Idol, Give Back the Four Hours I Spent Watching

Driving down Pico Boulevard the other day, I finally got a look at a billboard that, unbeknownst to me, has been an Idol perennial in my city for I don’t even know how long. (I don’t drive down Pico much, I guess.) Each season this billboard features the photos of the top 10, and after each week’s elimination episode, a sheer black scrim rolls down over the face of the dearly departed like a funeral veil. You can still see the face beneath it, grinning with so much pleading fame-need. And you whisper to yourself, “Oh, Ramiele. It wasn’t meant to be like this. We’re all lost on this broken-road journey to the grave.” And then you say a little prayer for the tiniest outcast. And then you drive through McDonald’s for some fries that you’ll eat in the car and never tell anyone about.

The camera pans out to the audience and HOLY SHIT! IT’S BILL FORD. THE BILL FORD! EXECUTIVE CHAIRMAN OF THE FORD MOTOR COMPANY! THAT BILL FORD! GOLLY! I, AS A VIEWER, LOVE IT WHEN CORPORATE TITANS SIT IN THE AUDIENCE OF A SINGING COMPETITION! BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT? FUCK DENISE RICHARDS AND DAVID HASSELHOFF! IS EITHER OF THEM AN AUTOMOTIVE INDUSTRY HEIR? DO THEY RECLINE LEISURELY AT A DESK FOR 90 ENTIRE MINUTES EACH DAY AND GIVE CAR ORDERS? NO. ONLY THAT GUY BILL FORD DOES THAT. Next week some guy named Eugene Coca-Cola is going to be in the front row.

So this week’s theme is “inspirational songs.” And I used to believe I knew what that meant. I think of the songs in the hymnals of the old Southern Baptist churches I grew up in. My favorite of these was “Softly and Tenderly,” the one that goes, “come home, come home, ye who are weary come home.” It’s about the nice Jesus and not the jerk-face version that most Christians these days seem to favor. Anyway, I have a feeling no one will sing it tonight, although Kristy Lee Cook could get quite a bit of mileage out of it if she felt like it.

Up first is Michael Johns. He’s going to sing “Dream On.” Wait… which “Dream On” is he talking about? Oh, the Aerosmith “Dream On.” Not that I knew of any other song called “Dream On.” But since the Aerosmith “Dream On” IN NO WAY COUNTS AS AN “INSPIRATIONAL SONG,” I just naturally assumed that I was missing something. Oh, I’m not? That’s what we’re going to be about tonight? Great.

Johns talks about how the song is proof that dreams come true. Then he sings it. “Every tiiiiiiime that I look in the mirror… I wonder if these paaaaants make my butt look faaaat….”

All right, he didn’t sing that. But it would have been a lot cooler if’n he had. In fact, I have a better idea for tonight. Make them all do wacky novelty songs. Bring in Dr. Demento as a guest judge. Johns can just quit this sub-Steven Tyler impersonation right now and sing “I Lost on Jeopardy” by Weird Al. Anyway, he’s got his lucky ascot cinched tightly around his neck, forcing out a strangled falsetto near the end. Message: “My dreams! They’re typical!”

The judges aren’t into it. But you know what I mean by that. Simon and Randy aren’t into it. Paula’s always into it. In fact, tonight she’s also kind of irritable, laying the praise on thick and being combative with Simon and Randy at the same time. It could be because her dress is making her boobs all smashy and they hurt. It could be any number of reasons. But I’m glad it’s happening. The camera cuts to Sinbad in the audience. Remember him? I do. He was in Good Burger. That wasn’t a bad movie.

Did you know that Syesha and Ramiele were close? Me neither. But they were. “That was my roommate since Hollywood week,” says Syesha. And we now know that “that” equals “she” in whatever English usage book Syesha got her learnin’ from. And yes, I just ended a sentence with a preposition. Ever heard of artistic license? Syesha also says, “She’s the only one who really got me.” Don’t you mean “that,” honey? Make up your mind. What I also like about that sentence is the aggressive (and kinda oops-y) assertion that none of the other Idols get her or her unique brand of specialness and baby-laughter. Maybe they just stopped trying.

Syesha is going to sing “I Believe,” made famous by Fantasia, “because if you believe in yourself, then anything is possible.” Syesha also says of Fantasia, “That’s my idol.” So now we’re back to “that” again.

As for “I Believe,” it’s almost an inspirational song because it’s got a choir. And because anything Fantasia sings sounds like it was meant to be sung in church, even “Baby Mama.” But why, Syesha, why? Why would you subject yourself to the comparisons that will undoubtedly arise? Did being dwarfed and chilled by Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” shadow not provide you with enough hassle? You want more? To perform a song known solely as the property of the best singer this show’s ever had? Wouldn’t you prefer to sing my selection for you, a little song from the ’80s called “Super Bowl Shuffle?” No? All right. Do that Fantasia song and fall on your face.

But she doesn’t really fall that much. It’s not the Diana DeGarmo version, at least. It’s fine. And yet the fact remains that pretty singing is not always the best singing. I say this as often as I can because it’s true: Fantasia finds the exact right moment in everything she sings and then she puts the Stank on it. She drives a dump truck down the gravelly bottom of her soul and picks up a load of fresh grief and then it comes out as singing. Randy, critiquing Syesha, talks about Fantasia’s “special connection” to the material. Syesha’s response: “What do you mean?”

See?

Jason Castro is going to do the Iz version of “Over the Rainbow.”

“What’s an Iz?” I ask Xtreem Aaron, seated next to me on the couch. “I thought this version of the song was from Bobby McFerrin.”

Xtreem Aaron works at a record store, so he knows things. “No. It’s by Iz,” he says. “He’s this 700-pound dead Hawaiian guy who played a ukulele. He’s the only guy we really sell much of in the Hawaiian music section. He would take off his shirt on record covers. Chicks hanging on him. He died of fatness. They eat a lot of Spam in Hawaii.”

I think this is a lie and go look up Iz online. And yes, in fact, he did die at age 38. Of fatness. He was 758 pounds, and this made him unable to breathe. So now Castro is going to strum a uke and sing it like Iz. And why? To show that “dreams really do come true,” says Castro.

OH, GOOD. MORE DREAMS.

My own dream, of course, is that Castro sing “Junk Food Junkie.” It’s this song from one-hit wonder Larry Groce about whole grains and yogurt that was, believe it or not, was an actual hit single in the 1970s. So now you know about Iz and Larry Groce. Then Castro sings the song and rearranges the order of the lyrics, making them not rhyme, doing whatever he likes. Great. Awesome. Nice gay sweater you got on there too, man. I’m also really into the little metal dreadlock rings you’ve got stuck to your head. I love hair jewelry on men. How long until I don’t have to listen to this guy anymore? The judges love him, of course. Even Simon, who calls him “fantastic.”