Before I leap into recapping, I need to review the events of my evening and, in fact, contemplate my entire life.
Last week, blogger BeckEye (awesome Web site — check it out; I love her recaps a zillion times more than Television Without Pity's) expressed surprise that I'd never heard U2's "Beautiful Day." I guess it's possible that I've heard it . . . but I definitely don't know it.
I'm not, as I've said, so much a fan of the current modern songs of today. To me, the music you young people listen to is mostly unmelodic and unpretty. A thumping beat, without much else to recommend it. But that's fine. You listen to your music, I'll listen to mine — we can all get along!
But tonight I had a crushing disappointment. There's an event I look forward to all year — the annual meeting of the company I sort of work for. We have a business presentation for an hour (snore), but then there's free hooch and free food and a band and dancing! I love to dance, and I don't get to do it very often. I hang out with my blogging sister Mrs. Cynicletary and her handsome husband, and we dance the night away.
And we also mock the band, a little, as they tend to play the exact same songs every single year. Of course, the only one I can remember at the moment (it's late) is "Brick House." So, imagine "Brick House" played over and over, for two hours —that's pretty much what we're dancing to. It's very predictable and, yes, not remotely contemporary.
But here's the thing. I know "Brick House." I like "Brick House." And while I wouldn't mind dancing to, say, "Single Ladies" or "Bad Romance" (a song I only learned to like from watching "Glee"), frankly, I'm perfectly happy to dance to "Brick House."
But this year, we didn't hire the band. We hired a DJ. And he played almost nothing but current modern songs of today, none of which I knew, none of which I liked, and none of which I wanted to dance to.
I danced to exactly one song, early in the evening: "September" by Earth Wind and Fire. Then I stood on the sidelines with my jaw agape, listening to crap song after crap song. And finally, I went home.
I can't tell you how disappointed I am!!!!
So why does a girl who listens to a soft-rock station, when she's not listening to CDs of Motown, '70s'-ish pop, and show tunes, blog about American Idol? (A show that many people say would be improved by the addition of more modern music, which I would hate?) Good question. I'm doing it because Brunie stuck a URL in my hand and said, "We're writing a blog about Idol now." And for a few years, it was a lot of fun. But this year? Not so much. And unless they hire a judge or two who knocks my socks off, I think this will probably be my swan song.
But having said that, I want to wrap things up properly and blog the finale, which I did watch in real time. (I guess I needed a week or two to . . . savor it. Yeah. That's why I haven't written yet. I've been savoring.)
Crystal appears, in a Catholic schoolgirl fetish outfit.
Li'l Martini: "She looks like a nerd."
Me: "I think she looks cute."
Li'l Martini: "You like nerds?"
All the Idolettes then appear dressed as naughty schoolkids, with all the menace of a tardy Osmond. School's out for summer, people! Except, it's only May. Alice Cooper looks semi-cadaverous.
Kris Allen sings . . . something. How happy he must be to hand over the crown of Most Boring Idol. (Oops — spoiler!)
Siobhan and Aaron torture me with slo-mo Bee Gees, then we're joined by two-thirds of the actual Bee Gees, who turn up the tempo just a wee bit. I note that Barry can no longer do the "false." Listen, I'm old and my feet are swelling in the heat; I'm feeling you, Barry. "How Deep Is Your Love?" is my favorite slow-dance song, because it has just enough of a rhythm to get some serious grinding action going. You know, if you're into that sort of thing. I'm a proper married lady now, and Mr. Lady Chardonnay doesn't really dance. But every once in a while, I play "How Deep Is Your Love?" and dance with my hubby in the living room. Slow dancing is a beautiful thing.
Okay, out of my living room and back to Idol. It makes me sad to see Barry and Robin and then remember that Maurice and Andy are dead. They should have brought back Blake Lewis, Chris Sligh, and the rest of the foursome who rocked "How Deep Is Your Love (Love Love Love Love)?" during Hollywood Week. That would have been awesome. This is just sad.
Big Mike's in the house, singing "Takin' It to the Street" with Michael McDonald. For a moment, I wonder if Taylor Hicks will join them, as he sings this song on the Season 5 CD. But it's a Taylor-free moment. And folks, if I'm thinking that a dash of Taylor Hicks will liven things up, we are in dire straits indeed.
Simon is NOT enjoying the Dane Cook song, which, perversely, makes me enjoy it a little more.
The girls come out for a girly group sing of Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful," a draggy boring song I am thoroughly sick of, but they sound very lovely singing together. And yet, I am haunted by déjà vu.
Me: "Haven't they sung this already this season?"
Mimosa: "You're thinking of 'Glee.'"
The girls sound demented singing the second song. I fidget. Christina sings. I yawn. A lot.
Ricky Gervais is a riot.
The boys sing that they can't go for that, then they switch to "Maneater." OK, they're not contemporary in the least, but these are way more fun songs. (Also fun: marveling over Timmy's tan! He's Malibu Ken!) I'm happy. Casey looks relaxed and sounds great, making me more sure than ever that he deliberately dropped the ball, for whatever reason.
Crystal sings some Alanis and is soon joined by Ms. Morissette, and they gyrate around the stage with almost no interaction. Weird. Bring on da quirk, bring on da wack.
The world's two most diffident finalists thank Ford, quietly, for their new cars. Mimosa and I go into hysterics imitating them.
Casey sings of roses and thorns with balding Brett Michaels.
Lee sings a Chicago medley. Again, not contemporary, and again, I'm happy. In fact, I'm in total heaven. I love this crazy band! I, ahem, "became a woman" to "Color My World." And no, I don't mean I got my period. Shortly thereafter, my first college beau chose "Just You and Me" as our song. I sing along with Lee (and, it may be worth noting, no one in my house yells, "Quiet, Mom! We want to hear Lee's beautiful voice!") and have a swell time.
First reaction upon seeing Paula: How cool that she's here! She looks fabulous!!
Second reaction, moments later: Ooooookay then.
Well, Paula's as nutcase bonkers as ever, but it's still great to see her. One question: In all the footage in the Paula Memory Reel, is there a single clip of her and Kara? Hmm.
All the Idols but David Cook are here, and they sound perfectly lovely together. I get a little misty. That was a cool moment. Then they're joined by many former Idolettes, in virginal white, and there's so many, I can hardly see them all. And then it's over. Well, that was odd.
Simon sweetly thanks us, the audience, and says, "You guys are really the judge of the show."
Me: "Wow, that was really nice."
Me and Mimosa, in unison: "And it's true."
Mimosa: "Pickle jinx!"
Janet Jackson sings, like, twenty songs. Is this some weird attempt to connect Idol to Michael? I grow weary. Just get to the end already. And I have to say, I have this incredible anticlimactic sense — I grow ever more sure that the winner is the underwhelming and thoroughly outsung Lee.
Randy informs us that "Tonight is about Crystal and Lee," and Mimosa and I guffaw.
I have nothing to say about Joe Cocker.
The winner is crowned, and it's indeed Lee. "How do you feel?" Ryan asks. "I can't say," says Lee, as inarticulate as ever. He sings that well-known U2 song, sounds fine, confetti falls, whatever. We'll see how well his album does. I don't think Kris Allen needs to lose any sleep.
I am glad this season is over.
Thanks for reading! Have a wonderful summer.
Lady Chardonnay, OUT!