Here You Come Again

Hello, gentle readers! It's me, Lady Chardonnay. Welcome to Idol Season Whatever (dedicated blogger that I am, you'd think I'd remember these things—but you'd be wrong). Much of it is same ol', same ol', but there are also some ch-ch-ch-changes in store, namely: (1) a new judge! More on Care-uh/Carr-uh below. (2) a shorter audition period! All good. (3) fewer freaks! more stories of inspiration! Yeah. A part-time freak show—again, all good. The feel-good self-congratulatory portion of Idol (hint: last night's inspirer rhymes with Shmott Shmacintire)—again, more below.

This year I took almost no notes on the sad, the bad, the ugly, the freaks. The sad touch my heart, and I'm choosing not to prolong the pain. The others have already taken enough of my life. So I'm taking my cue from Newly Inspiring Idol, and here is last night's Parade O' Talent!

• Emily Wynne Hughes, who sports numerous tattoos and hair-color shades, is blessed with a completely awesome mom, and has a lovely voice! I like Emily fine, but mostly I want to see more of Mom.
• J.B., sweet-singing Utah boy with very large eyebrows. He tears up, his dad tears up, it's all very sweet.
• Arianna, cute as a button (I'm writing that just as Kara's saying it—me and Kara [I'm holding up my crossed fingers now], we are LIKE THIS), sings a song I instantly loathe. Gah, these kids and their current modern music of today! What's wrong with a pretty melody, I ask you? Or any melody? And who moved my cane? ha ha
  
• Stevie Wright, my favorite of the whole show (ma semblable, ma souer Kara loved her too)—she has the voice, she has the personality, her smile lit up the whole room. And she's only 16! Okay, a la Jordin Sparks, am I looking forward to Randy reminding us that she's only 16 for the next five months? No. No I am not. But for my girl Stevie, I will endure. (Look! I'm another Idol Inspiration story!)
• Michael Server, the semi-hunky roughneck with the surprisingly sweet voice—he sings fine, again I hate the song, but the best comment came from my eight-year-old son, L'il Martini: "He's good and delicious!" Oh, I do love my little gay son.
• Bikini Girl, to the eternal disappointment of my spotless mind, didn't suck. Nonetheless, I loathe her. (I thought Kara's rendition was fabulous. Way to support your new co-worker, Simon! Ass.) She won't make it through Hollywood—once she puts on clothes, her perfectly average nice voice will be shown the door, and Kara and I will toast our joy.
  
• Cute bouncy Brianna is cute and bouncy and I like her, because I like the spirited girls, and I'm glad they're giving her a chance—I thought her voice was fine, and not nearly as marginal as they were making it out to be. She does need to chill, though.
• Deanna, nice country girl with no family present—again, a perfectly fine voice and a nice girl, and I have NO IDEA why they're so gaga over her. I would say that her average nice voice and Brianna's average nice voice and Loathesome Bikini Girl's average nice voice are all pretty much the same, but what do I know, I'm just here to blog. Anyway, Ryan's quite adorable with her, pretending to be all the missing members of her family, which I found very dear.
• Alex has a nice voice and an almost total inability to tell a joke, but I did like when he offered to sing "God Save the Queen" for Simon. I'm betting we'll never see him again, but I like Alex.
• And finally we come to the "audition to give you hope"—oh, shoot me now. I loved Anthony Federov, it's not his fault he had a tracheotomy and that Idol decided to pimp that for all time, but I don't want to sit through it again. And the object of the pimping, sweet Scott Macintyre, who is legally blind, seems like a perfectly nice boy and does indeed have a lovely voice (and an unfortunate resemblance to Steven Tobolowsky with a moptop—again, not his fault). I truly truly hope that Idol simmers down with this guy, but I wouldn't bet the farm.

I loved Elijah Scarlett (look at that name! how can you not love him?), he of the preternaturally deep voice, but it was not to be. (I didn't love his singing voice, I hasten to add—he reminded me of the fellow who sang "Go Down Moses" last year without moving his lips. Though, come to think of it, I loved that guy too.) And I didn't hate the pink cowgirl, Lea Marie, mostly because I knew she didn't have a shot and I found her harmless—and when she rolled her stomach for the camera (which was . . . an odd choice), my 11-year-old daughter, Mimosa, remarked, "She can do that thing that Grandpa can do!" Too funny.

So, the judges chose correctly, I think—the bad went home, the good went to Hollywood. I am inspired.

And I like our new judge Kara! She's smart and direct but not overtly mean—and she'll be a more effective foil for Simon than Paula is. (Though I'm worried about her tendency to look like she's sneering when her face is still. I mentioned this to Mimosa who said, very sagely, "Maybe she's had the Botox." Maybe, indeed.)

We're off!