Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)
American Idol and the Fall of Western Civilization
By Bob Wire, 4-03-08
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Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m hooked on American Idol. It’s like seeing that two-headed calf at the state fair. I know it’s a regular calf with a stuffed head stapled to its neck, but I’ll still plunk down two bucks just to go in and see the damn thing.
The weirder the better, and I find the early part of the Idol season the most entertaining. That’s when all the desperate-yet-unencumbered-with-talent auditioners are trotted out in front of the judges to be gently ripped to shreds. It’s like watching a public execution, but they all deserve it.
Year after year, the show keeps cranking out these manufactured pop stars who somehow seem to have an album in the can the day after they’ve won the title. Some, like Carrie Underwood, Clay Aiken and Kelly Clarkson, go on to have bona fide Successful Careers. Others, like Ruben Studdard and Taylor Hicks, don’t even make it to the second album before they’re dropped from their record labels like a crack pipe when the cops walk in.
Up until now, I’ve been a casual observer, not really interested in all the tabloid yammer about Paula Abdul’s aberrant behavior, Ryan Seacrest’s sexual peccadillos, or any of the other late-night talk show punch lines. But I happened to catch this Australian dude, Michael Johns, singing an Otis Redding song for his San Diego audition. “He’s going to win,” I told Barb.
“Did I notice his shins?” she asked. “What about his shins?”
I waited until I’d chewed and swallowed the mouthful of chicken gizzards, and I repeated my prediction that this white soul belter will go all the way. Hell, I thought he should be out there touring with Queen instead of Paul Rodgers.
Coincidentally, a couple of weeks ago Johns sang “We Will Rock You” during 80’s week, and my heart sank. What the hell, why would a guy choose this bleacher-stomping caveman shout-along to showcase his…wait a second…they truncated the song and went into the second part, “We Are the Champions.” Ohhhh. Okay. Now I get it. Wow, what a range on this guy! Good looking, too! I think I’ve got a man crush on him. Yeah, he totally nailed that performance, all was forgiven for the stadium chant, and I felt vindicated.
As someone said on last night’s show, he is a man among boys.
One of those boys, who was really more of a girl among boys, was Danny Noriega (no relation to the pineapple-faced ex-dictator), Jessica Alba’s twin brother from a different mother. His page on the American Idol website lists Fantasia as his top musical influence, which really should have gotten his ass voted off just for that. But his bitchy, whatEVER persona wore thin before you could say “Sanjaya,” and the voters showed him the gate. His last performance, “Tainted Love,” brought these comments from the judges:
Randy: “Yo, yo, yo, dawg, yo, yo, check it out, yo. Yo, dawg, it started out a little rough, but I like the way you did it in the end.”
(Translation: Get your no-talent, emo-pants-wearin’ ass off the stage. You ain’t even got enough skillz to be parking my Escalade. Dawg.)
Paula: “I love the fact that you’re true to yourself.”
(Translation: Where did I leave my keys? Did I put underwear on today? God, these spiders are driving me crazy!)
Simon: “I thought it was horrible, the whole thing.”
(Translation: I thought it was horrible, the whole thing.)
So Noriega/Alba gave them the one-handed Bullwinkle salute and scuttled back to his drama club at West Hollywood High.
Another contestant who couldn’t find the exit fast enough to suit me was Amanda Overmyer, she of the magpie-inspired dye job and the trailer-ho/biker-chick persona. Over the years, I’ve seen too many women who look and dress like her, women who could drink me under the table and then beat me to the floor. She has decent pipes, sure, but the only reason she made it into the top 16 was they still need at least one freak show this late in the game, someone to drive the internet chatter.
But don’t give up, Amanda! You need to stay sharp—you have a career waiting in the wings. I mean, Wynonna Judd’s gotta retire sometime, right?
And poor Chikezie. You’re out too. You know why? Because your name is Chikezie. Anybody else here got only one name? Who? Remedial? You’re out too, babe. Besides, we already got a Christina Aguillera.
That leaves the white guy with dreadlocks, the Menudo refugee, and a few other people. One of whom, Carly Smithson, already has a failed recording career under her belt. This means she no longer retains her amateur status, and will be unable to compete in this summer’s Bad Idea Tattoo Olympics.
The show has made a lot of changes this year, starting with a huge, disorienting new set. We American television viewers have the attention spans of a bi-polar fruit fly, so there’s lots of video noise in the background, trailing lights, zooming/panning cameras, and general audio-visual stimulus, so that we don’t really notice that most of the contestants couldn’t carry a high school talent show.
Another new feature this season was a full week of Beatles material, butchered and twisted in myriad ways by this pack of brats who probably thought Lennon & McCartney were Simon’s representation firm. Actually, some of the performances were passable, but when you’ve grown up listening to—and being influenced by—the music of the best rock band in history, it’s just painful to hear an entire hour of their songs wrestled to the ground by earnest rookies.
The public response to that week was so positive, said Seacrest on the ensuing week’s segment, that they decided to have another whole week of Beatles songs! Oh, I’m sure Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr were doing a do-se-do, saying, “Bloody hell, why didn’t we think of arranging ‘Eight Days a Week’ like the theme song from ‘Smokey and the Bandit?’ John would be so proud!”
As cringe-worthy as that spectacle was, this week brought Dolly Parton in all her spindly-legged, mammarian glory. The remaining 12 contestants were forced to sing such timeless classics as “Nine to Five” and “Jesus Is Saving Me a Parking Spot.” Of course, some chick had to sing “I Will Always Love You.” Unfortunately, that chick wasn’t Whitney Houston.
Then Dolly herself performed, wearing a headset since her enormous fun-bags will not allow her to come within two feet of a microphone stand. Facial skin pulled tighter than a bongo drum, two or three wigs’ worth of hair stacked on her head, god bless ‘er, she gave it her all. But were those her legs, or was she sitting on a chicken? Anyway, the crowd ate up her latest valentine to Jesus, and she managed to get through it without breaking a hip.
So what’s up for next week, a tribute to Peaches & Herb? (I’ve got their box set. It’s only one CD.) A Three Tenors Retrospective? Mariachi duets? Man, this thing seems to be spinning out of control. Did you see the commercial (how else would you describe it?) that featured the remaining contestants fooling around on a basketball court? What the hell was that all about? Hmm. There was also a shiny new Ford automobile on the court. Subtle as a fart omelet.
If these judges are so goddamn good, why don’t they just let the contestants sing whatever they want, and get the best performances out of them? Either that, or go the other direction and have, say, David Cook sing Blondie’s “Rapture” while wearing a gold lamé thong and riding across the stage on the back of a giant Galapagos tortoise while he’s being tasered by the cop from the Village People. Oh, how big’s your soul patch NOW, tough guy? And what does he comb his hair with, anyway? Buttered toast?
Actually, a guy like David Cook (and Michael Johns, for that matter) would be best served fronting a rock band. Which is what he does. And if he does manage to win it all, well, maybe his band can find Taylor Hicks’s phone number because Cook will be fed immediately to the Machine. He’ll go on tour with the other indentured contestants over the summer, probably release an album of ballads ‘n rockers in the fall, closely followed by a collection of Christmas ballads ‘n rockers around Thanksgiving.
Then he’ll turn up in some internet sex video with Paris/Britney/Lindsay/Chikezie, and the notoriety will eclipse his already-peaking singing career. The record label will drop him, and he’ll be forced to join the tired circuit of has-beens who barely-were, and one day he’ll find himself singing a medley of Cheap Trick songs on the rickety stage of some state fair outside of Minot, North Dakota.
But there won’t be much of a crowd watching him, because everybody will be over at the sideshow tent, checking out the two-headed calf.
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Comments
Ok… For the record, as much as I like goofy banter, this is getting a little too thick for me. It's not cool to bash a guy who takes the time to try and make people laugh.
If either one of you guys ever grow the huevos to write a column yourself, expect Tabby to pay a visit to your comments section. Oh my, I’m getting excited.
Bestest wishes,
Tabby
You wrote… “Another contestant who couldn’t find the exit fast enough to suit me was Amanda Overmyer, she of the magpie-inspired dye job and the trailer-ho/biker-chick persona. Over the years, I’ve seen too many women who look and dress like her, women who could drink me under the table and then beat me to the floor. She has decent pipes, sure, but the only reason she made it into the top 16 was they still need at least one freak show this late in the game, someone to drive the internet chatter.
But don’t give up, Amanda! You need to stay sharp—you have a career waiting in the wings. I mean, Wynonna Judd’s gotta retire sometime, right?”
Wow you are quite the wordsmith! A true man of the world! That is what you believe isn’t it? Well let’s look at your verbal skills and how you chose to critique this 23 year old girl. You know, you be a contestant and I shall be…. oh I don’t know, SIMON!
Picture an English accent as you read. Thanks. “Oh Bobby I have to say, you are extremely predictable! If you want to get out of the mountains you now burrow in then you need to step up your wit! As it stands I could not see you beating a 5th grader in a composition contest! You chose the wrong subject and your choice in metaphors was extremely cliché and AGAIN… predictable!! I’m sorry Bobo but you should be voted off for a couple reasons. First you tried to be funny. Not your genre! Then you ACTUALLY attempted to put together a convoluted story for your readers which quite frankly was excruciating!! In closing Bobo, I don’t think this writing thing is for you. You most likely need to go back to what you were doing before you tried to pick up a pen. What was that again? Oh yes… A spreader of dung in the fields of Bung-Town!!
Oh well, this is what I get when I have a Google alert on for one of The Idol contestants. I sometimes run across straight amateur rants! Dude this was one of the most horrible reads I have had in a long time! Of course I read those “Big City” papers so I may not know what good ‘ol down home humor is. If this is an example I’d sooner die then attend a comedy store where you live!!
Ahhh screw it! I have wasted enough time! Just know this errrrrrr uhhhhhh Bob Wire! I never comment on Blogs. But you are soooooo bad I had to chime in. Do your self a favor. Hold on I am going to type this reeeaaallll sllloooowwwww!!! DON’T EAT THE PAINT!!
Hello, how are you and who I am speaking with today? Come in, sit down. Can I get you a beer? Ok where should we start?
Last week we talked about the things that make you angry. By the way, nice Mohawk. I take it you’re watching Taxi Driver again. Before we go any further, you know that Taxi Driver is only movie right?
Anyways, lets move on. This week why don’t we talk about the things that make you happy (Dear God, please don’t let him(s) say Jodie Foster). Let me guess, you like American Idol…
Bestest wishes,
Tabby
Actually I like well writen articles. That was sub par crap! Your reference to the Taxi movie is lost on me. So! Have another beer, belch out your dinner and say ta-ta!!
You talkin' to me?
Loneliness has followed me my whole life, everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man.
The days go on and on... they don't end. All my life needed was a sense of someplace to go. I don't believe that one should devote his life to morbid self-attention, I believe that one should become a person like other people.
Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.
ta-ta!!
Tabby
Circle Jerkers: "A little criticism is good, right"? Yea, it is. Look in the mirror. Not, for once, to admire. Try, for once, to criticize. Ask: "Am I really the center of the universe?" "Am I sometimes oblivious to all but my own little ego urges?" "Should I try more often to imagine that other beings in the world don't find me as special as I do?" "Should I maybe think about before I touch the keyboard?"
I enjoyed it, and I have no frame of reference, having never watched the show myself.
I'm here for ya. Remember, Hay Wire likes to rule this posting section with the heavy-handed iron fist of a blog fascist. We don't want to get him upset again.
Does anyone remember that band from the 80's - the Circle Jerks. They were a surf punk band. God they sucked. Or did they blow? Or, did they go from suck to blow?
Also, they had a cameo in 'Repo Man' as the lounge band, which is more than YOU can say, I'll wager. Chew on that.
Amanda will be headlining the legendary Whisky A Go-Go in L.A. on May 24. I doubt the other contestants will receive this same type of exposure when their tour ends on American Idol.
So you agree, the Circle Jerks went from suck to blow?
As far as awesome (ie crappy) 80's punk band singles go, I surmise that The Cure's 'Killing an Arab' may have been the most prescient.
Repo Man - What a great movie. Harry Dean Stanton’s the man. But I guess any guy who Bukowski would approve of playing him in a TV sitcom gotta be.
Re: Circle Jerks - Anybody know if Keith Morris is still alive? You know, from that first blast of SoCal punk, I prefer the Angry Samoans. Although it’s hard to find, the Back From Samoa” album is worth the money.
What great days!
Bestest wishes,
Tabby
Your ode to Hay Wire in the form of a pre-child molestation MJ hit was outstanding. There was a time when the kid-licker was actually cool. But so was the mullet. Cocaine is still cool. There was also a time when a pendejo poquito saw a stop of the Thriller tour. I was the token pendejo. Just try to zip up one of those jackets with a linear algebra textbook in one hand and a Colt 45 in the other.
While the Moonwalker may have produced the first version, and yours improved upon it, Weird Al made it the best with:
"You better listen, better do what you're told
You haven't even touched your tuna casserole
You better chow down or it's gonna get cold
So eat it, just eat it
If it gets cold reheat it"
Pure lyrical genius.
Ok, I admit it. (American Idol) Weird Al is a genius. I remember (American Idol) in my Milk Tabby days listening to the Doctor Demento show when “My Bologna” burst out of the clock radio and touched me in way that no woman, free or otherwise has been able to since. (American Idol).
I’m sure that you’ve noticed by now that (American Idol) I have been working to keep my comments (American Idol) in line with story on hand (American Idol). I do not want to be considered part of the (American Idol) problem – I want the good people (American Idol) here to view Beer Tabby (American Idol) as part of the solution (American Idol) in this ongoing (American Idol) problem.
As an inspiring song writer myself, (American Idol) Beer Tabby plans to record a version of “Beat It” using mostly actual words spewed by Hay Wire and reassembled by me (American Idol) Beer Tabby. I’ll post a You Tube link once our project has been completed. And by the way, we’re calling ourselves Beer Tabby and the Pop Tops. (American Idol, American Idol, American Idol).
So in closing, American Idol Dolly Parton Simon Paula and Randy. But mostly Ryan Seacrest not to mention Clay Aiken. Hope you have a wonderful Kelly Pickler and great rest of your Carrie Underwood. Bucky Covington to all and to all a Taylor Hicks!
American Idolly,
Beer’ed Al Tabby
Jesus you've picked up some tough readers lately. Played solo in a shit load of dives all across Oregon the past two weeks. Got some great stories and picked up a new twitch.
I'll be in touch...
Oh Yeah, Our Love Is Solid-I'm puttin it up for a Grammy.
Do these pants make my butt look fat?
Bestest wishes,
Tabby
Ps: American Idol
What a piece of S--- and C---.
You need to be blown off the planet for your remarks and cruelness towards Dolly and all the others.
My blood pressure is 300.
Carolle.
I swear to God Bob, I used this same description about a gal I porked in Baker City last weekend. Turns out she (Alma) runs the Karaoke show at Stockman’s Bar and Café on Main St. every Friday. I bumped her usual gig by volunteering to play 2 sets for a shot of Beam and 2 PBR’s.
She was pissed and came down to the club to give me a piece of her mind (or so she said) but as luck would have it, we wound up doing Young Love together and I was invited over for a nightcap.
Besides getting to stick my buddy with the entire motel bill (I used the “I didn’t use the room” defense), I set a new personal age record of 67. She really did look a lot like Dolly except for the huge boobs, small waist, toothpick legs and……... Now that I think about it she looked more like Rosanne Barr + 15 years, but she did give it her all.
How much do you weigh? The reason that I ask is cuz "flabbergasted" sounds kinda like a chubby chick's way to get mad.
Yes I am the muffin top man!
Bestest wishes,
Tabby
Ps: Paula, Randy & Simon
I almost went to Dollywood one time, does that make me a hillbilly?
Also, why does country music suck so bad?
Almost anytime that I put on my coat of many colors, I get Dollywood which makes me feel like a hillbilly (not that there is anything wring with that). To answer your question, to be a true hillbilly, you must have lost at least half of your permanent teeth (via natural or unnatural causes) otherwise, at best you’re only a faux-billy.
Country music doesn’t suck, the music industry sucks which really sucks because there’s a lot of good stuff out there that’s being heard and that sucks. Proof in point, check out Chris Gaffney’s “Loser’s Paradise” which next to no one ever listened to (I guess that makes me nobody). Nobody likes Solomon Burke’s “Nashville” too, but that’s just me.
I almost forgot to mention that anything by Mary Gauthier is worth the money.
In the meantime, we wait patiently for the next great teenage uprising.
Best wishes,
Tabby