there. Why is America so in love
with this desire to thin the ranks? So immersed in the pleasures of such painful
failure? All this and much more is present in the car accident-trapped in the
headlights disc highlighting "the worst."
I think Margaret Mead would find this set disturbing and enthralling. The brutal
criteria of the show also forces aside anyone who can't sing in one of those
Hoover Vacuum Cleaner voices. Am I the only one that wants these people to
just sing the song as written and stop adding all the damn notes? Why are we
lauding these mega belters that don't seem to have a smidgen of emotion?
Where's the pleasure in listening to someone sing with such perfection that it
doesn't sound remotely unmanufactured? And why all the lackluster songs
when the catalogue of American standards is so jam packed?
Now I'm writing about "the best" disc -- which contains equally fascinating
"award winning" performances by the winners of the contest -- forced by
producers into pitting themselves against each other for a record contract
(wouldn't you love to see how much of their stake they sign away?) and the $1
million dollar prize. This is pretty much what I expected when I sat down to
watch these discs. I didn't expect to get the Clay Aiken audition tape (and I
think Kathy Griffin's nickname for him, the "gay-kin" is perfect) or the Kelly
Clarkson one. They both sing their brains out and then some. But the vocal
pyrotechnics from them and other "winnners" have none of the heart or
sophistication that Ella Fitzgerald puts into a simple phrase like "Oh, sweet and
lovely, lady be good."
Again, I know that's beside the point. We're in a country that loves these
BIG BELTERS (alot) so what's my problem? It's only the most popular
show on earth (the kick off to the fifth season got the highest rating in Fox
Channel's history) but the third disc, the one with the "special features" also
shows us that it's not just lonely at the top -- it's lonely at the bottom and the
middle, too. Especially if you have no control over how you got there or where
you're going. The winners sign not just a contract but willingly give up
something that's not quite tangible. Unseen "going home" footage from latter
season contestants is particularly revealing in this area.
In the first, Carrie Underwood, the sweet country girl heads home to crowds of
approval wherever she goes. But from the moment she steps off the plane
she's filmed and ringed by security guards. She sits in a limo alone, escorted to
a radio show alone, finally she's allowed to go home and visit her family and
friends, who have all lined up to greet her in front of the cameras (it's obvious
that handlers have moved the furniture to accommodate the show). Then
again, she's sent off alone to meet more fans, sign CDs and sing a bit. Finally,
it's back to the show -- and Carrie hops into the limo and is driven to the lear
jet for the flight back to L.A. -- alone. Throughout, this sweet young girl is
plainly aware that when a camera's turned on you're supposed to DO
SOMETHING but she can't sing 24/7 and she's not really a talker, so now what?
Meanwhile, the country rock dude, Bo Bice, offers a tour of his messy house
(after shooing his girlfriend and dog out of camera range who are clearly NOT
going to be part of his new, rock star life). Later, he tears up at a surprise
meeting with members of Lynyrd Skynyrd (who, until they are identified, look
like they're two hours from a rehab relapse) and greets fans at what looks like
a country fair/barbecue. It's apparent that he's about to sing "Sweet Home
Alabama" as the two members of Lynyrd are there to back him up onstage but
"American Idol" is apparently too cheap to pay royalties so we don't get any of
the song. The one thing this guy is comfortable doing in front of an audience is
cut out. Then, after mixing uneasily with the back slapping locals, he's also
back on the plane to Hollywood. She won, he didn't and I would give up my five
years of singing lessons to see THAT homecoming video. This time I bet the girl
and the dog were welcome sights. (They were -- I googled and of course, like
other American Idol 2nd placers, Bice is doing well career-wise.)
Both these un-aired segments reveal a sense of anxiety, unease, and
disconnect from family, friends and fans from all the sudden attention that's
palpable during the show as well. None of these instant "stars" are really
stars. Even the ones that have made it (including both Carrie and Bo) -- Kelly,
Ruben, the Gay-kin -- after selling a zillion records and filling stadiums -- don't
seem to have a clue as to how they jumped so far ahead of the line.
And most telling -- for all their technical perfection (and imperfection) -- none of
these singers seem to be in the purest sense musical. Not one of them. And
that's not because I'm not a fan of belters (Garland and Streisand are in my top
five). I love belters -- when they're emotive singers as well (Celine also suffers
from the American Idol disease, I think).
I found all of this quite, quite fascinating and again find this set a cultural lesson
not to be missed. America has seemingly fallen head over heels for a show that
on the face of it celebrates music but underneath works overtime in killing any
hint of originality or emotion -- the oxygen that makes music breathe -- and
without which real singing isn't possible.
And as for that Ryan Seacrest...
songwriter that sang. I ended up having a great run -- fronting my own bands,
performing my own and other people's material -- and sang my heart out. One
of my bands once auditioned for "Star Search," the now defunct precursor to
"American Idol" and momentarily, it was a heady experience. But we quickly
discerned from the talent scout that the show was NOT LOOKING FOR ANY
ORIGINAL MATERIAL and couldn't we do a little something by Bon Jovi or Simple
Minds? Uh. No. Not that there's anything wrong with those bands. Well, could
you then sing more like Jim Kerr or Prince? Uh. No. No. No.
All this came crashing back as I sat down to watch the 3-disc boxed, Limited
Collector's Edition set of The Best & Worst of American Idol,
Seasons 1-4. This is not a show that prizes originality and oddly, not even
original "talent." Talent that has apparently been molded by a previous
generation of processed talent (with fingers pointed straight at Whitney and
Celine) is another matter. This show wants Star/Moneymakers and that's made
perfectly clear from the get go -- whether people understand or not.
The set is broken into three separate discs -- "the worst," "the best," and a
disc of extras. Naturally, I started with "the worst." Yes, these people were
dreadful and it's apparent that they are barking (literally) up the wrong tree
and yes, they need to stick with their day jobs. But a little of the "tough love"
from Simon goes a long way. He's about as witty as that other nasty Brit -- the
mean lady emcee from the now departed game show, "The Weakest Link."
That of course is the point and so naturally Cowell wears his "man you love to
hate" badge with honor. He's fulfilling his role as the Negative, Paula is the
Positive, Nice One at the other end of the meter (yin and yang judging side by
side) while Randy is the happy medium (he really should be sitting between the
two).
This was apparent simply from the commercial clips I'd seen and terribly obvious
after watching both the "worst" and "best" discs (even when he's positive,
there's a negative undertone of control to Simon -- correct me if I'm wrong).
What I didn't think about was that this set would so blatantly reveal the herd
mentality -- not just of this show (although it's brutality is equally fascinating
and repellent) -- but of all the reality series out there. Why is America so in love
with this desire to thin the ranks? So immersed in the pleasures of such painful
failure? All this and much more is present in the car accident-trapped in the
headlights disc highlighting "the worst."
I think Margaret Mead would find this set disturbing and enthralling. The brutal
criteria of the show also forces aside anyone who can't sing in one of those
Hoover Vacuum Cleaner voices. Am I the only one that wants these people to
just sing the song as written and stop adding all the damn notes? Why are we
lauding these mega belters that don't seem to have a smidgen of emotion?
Where's the pleasure in listening to someone sing with such perfection that it
doesn't sound remotely unmanufactured? And why all the lackluster songs
when the catalogue of American standards is so jam packed?
Now I'm writing about "the best" disc -- which contains equally fascinating
"award winning" performances by the winners of the contest -- forced by
producers into pitting themselves against each other for a record contract
(wouldn't you love to see how much of their stake they sign away?) and the $1
million dollar prize. This is pretty much what I expected when I sat down to
watch these discs. I didn't expect to get the Clay Aiken audition tape (and I
think Kathy Griffin's nickname for him, the "gay-kin" is perfect) or the Kelly
Clarkson one. They both sing their brains out and then some. But the vocal
pyrotechnics from them and other "winnners" have none of the heart or
sophistication that Ella Fitzgerald puts into a simple phrase like "Oh, sweet and
lovely, lady be good."
Again, I know that's beside the point. We're in a country that loves these
BIG BELTERS (alot) so what's my problem? It's only the most popular
show on earth (the kick off to the fifth season got the highest rating in Fox
Channel's history) but the third disc, the one with the "special features" also
shows us that it's not just lonely at the top -- it's lonely at the bottom and the
middle, too. Especially if you have no control over how you got there or where
you're going. The winners sign not just a contract but willingly give up
something that's not quite tangible. Unseen "going home" footage from latter
season contestants is particularly revealing in this area.
In the first, Carrie Underwood, the sweet country girl heads home to crowds of
approval wherever she goes. But from the moment she steps off the plane
she's filmed and ringed by security guards. She sits in a limo alone, escorted to
a radio show alone, finally she's allowed to go home and visit her family and
friends, who have all lined up to greet her in front of the cameras (it's obvious
that handlers have moved the furniture to accommodate the show). Then
again, she's sent off alone to meet more fans, sign CDs and sing a bit. Finally,
it's back to the show -- and Carrie hops into the limo and is driven to the lear
jet for the flight back to L.A. -- alone. Throughout, this sweet young girl is
plainly aware that when a camera's turned on you're supposed to DO
SOMETHING but she can't sing 24/7 and she's not really a talker, so now what?
Meanwhile, the country rock dude, Bo Bice, offers a tour of his messy house
(after shooing his girlfriend and dog out of camera range who are clearly NOT
going to be part of his new, rock star life). Later, he tears up at a surprise
meeting with members of Lynyrd Skynyrd (who, until they are identified, look
like they're two hours from a rehab relapse) and greets fans at what looks like
a country fair/barbecue. It's apparent that he's about to sing "Sweet Home
Alabama" as the two members of Lynyrd are there to back him up onstage but
"American Idol" is apparently too cheap to pay royalties so we don't get any of
the song. The one thing this guy is comfortable doing in front of an audience is
cut out. Then, after mixing uneasily with the back slapping locals, he's also
back on the plane to Hollywood. She won, he didn't and I would give up my five
years of singing lessons to see THAT homecoming video. This time I bet the girl
and the dog were welcome sights. (They were -- I googled and of course, like
other American Idol 2nd placers, Bice is doing well career-wise.)
Both these un-aired segments reveal a sense of anxiety, unease, and
disconnect from family, friends and fans from all the sudden attention that's
palpable during the show as well. None of these instant "stars" are really
stars. Even the ones that have made it (including both Carrie and Bo) -- Kelly,
Ruben, the Gay-kin -- after selling a zillion records and filling stadiums -- don't
seem to have a clue as to how they jumped so far ahead of the line.
And most telling -- for all their technical perfection (and imperfection) -- none of
these singers seem to be in the purest sense musical. Not one of them. And
that's not because I'm not a fan of belters (Garland and Streisand are in my top
five). I love belters -- when they're emotive singers as well (Celine also suffers
from the American Idol disease, I think).
I found all of this quite, quite fascinating and again find this set a cultural lesson
not to be missed. America has seemingly fallen head over heels for a show that
on the face of it celebrates music but underneath works overtime in killing any
hint of originality or emotion -- the oxygen that makes music breathe -- and
without which real singing isn't possible.
And as for that Ryan Seacrest...
Knight at HOME at the Movies
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