At least until
Rod Stewart shows up and Kellie Pickler sings
“Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” on
this week’s American Idol
Marilu
Henner’s in the audience, kids! Wow, it’s
Marilu Henner! She was on Taxi! Um…it
was a show in the ’70s. It also starred Judd
Hirsch. Look, Kenickie from Grease was on it too.
Nothing must stop the camera from cutting to any
formerly well-known person. Nothing.
Seacrest,
tentatively revisiting the unshaven look and riding the wave
of excitement over Marilu Henner’s attendance,
starts the show by saying one weird thing and two
lies.
The weird thing:
“The family unit shrinks again.” If I were to
touch that line I’d suddenly be guest-starring
on Queer as Folk.
The Lies:
1.
“It’s a sophisticated affair,” in
reference to tonight’s theme, The Great
American Songbook. It’s a musical concept the Final 7
most likely had to have explained to them (possible
exceptions: Hicks and Elliott, maybe McPhee).
2. Then he calls
Rod Stewart, the ridiculously dressed, Klute-haired Brit
of “Hot Legs” fame and current reigning mauler
of American music’s Top 100 nursing home
classics, “the ultimate performer.”
Cut to Rod in a
prerecorded segment, explaining away his newfound
leech-like attachment to this music in rock and roll terms,
claiming that it was the foundation for rock.
That’s right. Chuck Berry and Little Richard
had nothing to do with it. It was all Rodgers and
Hart’s doing. “These songs,” he
says, “they’re really in my blood.”
Cut to
Rod’s Gen Y fiancée and the latest infant
recipient of his DNA. That lucky kid will never have
to spend a moment of his childhood being tormented by
any of his father’s rotten pop radio hits in heavy
rotation on the radio like I did. The gruesome,
syrupy, possibly carcinogenic “You’re in
My Heart” followed me around for months in 1977. Punk
was in full swing by then. Just not for Rod. He was on
the cusp of plunging headlong into leopard-print
jackets, “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” and
crotch-announcement spandex leggings, so his recent
reinvention as a standards crooner for lame-os is no
surprise. He’s mercenary above all else. The
other thing about that baby in wife-to-be’s arms is
that he’ll be insanely rich. That makes me hate
him already. Yes, I hate a baby. What are you going to
do about it?
Rod Stewart
thinks Daughtry is great. He says so in a little clip that
shows them working together and having a grand time. Then
Daughtry announces in his personality reel that
he’s going to do “What a Wonderful
World.” YES! HE’S GOING TO DO THE JOEY RAMONE
COVER OF THE SONG! THIS IS GOING TO BE RAD!
IT’S ABOUT TIME DAUGHTRY ROC—Oh. The slow
version. He’s showing how versatile he is. So
tender. So earnest. And just look at that glad-face
he’s got on. The ascot is a nice touch too. It really
complements the wallet chain. He thoroughly yawns it up. The
judges enjoy themselves, though. Randy, always ready
with a thoughtfully considered comment, yells,
“It was da BOMB!” Paula agrees. So does Simon.
Seacrest congratulates Daughtry and notes that Mr.
Rock got rid of last episode’s one-week beard
growth. “And the eyeliner too!” he says.
Daughtry chuckles sheepishly about his bad-decision
goth moment. Good thing he kept the Swanson Frozen
Dinner logo sideburns. Those, like the wallet chain, go
with everything.
Rod Stewart
thinks Paris is great too. But Paris is conflicted. Does she
leave the studio in her smart pink middle-aged lady suit and
phony ponytail and trot off to her new job at
Washington Mutual, or does she stick around and sing
“These Foolish Things (Remind Me Of You)?”
These are tough choices for a young girl to make. She
doesn’t want to be late on her first day. But
there’s some sangin’ to get done, so she stays
put. And she really stays put, standing stock-still
for the duration of the ballad. I’m bored until
I see someone in her family has made a supportive sign
featuring SpongeBob SquarePants and suddenly I can’t
stop wondering what the connection is. Every family
has inside jokes. Randy yells, “It was da
BOMB!” Again. I’ve decided, like just now,
that Paula’s opinion matters more than
Randy’s and always has. Paula tries very diligently
to make sentences. Different ones every time. She
fails a lot at this, but she tries. Her thinking
wheels are always spinning in her head, making
whirring noises and smoking from the friction. If her skull
were made of glass, you could see it happen. But all
Randy wants is his own catchphrase.
Rod Stewart
thinks Taylor is great too. A pattern of almost unsettling,
genuine-feeling niceness on the part of Rod Stewart seems to
be taking shape. No Stevie Wonder “don’t
hug me” diva moments. No Barry Manilow
stiffness or superiority. None of Kenny Rogers’s
inscrutable, expressionless double-talk. Rod acts like
he enjoys being here and would do it even if he
didn’t have a terrible album to promote. But then,
Rod is probably getting more sex than all three of those
other dudes combined. I would lay down money that
every day is like going to Your Body Is a Wonderland
theme park for him.
Taylor Hicks is
in a decent suit. Who made that happen? But hold
up—before I talk about his song performance, I have a
minor announcement to make. Taylor Hicks no longer
makes me want to stab myself in the head. I’ve
decided that he’s the most entertaining thing about
this show. I still think he’s 47 and comes off
like the kindly teacher who has to chaperone the other
contestants on their field trip to the dinosaur
museum. But his wacky antics last week finally won me over.
He’s still a writhing mass of affectations and
mental-case physical tics. But that’s the part
I’ve decided I like. I hate it when he’s
normal and boring. I like it when he spazzes it up. I
need loony bar-band sax-solo insanity. I need
contortions. I want him to always be the lusty wolf in an
old Tex Avery cartoon, eyeballs popping out of his
head and tongue unfurled to the floor. But I draw the
line at that effing harmonica. If he whips that out
again, it’s no deal. I’ll revert back to my
old position. Really quickly. But for now, there it
is. Now the people at GrayCharles.com can stop placing
burning bags of dog poop at my front door.
Hicks sings
“You Send Me.” All quiet and normal. WAIT A
SECOND, MAN! I JUST SAID I WAS STARTING TO NOT WISH
THAT YOU WOULD BE DEVOURED BY WOLVES! MAKE SOME CRAZY
HAPPEN! But just when you think all is lost, he starts
in with the hunching and bouncing and yelling. It’s
almost like he forgot his signature moves until the
middle and then made up for it in the last chunk by
doing them all at once. I approve of this. After his
big finish the crowd goes mental. The camera cuts to an
enthusiastic delegation from BlackPeopleLoveUs.com.
It’s
commercial time. A trailer for Poseidon, a remake of my
all-time favorite movie, The Poseidon
Adventure. I haven’t seen this commercial
yet, so I’m kind of excited.
Oh, shit,
it’s Fergie from Black-Eyed Peas. Why is Fergie from
Black-Eyed Peas in this commercial? She can’t
be in the movie, can she? Black-Eyed Peas is the worst
hip-hop band ever. Don’t people understand this? 2
Live Jews were better than Black-Eyed Peas. And
she’s the worst singer in the worst band ever.
That makes her the double-worst. I’m freaking out
now.
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Dave White is the author of the best book of all
time, Exile in Guyville. Find more of him at www.imdavewhite.com.