So there’s this great little show on TV. I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, but I’m hoping to really get the word out about it. Real simple premise: people from around the country sing for judges and try to be a pop superstar. It’s called American Idol.
Okay, okay. No need to be all cutesy. Idol returned last night, and I’m sure all of America was tuned in to see this year’s cattle call of talentless rejects and soulful Alicia Keys interpreters. I know I was. I mean, American Idol auditions have almost become a January tradition, up there with New Years hangovers and midseason cancellations (whattup, Emily’s Reasons Why Not).
I must admit, I watched last night’s big premiere outside of the TVgasm offices; so sadly, the details may not be as nitpicky as usual. Of course, I could go back and watch the whole premiere over again, but let’s not be ridiculous. This is American Idol, not 24. [ed. note -- I went back and watched the whole premiere over again]The season opened up with solitary image of Ryan Seacrest atop the Kodak Theater Stage. “This is American Idol,” he announced, as if we had erroneously drifted over from Navy: NCIS. After some generic babble about dreams and Carrie Underwood and whatnot, we then dove straight into the self-congratulatory montage (something TVgasm is certainly not above) and watched as thousands and thousands of misguided souls wasted days in line, hoping for their one moment of fame. Of course, not everyone would ‘fess up to wanting to grab the spotlight and never let go. Some people tried to act like there was some higher purpose to American Idol, with one dude going so far as to say that he wanted to touch people with his voice. Whatever. Get a blog.
We then saw the idealistic/starry-eyed/deluded kids who talked about wanting to audition since they were 12 or 14 or embryonic. It was all supposed to be inspiring and moving — a warm embrace of the American Dream. Unfortunately, the American Dream must filter through the likes of Paula Abdul, Simon Cowell, and Randy Jackson — a fate more depressing than any Willy Loman tragedy. Yes, for all of Idol’s attempts to stir our patriotic heartstrings, the simple truth remains: on this show, the American Dream isn’t about triumph of the spirit. It’s more like flat notes and Goldilocks costumes. And hey, I’m not complaining.
Anyway, as this exciting opening montage continued, we then saw our favorite oddball trio of judges as Paula fake-sneered at Simon, “I hate you!” Ah, fun and games. So delightful. So amusing. So not the auditions we’ve been waiting to see. Let’s get on with it!
We then saw snippets of auditions to come, and then finally, we found Ryan Seacrest straddling an umbrella and braving a rainy Chicago afternoon. And yes, this did lead to a “They don’t call it the Windy City for nothing!” comment. Oh Ryan. Your fiery wit is indomitable! Nevertheless, Ryan marched into a stadium where thousands of aspiring singers were standing and asked who will be the next Kelly, Carrie, Reuben, or Fantasia. The teeming crowd of fame-seekers then charged forward, miraculously leaving The Seacrest unharmed in this stampede of joy. Would this mark the beginning of audition time? Not just yet. First we had to check in on all the latest poncho fashions of the hopefuls, and then at long last, we were ready to kick off this season in earnest.
First up was a guy named Derek. “America, listen to me. I am going to be the next American Idol,” he promised, nay threatened. He then launched into a small monologue about how his confidence was so great, it was actually cutting off circulation to his extremities. Well, it’s either that or the giant box of donuts you probably keep on your lap. Anyway, with pit stains rivaling the size of Lake Michigan, Derek ambled into the audition all sweaty and gross. Seriously, I think the inside of my TV screen was collecting condensation from his forehead.
Nevertheless, Derek promised us a surprise musical montage based in three keys: “Bass,” “medium,” and “medium-high.” Or something like that. He then belted out a strange, atonal sound which was over no sooner than it had started. For a moment, I thought we were saved, but Derek had merely halted in order to dab the sweat off his head with a paper towel. He then returned to his “musical” medley, which seemed to be an eclectic tour through the world of crazy. “It’s NIGEL! IT’S NIGEL!! IT’S NIGEL!!!!” he suddenly yelled at the climactic conclusion of his tune. And no, that was not a random bout of Tourette’s.
Anyway, the judges all told him no, with Simon complaining, “Everything about this audition is terrible.” But Derek refused to take no for an answer. Instead, he claimed that he was merely rattled by the audition, and that if he had one hour, he could pick a key to sing in and blow them away. No one really believed it, but Paula felt bad, and long story short, Derek headed out to gather himself and prove that his lasting mark on America would not be “It’s NIGEL!!! IT’S NIGEL!!! IT’S NIGEL!!!” Don’t worry, dude. It won’t be. (Cough, pit stains, cough.) But even the sweet Paula couldn’t resist an insult as she later said, “He looks like he’s 43.” Hey, not everyone has access to kegs of Botox.
Up next was a ballsy girl named Katrina who decided to wow the judges with “The Humpty Dance.” It probably wouldn’t have been my first choice, especially since the only musicality comes in the oh-so-tricky lines of “The Humpty Dance/is your chance/to find the hump” and, of course, “Oooh, do me, baby.” Nevertheless, Katrina attempted her own rendition of the song, which was thankfully cut short by the judges who wanted something more, you know, melodic. Unfortunately, Katrina had no backup song and was unceremoniously booted from the room. C’mon, sing the national anthem or “Happy Birthday” or one of the Pussycat Dolls songs.
Next up was Justin Stitch, a doughy boy with blush-friendly cheeks. He entered the audition brimming with confidence as he told us, “What sets me apart is my unique voice. I have quite a range. I can do anything from Elvis to Queen.” Translation: “I AM TERRIBLE.” With all signs pointing to disaster, Justin hopped up in front of the judges and proudly announced that he’d be singing — sigh — Meatloaf. Just pack your bags now, Justin. Anyway, Justin let out a huffy, urgent version of “I Would Do Anything For Love, But I Won’t Do That” and was quickly silenced by Simon. He then tried to sing a little “Beyond the Sea,” but the blank stares from all the judges made him realize that they would do anything for music, but they won’t do that. Without hearing their response, the red-faced boy walked out meekly, forever an anecdote in Idol history.
Following Justin were the first twins of the new season. Meet the Brittenum brothers: two pudgy black guys who rock a mean ascot. They insisted that they’d outclass any other twin set (like the Mulfetta brothers from last season — and yes, that was a little barf in my mouth), and on top of that, they were prepared to compete against each other, sort of like a musical version of Venus and Serena. Anyway, before we got to see how they’d perform, we then cut to commercial, and when we returned, it was time to gawk at dumb people. “Five hours in the rain and three nights in a car,” moaned one reject (hey, don’t look for pity here. Some of us work for a living).
We then saw a parade of disgruntled auditioners cursing the judges, which always makes for amusing TV, if only to see that cute little American Idol badge cover their mouths. And then some douchebag in a Goldilocks outfit emerged from the auditions, bemoaning his failed attempts at stardom. Oh, those costumes are always so HILARious.
Anyway, it was time for those twins to perform, and oh god, their names are Terrell and Derrell. But that’s okay (all right, it’s not). They sang well, even throwing in some harmonies to make Paula’s heart go pitter-pat (that may be the formaldehyde though). With the judges clapping along and smiling, these guys were Hollywood bound (assuming it doesn’t conflict with any Ascot and Cravat conventions).
“Hahahahaha. We’re in jail.”
Meanwhile, while the judges waited for their next victim, Paula and Randy questioned Simon about his cantankerous mood. “You’re naughty because you are getting extra grinch,” Paula said in her usual broken English.
“You’re so crusty today. What’s going on?” Randy echoed. Um, have they ever heard Simon Cowell? Why is this a surprise?
Luckily, someone did love Simon, and it was the next girl to audition. Her name was Gina Glocksen, and she was a dental assistant by day, rocker by night. When she wasn’t professing her love for Simon, Gina fronted a grrrrrrl band called, predictably, Cat Fight. Surely she would be blowing our minds with some classic Hole or L7 or at least some Lita Ford. So what, pray tell, did Gina regale us with? Oh, you know, a little “Power of Love” by Celine Dion. And just when you thought her Cat Fight cohorts couldn’t be disgraced any further, Gina then modified the lyrics to “‘Cause I’m your lady/and Simon’s my man,” causing Paula — and America — to recoil with disgust. Nevertheless, the fine mixture of melisma and ass-kissing worked, and Gina found herself with a yellow slip of paper, headed to the next round.
We then headed into another lovely montage of terrible singers, capped off by Gina Noriega who for the life of her couldn’t get through her already abysmal version of “Blue Moon.” It was bad enough that she had managed to reduce the song to one flat note, but after getting about three words in, she would suddenly gasp, maybe pat her chest, and start all over again. This meant listening to the atonal bleat of “Bluuuue mooooon” over and over again until finally Simon put her out of her misery by stating, “Appalling.” With tears in her eyes and a lifetime of therapy ahead of her, Gina scuttled off the stage… and into our hearts. Okay, not really. But can’t I introduce a little pathos here?
Up next was the polar opposite of Gina. Her name was Mandisa, and we knew she would be awesome because a) she was enormous (the Frenchie factor), b) she wore a knit poncho, and c) well, she was enormous. Sure enough, Mandisa was great, even if she did go down the well-worn Alicia Keys path, and unsurprisingly she passed to the next round.
After the commercial break, a small, pocket-sized singer named Kevin Brenneman took to the stage. A cross between Stephen Colbert and a Tamagotchi, we knew we’d be in trouble once we heard his nasally speaking voice, but something deep down inside of me secretly wished that this unlikely pip-squeak would be the next great American singer. Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be. Kevin was surprisingly blustery and soulful, but tragically flat and awful. “You remind me of a wasp,” Simon said, “because he’s like a little, buzzy, energetic thing.” You know, I often find Simon’s analogies a bit forced, but he pretty much was right on the mark with this one.
Move over, Usher.
Next up was Charles Barry, an effeminate guy with giant cuffs and a balled up ponytail of delusion. This was like his third time auditioning, and after having received “advice” from the judges the previous two times, he now was improved and ready to take the country by storm… at least, according to him. The good news was that Paula liked his new look. The bad news was that he was abhorrent, especially since he sang an original tune with a refrain of “The American Idol / just what I want to be!”
“It doesn’t get any worse than that, Charles,” Simon said, quickly squashing any hopes and dreams this guy may have ever had. Oh wait, no, I’m sorry. That didn’t happen until Simon said, “You know what my advice to you would be? Honestly, shave off the beard and wear a dress… because he’d be a great female impersonator.”
“You’re an ass,” Paula muttered as Charles slunk his way out the door, eventually fleeing from all onlookers, even a curious Ryan Seacrest. Later, on the street, Charles called someone on his cell and relayed the whole story, saying, “I can’t go back in there. I can’t.” Um, I don’t think they want you to.
Up next was a tinderbox of excitement named Amanda. With the sort of bubbly energy that makes you wish you could punch her right through the TV, Amanda hopped on stage and told us all sorts of interesting things. You know, like how she sells furniture and shows cattle. Fascinating. Actually, this caused Paula to do her seal clap, and I’m not even kidding. Look, the woman loves cattle. Anyway, Amanda began singing and seemed to be okay at first, but one ear-shatteringly bad note knocked her right out of contention, and she was sent home to play with the cows and divans. Before she left, Randy suggested that Amanda name a cow after Simon, to which Paula added, “And call it Mad Cowell.” Rimshot!
Hey, does anyone remember that episode of Reno 911! where Jim Dangle tries out for American Idol? Well, life imitated art as one wide-assed deputy sheriff from West Virginia bravely performed for the judges. The song? “I Shot The Sheriff.” Nudge nudge, wink wink. Unfortunately, this cop only knew the chorus, and so he sang it over and over and over… and over again. And sadly, he didn’t hit one note. Instead, his voice soared to atonal heights, only to flitter down into a shaky falsetto. Kind of made me pine for the smooth vocal stylings of Gina Noriega.
After the commercial break and a little update from our friend Derek (who was still practicing for his second chance audition), a 17 year old named Christine Davis waltzed in the room wearing a… wedding dress? No, it was actually her prom dress, which still didn’t make much sense either. Anyway, Christine became the beacon of originality by singing “My Heart Will Go On,” and while she wasn’t terrible, she wasn’t great either. Paula said her voice was inexperienced while Simon was a little more direct: “I hated the audition, everything about it. I hate the dress. I thought it was a very, very mediocre version.” Surprisingly, the girl took the criticism well, responding with terse “Thank you’s” and walking out with her head held high. Stupid bitch. That’s not good TV!
Next was an idiot named Blake who entered the room dressed as the Statue of Liberty, torch and all. You see, he was from New York. Get it? Well, Blake belted out two bars of “New York, New York,” at which point Simon simply put up his hand and said, “Thank you. Out you go.” Huh? That’s it? Surely a man dressed as Lady Liberty has plenty of musical treasures to share with America! Alas, the incredulously stunned Blake sauntered out of the room, perhaps kicking himself for not dressing like Niagara Falls. To be fair, from the three notes we heard him hit, he didn’t sound all that bad. Probably no worse than the Goldilocks dude, who we later saw got to sing several notes from “Lady Marmalade.”
Anyway, it was time for Derek to give another stab at the audition process, and on the plus side, his sweat stains seemed to have shrunken to a merely gigantic size (down from colossal). Still, that couldn’t detract from Derek’s creepy, bizarre song about a woman named Susan in a bathroom stall, Wendy eating a cake, and Constance on the bathroom wall. Needless to say, Derek’s Hollywood dreams came to a quick, needed end. Now, somebody get him a towel.
“Maybe I’m not the music type I thought I was,” Derek told us in a confessional. “Yeah, I can sing, and uh, y’all forgive me. I feel like crying right now.” Aww. So sad. Now please go away.
Up next was Erik, a.k.a. one of my favorites of the entire night. “I’m from a very, very, very, very small town,” he said, revealing his effeminate voice, which was an odd blend of classic castrati and Tom Hulce from Amadeus. Anyway, Erik announced he’d be singing a Daniel Beddingfield tune, and outside, his proud momma told Ryan that she couldn’t even bare to listen to the audition through the door because otherwise she’d cry. And I had a feeling we’d be crying too; although, not for the same reasons.
Move over, Xtina.
Yes, Erik was astoundingly flat, and not even his soprano voice could hide that. “It’s the nerves!” he laughed, but Simon had another explanation: “You sing like an Auntie… you know when you were growing up, and your auntie used to sing after lunch, badly?” Uh, I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I’m more than fascinated.
Anyway, Erik was quickly rejected, but his grandmother was not going to stand for it. Simon headed out of the audition room for a break shortly after, and granny had a few choice words to say. “Why are you so rude?” she asked.
“All I said was he sounded like an auntie,” Simon said in his defense. “I don’t think that was being rude.” Yeah, just more foppishly British. No biggie.
After the break, we met two sisters who were just the epitome of wholesomeness. How did I know? Well, we saw them running carefree through the world’s largest corn maze — which was designed as a tribute to the 1985 Chicago Bears, no less. Yes, these girls were all apple pie and football labyrinths, but would their down-home charm win over the judges? Kind of. Randy said yes to both sisters, but Simon said no, leaving it all on the unstable shoulders of Paula Abdul. Never one to crush anyone’s dreams, Paula eventually said yes, allowing the sisters to go to Hollywood.
Next was a woman named Yvette Gomez whose sensible blazer threatened to shroud a singing sensation the likes of which we’ve never seen. “I’ve been singing all my life,” she alerted us, surely in anticipation of a wondrous performance. Well, turns out Yvette wasn’t lying. She has been singing all her life — singing terribly. In yet another take on ol’ Alicia Keys, Yvette managed to be both sharp and flat and annoying all over. With my stemware now cracked and destroyed, I was happy to see Yvette, as sweet as she seemed, shuttled off into reality oblivion.
Zachary Smitts was the next brave soul to enter the audition room, and man was he excited. Okay, he wasn’t crazy excited (that was at the end of the show). No, he was more generally stoked to be able to sing “I’m in the mood for love” to Paula. “It’s gonna be awesome to be able to sing to her,” he said. You know, it might be just as effective to serenade the sea lions at your local aquarium.
Anyway, with his milquetoast charm and somewhat melodic voice, Zachary snagged a spot in Hollywood, which was more than the next girl could boast of. Her name was Jessica, and she managed to sing a song that had something to do with great big cocks and great… something. I couldn’t tell. Half her chorus was bleeped out. Listen, bitch, this is a family show. We have higher standards! (This just in: wonder-twins Derrell and Terrell have been arrested for fraud. Just another Idol high point!) Nevertheless, Jessica was cut, thus prompting a profanity-laden rant, culminating in “When I’m famous, you’re gonna be sorry that you didn’t keep me on your precious competition.” And that girl grew up to be Rene Zelleweger.
Okay, I don’t know what that meant, but it sounded funny so I kept it. Anyway, Jessica wasn’t the only furious reject. Some bovine sista could not believe that the judges had spurned her melodic advances. Furthermore, when another singer emerged from the room triumphantly, the disgraced chanteuse redirected her own disappointment into catty jealousy, saying that she DEFINITELY sang better than Miss Yellow Slip. “I actually heard her sing, and I don’t think she was that good!” the jealous one claimed, with her equally classless mother laughing alongside.
Bitchy McFatThighs then went from gloating to challenging as she asked her competitor, “What did you do?” Well, she sang Beyonce’s classic tune, “Work It Out,” and yes, SHE WORKED IT OUT! (snap) And yes, that snap was a direct quote.
“I’m not trying to hate on you. You probably have a nice voice, an okay voice, whatever, but you know what I’m saying? I’m just being truthful,” the spiteful girl then said, later noting, “I really do feel I am better than Carrie Underwood.” Oh, shut up already and go back to the JC Penney you wandered out of.
Move over, Mo’Nique.
Well, the girl then sang to prove that she was indeed worthy of selection (which she was not), and then her rival merely shook her head, raised up her yellow slip, and said, “The proof is in the paper. Bye bye.” S-s-s-s-snap!!
Up next was a guy named David, who as far as I can tell, has spent the latter part of his youth sitting in cars and singing old standards with his moptop friends. But then again, who hasn’t? Anyway, David was from the John Stevens mold of youthful teens with strange, anachronistic tastes. That carrot-topped season three jerk really opened the door for a lot of suck. Anyway, before starting his audition, David sidled up to Seacrest and announced, “If I don’t make this, I’m gonna try for the American Seacrest competition.” A competition which will be held exclusively in Ryan’s hotel suite, bathrobes encouraged. I shouldn’t tease, though. I once tried out for the American Bob Eubanks competition. I came in third place.
Anyway, David headed in and sang his way, amazingly, into Simon’s heart. The surly judge had a pure hard-on for the kid, and no wonder. According to Paula, “the package is great.” Unfortunately for Simon, Randy was not a big fan of David nor his package, which meant that it all came down to Paula. Well, you know how that goes. Paula will never deny anyone their dream (or a potential late night rendez-vous), and so David skated by, but not without homework. “You better work it out, man!” Randy yelled at him. Sure. Whatever that means, Mariah.
And now, my favorite girl of the night: the nutty, slutty Crystal Parizanski featuring Momma Hootch. We first met the ladies outside as they strolled up to the auditions with miniskirts, hooker makeup, and fake bakes aplenty. “I guess I’m an outgoing person. I love singing, dancing, modeling, everything in the entertainment field. It’s like my life,” Crystal told us, as her mom, who looked like the grand madame of the Fraggle Rock Bordello, watched on. “I swear to God. Like everything I do is based on that. Like, cause, I don’t know. I listen to music every day. I don’t know, it just makes me feel so happy. I’m just going on and rambling.” Go ahead, Crystal. Ramble all you want. It’s like nectar from the reality gods.
Hot and Hotter.
Anyway, Crystal zipped into the audition room all full of bubbly energy and possibly some light Mystic Tan poisoning. “Need me to explain anything?” she asked dimwittedly. Oh, where to start?
Luckily, Simon piped up immediately, saying, “Yes, the tan.”
“Okay, um, my name is Crystal, um, I just turned 16–”
“No, I want to hear about your sun tan,” Simon reiterated.
“Okay, I’m singing ‘And I’m telling you’ by Jennifer Holiday and–” Crystal continued. Either she was shrewdly avoiding Simon’s mockery, or she was a complete idiot. Most likely the latter.
Finally, Crystal realized that “I want to hear about your sun tan” actually meant that someone wanted to hear about her sun tan (I know, English is very tricky), and so she replied, “Oh, I go tanning.” So that’s it! Here I thought she’d been subject to radioactive exposure! Well, I’m still not sure I’d rule that out.
Anyway, after telling Simon that the sun tan wasn’t really of the highest importance (ouch!), Crystal then launched into her ear-piercing song, which featured all growl and melisma, but not much by way of texture or melody or talent in general. Paula mercifully halted the caterwauling, and as the panel sat in stunned silence, Simon asked Crystal what her mom thought about her. Well, one thing led to another, and next thing we knew, Crystal was dragging her pterodactyl of a mother into the room. This was spectacularly wonderful for us because for the first time, we really got to see Mom in all her aged, pathetic, crusty, and disturbing glory. Just like us viewers at home, the judges couldn’t help but laugh at this bizarre sight, with Simon noting that now he understood where Crystal found her daily inspiration. Ah, reality TV. Reminding us why our lives ain’t so bad. This show really is about the American Dream!
It’s like Walter Matthau in drag.
So… when does their reality show premiere?
Well, just in case you were wondering, the judges nixed Crystal, but not without a limp fight from Ma. “This means so much to her,” Crystal’s mom said, her voice woozy and soft as if she’d been sedated with White-Out.
“I’m better than most of the people here, and I know that!” Crystal said rapidly, suddenly transforming from sweet, bubbly idiot to sassy, ghetto idiot.
Later, Ryan questioned Crystal, saying that prior to the audition, she thought she had everything it would take to make it to the next round. Before he could even finish, she suddenly interrupted him, saying, “I don’t care what they say! This is not the next round. The next round is when I become a star. American Idol is not the next round.” Yeah! That’s the spirit! Triumph over adversity! And for all you wondering, the next round for Crystal is chasing a ball of string around the kitchen.
Up next was the international segment. First was some guy whose grandfather was the Assyrian Elvis. The dude wore a traditional Assyrian outfit, which would have been awesome had this been Nineveh Idol (that Ashurnasirpal Cowell is one tough a-hole). Anyway, turns out this guy was a fertile crescent of flat notes and guttural sounds, and it didn’t long for him to see the cuneiform on the wall. The judges cut him, and in a surprisingly patronizing move, Paula asked if she could keep the guy’s hat. It’s been passed down from generation to generation, probably since the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, but, you know, whatever. You can have it, Paula. Amusingly, the guy just ignored her and walked out, which was the exact right thing to do.
Next was Yuliya Matus, a Ukrainian performer whose visa was about to expire. The best way to describe this girl was sort of like the mail-order version of Oksanan Baiul. Yuliya had an odd charisma, a funky cowboy hat, and a can-do attitude. Plus, she had giant hoop earrings that could double as a postmodern trapeze set. All she lacked were any sort of vocal skills. Or dance moves. Still, she tried. In probably the worst rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” — not including my latest version, which premiered in my car on the way home from work 30 minutes ago — Yuliya shakily tooted her way through the classic song, occasionally twisting and collapsing on the floor for added emphasis. Well, you know how these stories go. Girl comes to America. Girl finds false hope in America. Girl gets rejected by reality show. Girl cries. Girl’s accent becomes ten times thicker and incomprehensible. Girl disappears into the underground sex trade. Good luck, Yuliya!
Hey, did you want more twins? Because we got ‘em. Yes, because you always need a backup set of twins, just in case your first ones wind up, you know, in prison on fraud charges, we had the smiley, future teen idols, Joshua and Jarrett Simmons. I feel like these two kids should really, really annoy me, but aww, they seem so cute and cuddly. Anyway, they sang “Luther Vandross, ‘Superstar’” (ahem, Carpenters), and because their giant grins weren’t charming enough, the twins pulled the old “serenade Paula” gambit by taking her hand and holding it until she entered full Swoon Mode. To be fair, this wasn’t Paula at her most swooniest, but I think we all know what’s on the horizon for her. Did somebody say ménage-à-twin?
Don’t you just want to pet ‘em?
Well, the brothers made it to Hollywood, and so ended a long two hours of auditions. Oh wait. One more guy. One more incredibly annoying, barefooted guy. I don’t know how to describe this idiot. First of all, he seemed to devolve into spastic, epileptic fits when unwatched, and he claimed that animals talked to him. I can’t imagine what they might be saying to him, but I can only guess it’s something along the lines of “SHUT UP!!”
Anyway, the guy’s name was David Hoover, and he clearly had one mission in life: act crazy and ridiculous and make it onto TV, at least once. Sigh. Curse of the William Hung. After chatting briefly with Ryan, David headed into the audition and sang an original (READ: forgettable) song with a weak, uneven voice. But for some reason — maybe fatigue, drugs, or leftover fumes from Crystal’s hairspray — Randy said yes to David. Whaa? Luckily, Simon said no, but Paula. What would Paula do? You guessed it. She said yes. Fast-forward 365 days, and we’re gonna be stuck watching thousands of these bouncing, talentless, fame-seeking morons crawling all over our TV sets. Way to go, jerks.
And on that abysmal note, the show ended. Okay, there was a brief “Look at all the people singing ‘Lady Marmalade’” montage, but for the most part, this was it. I gotta say, David Hoover is no Mary Roach. He’s not even a “Can You Dig It” guy. Oh well. The good news is that Denver brought many more memorable auditions (Zachary, anyone?), but that’s for another recap.
What did you think about this season premiere? Any early faves?