For the second time, Casey Abrams got voted off American Idol, and I honestly don’t have a thing to say about it. I liked him at first, and then I got sick of him yelling and scatting at me. He ended things nicely, screaming and grunting while running around and singing “I Put A Spell On You.” He also hugged random people in the audience and sang the last line directly at Haley Reinhart’s face. Still, I’m glad he’s gone, and I’m glad Jacob Lusk gets another week.
• Now that more than half of the top 12 is gone, something is becoming obvious: We’re not getting a big “Idol Gives Back” special this year. I guess Idol just doesn’t care about people anymore. This is probably bad news for starving orphans in Africa, but it’s good news for me, since it means I get a whole hour of my life back. I wonder what I’ll do with it. Maybe I’ll read a book!
• Steven Tyler was wearing a hat that I can only describe as “Crocodile Dundee’s grandmother.”
• In a video package, James Durbin pointed out that the Idol kids went to the British consulate for some dumb reason that has something to do with the royal wedding. Godammit, Idol, Simon isn’t on the show this year! That means you didn’t have to do anything about the stupid fucking royal wedding! Leave it alone! Nobody cares! I should point out that James said this shit while wearing dumb sunglasses and a sport coat with skulls all over it. Formal Ed Hardy mallpunk wear, I guess. And Sir Ben Kingsley was at this British-people party, so you know it was some classy shit. We also got to hear fake British accents from Scotty McCreery and Casey Abrams, and both of them were worse than you could ever possibly imagine.
• We got another all-Idol group-sing this week, and it was not good. I mean, it was really just bad. You know who’s extra-shitty at these? James Durbin. James Durbin is death at these things. Lauren Alaina and Haley Reinhart sounded pretty OK doing “One Fine Day.” Groups of girls always sound good singing good girl-group songs. It’s like a mathematical equation. There was also an ooky moment where Scotty sang while surrounded by a mob of swaying girls, like that was going to convince us that he’s Sinatra or Justin Timberlake or some shit.
• In this week’s Ford ad, the Idols all drew pieces of furniture with big markers, and then the furniture actually came into being. These things are getting trippy as fuck. At this rate, somebody’s going to recreate the final 20 minutes of Akira in a Ford ad next year. While doing their magical drawing, the Idols sang Madness’ “Our House” and moved the world just a tiny bit closer to my dream of seeing Ska Week on Idol. (I am so not joking. I would love this.)
• Crystal Bowersox came through to sing, still dreaded up and still looking good. For a brief but terrifying second, I thought that she had the guy from Blues Traveler in her backing band, but no, it was some other fat white guy playing harmonica. Crystal’s new song was some dumb honking blues-rock thing about the old days when rock and roll was true or whatever. This is what happens when contestants who I once really liked become recording artists on their own. I absolutely stop caring about them right away, and so, apparently, does everyone else. It’s a weird phenomenon.
• In a painful time-killing exercise, Seacrest pretended to read text messages from people who watch this show. It was not even a tiny bit interesting, and it went on forever and ever and ever. They also replayed virtually last night’s entire show. They are just determined to keep extending this thing to an hour. It also gave Jimmy Iovine an opportunity to compare Scotty McCreery to Johnny Cash so hard, which just made me want to slap everyone so hard.
• You can tell Bruno Mars is a nice guy because, when he stopped by to perform, he had a couch and a recliner onstage behind him, and his horn section got to sit down. That’s the chillest dude ever! Even, like, G. Love makes his band stand up! But some of the guys still had to stand up because an actual golden retriever took up most of the couch. Bruno Mars should not be forcing his dog to sit at a TV taping where there’s lots of loud noises, in my opinion. That dog clearly did not give a fuck about being on TV, and I think he slept through the whole performance. I could understand how the dog felt; my eyelids got a little heavy when Bruno Mars was on too.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on April 29, 2011