AI9 – 3/04 Recap: All The Right Murderous Moves

[MsFroggy]

Happy day! Two more boys and two more girls will be cut tonight taking us that much closer to the real show we've all been waiting for. Not that I believe there's anything particularly spectacular to look forward to in the future but I like to maintain at least a smidgen of optimism even in the face of overwhelmingly underwhelming odds. Bet you didn't know that about me!

Aside from my favorite parts – getting rid of the tone deaf and pitch-challenged early sacrificial lambs – results shows are always a curious buffet of chit-chat, group numbers, pre-elimination contestant anxiety, shamefully bad acting from the judges and mostly horrific guest performances. In these early rounds, before the show hits the big stage, Idol is trotting out the small potatoes, you know, the whatshisname type winners and contestants the show feels obligated to parade at least a teensy bit since they are to blame, after all, for unleashing them onto the unsuspecting world. It's how they appease that guilty conscience of theirs and hope to hell nobody notices.

Later on, when the action hits the big Nokia stage, we'll be getting the real big names, the ones worth tuning in for – and probably another mercy appearance for the winner - but that's a ways off. For tonight, one such small potato is back to croon. I'll reveal that nasty surprise a bit later because I believe in apportioning pain if at all possible. Just prepare those earplugs. Oh, wait! What am I saying? You're only reading this... Lucky.

I gotta cringe

Seacrest is his usual peppy self as he coos that 27 million votes were dropped this week by people who still give a damn about voting for this show. I must say, things being what they are, that's kind of impressive. There's some banter with the judges too, including Simon's revelation that re-watching some performances is detrimental to one's auditory wellbeing and some confusing statement from Ellen about pianos looking like guitars if one squints just the right way. I'm sure she meant something profound by that and I should probably watch it again and faithfully relay my assessment of her comment but, unlike Simon, I prefer not to rewind any part of this show if I can help it. Moving on.

Before we can all get high on the elimination results, we must be brought low by a group number. Ah, the group number, that Idol ritual that only a lipsynch lover can truly appreciate and the rest of us either gawk at in horror or fast forward through at the speed of light. I'm a fan of the latter. This week's victim song is the Black Eyed Peas' “I got a feeling” which has been grossly overplayed for the past ten months but it still hasn't done anything quite bad enough to deserve the Idol treatment. Seeing Crystal Bowersox in her hippie get-up trying to get her 21st century kewl on with a sunny pop song she otherwise wouldn't be caught dead listening to, is at once funny and groan-worthy but seeing the utter cheese that is this performance is even worse. Next!

Since I usually gloss over the commercials – life is too short – I barely ever noticed last year's winner earnestly hawking some Ford car. According to him it's all sorts of super awesome. Maybe if you wanna drive like you're dying or something. I think I'm going to get another VeeDub.

Drive 'n Park

Boys, boys, boys there are just too many of you, sorry! Two must go because this is Idol's version of real life and nobody, but nobody, who can't sing in tune makes it to the Top 10. Right? Which reminds me of Megan Joy. Whatever happened to her? Caw caw!

The back row is up first and they're all made to stand up for the verdict. Tim Urban and his homage to Shaggy, 70s boy wonder hair will sadly be returning to the circus next week. Load up on the earplugs and find the mute button on your TV remote. Toddrick Hall's critiques are recapped but he is made to sweat it out a bit while Seacrest moves on to Michael Lynche who is wearing some sort of Boy Scout-ish uniform shirt. Big Mike and his inspirational story of birth under Idol pressure are safe and we're on to Casey James who is wearing a plaid shirt and his pretty hair up in a ponytail. He shall return and perhaps strip again if the going gets rough voting-wise.

Meanwhile, Toddrick is still standing. John Park is reviewed and Randy weighs in saying this is tough. Thank you, Randy. That's very insightful of you! In the end, it's the end of the road for John Park who will have to go back to college now with the knowledge that he was once lusted over by Shania Twain. His swan song, “Gravity”, has about as much zing as a can of Diet Coke that sat opened on your counter for two days. Simon must feel thoroughly validated.

Taking the onesie back to church

Five more guys are prepared to meet their fates as Seacrest summons the front row to stand up for their judgment time. Lee Dewyze and his goatee will get another chance to ape every Nickelback rip-off artist you can think of, Aaron Kelly apparently charmed enough tweeners and great-grandmother who miss Archie the singing puppy to survive another week and Alex Lambert has again skated by on the strength of Ellen's ripe banana joke, his horrid mullet and a bit of misheard name recognition. The final two standing are therefore Andrew Garcia and Jermaine Sellers and you get a cookie if you can guess who gets dispatched out of those two. It will be the easiest cookie you've ever made in your lives! Ellen is sad, despondent and wistful about the bottom two boys but, I suspect, only because she can't say what she's really thinking. Jermaine gets another chance to thank his god and his bow tie and onesie suppliers before he is given one last chance to make Marvin Gaye roll in his grave. America you gone did good this week! Shocker!

Oops, just noticed I've been deliberately inadvertently giving away the shocking results in my headers. Sawee!

My wife is still dead, buy my CD!

Remember that surprise guest I threatened you with earlier in this recap? Well, he is here in the flesh in all his bedazzled, bespectacled, wallet chained and spiky haired glory. Yes, dear readers, Danny Gokey is in da house! Bedazzled, you ask? 'Tis true, Gokey has seen the light of glam and concluded that black sequins and tasteful black plastic studs on his rawk stah black leather jacket are the way to stardom. Quick, somebody tell the boy that feathers are the real secret to getting on the front page of Yahoo!

So, he's actually here to assault delight us with his new single about his best days or something – didn't quite catch the title – and remind America that he is still alive. But wait! What is this insanity? I taste twangy country Limburger in this vanilla pudding! I googled this distinctly remember that the Gokester was all about the soul and white boy R&B goodness during Idol, even going so far as to say that country wasn't his thing. Hmm. I guess, beggars can't be choosers so who am I to knock his Nashville?! Live and let milk, I say.

Three or four seconds of hasty fast-forwarding later, country Gokey is engaged in a bit of awkward banter with Ellen, whom he calls “the new one” after which the horror starts up in earnest. Let me count the many ways in which this whole interview is one big wat of slimy, congealed pork fat... Danny claims that back during his Idol run, Randy Travis first suggested he should be doing country at which point Danny quickly and conveniently remembered that his whole childhood has been one big country music love fest.

Because Idol only allots about 35 seconds of shameless self-promo time to the small potatoes guests, Danny keeps talking a mile a minute perhaps in fear that somebody will sound a big buzzer on him to shut him up. I'd prefer a trapdoor. Meanwhile, Seacrest stares at him in abject horror with a smile frozen on his face willing him to put a big smelly sock in it already. Among many other things we find out that Gokey's wife is still dead – yes, it's true! - and that the dude who wrote his new single is also a widow. Hells to yeah! That's what I call a fortuitous sob story milking CD selling occurrence! When Gokey finally runs out of breath and before he can launch into another spiel, Seacrest quickly steps in and steers the boat into a commercial. We're saved! Hallelujah!

The Hollywood chainsaw massacre

A few commercials later, the focus shifts away from the painful to the terrifying. The back row of girls are on their feet and ready to be either sent home or saved for next week's slaughter. Seacrest dims the lights with the power of his omnipotent hostnessness and sends Lilly Sott back to safety with little fanfare although her evil crime of covering “A change is gonna come” with a grin on her face like it was a happy Kidz Bop ditty, shall not soon be forgiven. I'd also like to note that the girl is wearing feather earrings.

Paige Myles is safe too although I can't remember whether I've seen her before. See, Idol could replace half of these people before next week and I might never notice. Future Disney parade float rider, Katie Stevens, smiles sheepishly as Ryan delivers the judges' critiques because she knows there is no way in hell she is going to be voted off before she has a chance to find more golden oldies to cover. Indeed, she will be back to deliver more elevator music next week. Didi Benami and Michelle Delamor are the last two standing. One of them inflicted pain with “Lean on me” the other picked up a chainsaw and hacked innocent puppies to death while America listened to their cries of horror. No, not really. Michelle just covered Creed's godawful “With arms wide open”, but it's really the same thing if you think about it. Do I have to tell you whose crime was deemed bloodier? No, I didn't think so.

Michelle is given a courtesy goodbye sing and is cruelly allowed to skin some more kittens alive “with arms wide open” although I'm sure somebody in the control room was sorely tempted to go to a commercial about a minute and a half sooner than usual.

Pet cemetery

A bit more and I promise the torture will be over.

The girls' front row is told to stand up and right away Kaitlyn Epperly and her super glam and super huge black feather and rhinestone earrings are pronounced safe and lucky. She is quickly followed into safety by hippie happy Crystal Bowersox who's to cool to even crack a smile of gratitude. Gotta keep up that laissez faire indie cool somehow on this so-not-indie-it-hurts show. Besides, the girl knows she's riding the wave right now. Wait till Disco week, Crystal! Siobhan Magnus is wearing a big flower in her hair, a T-shirt, shorts, magenta tights – say what? - and tennis shoes thereby proving the old adage that clothes do not the singer make. Unless that singer wants to be known as a magenta tights and shorts wearing walking fashion disaster. I prescribe a dose of Vogue with a side of American Rag and a bi-weekly pilgrimage to Shopbop.com. She is, of course, safe as can be.

Healey, whose last name I can't recall but she's the next Taylor Swift with a flower in her hair and Lacy, whose last name I also can't recall but is the one with the good, spiky red hair, are the last two called to the center of the stage. Both of them have feathers in their hair. Just thought I'd mention that. As the music of doom plays, Simon says the boot is obvious this week and he is right. Healey is a goner. She smiles as all the girls start weeping on the couches for no good reason. Perhaps those are tears of happiness 'cause, baby, I know mine would be. If I could stop grinning long enough to fake some tears that is. What? It's a competition not a Girl Scout convention. Sheesh.

Haeley is allowed to sing again but not before Seacrest calls for some goodbye footage of the eliminated four, which briefly scares Debbie the stage manager who thinks Seacrest is telling Haeley to sing first thereby messing with the order of the Universe. She even yells in from the sidelines for him to stop. It's live TV, people! Well, aside from the lipcynched group number, it's live although as Haeley is tearfully singing her terrible “The Climb” cover I would kill for a good lipsynched performance. Michelle was hacking kittens to bits 10 minutes earlier but poor Haeley is seriously stabbing them in the gut with a kitchen knife and stomping on them with her cute high heels. The kittens are now truly and thoroughly dead, dead, dead.

This is it, folks! Be round and come around next week too because the fab MotherSister and I have more wit than grit and more puns than guns. Although the keyboards guns we do have shall be pointed squarely at the remaining 16 unfortunate contestants. May Zeus have mercy on our hearing.

All misspelled contestant names are the result of my unwillingness to properly google them. Expect no spelling improvement till the Top 5 or 6. Sorry.