Grace Slick welcomes us to San Francisco, the city that produced Katharine McPhee and William Hung, which should tell us something.
I’d make fun of AI’s first in-line wedding, except that I was married in my stocking feet by a Justice of the Peace in a double-wide trailer, and people who get married in mobile houses should not throw snark.
Paula is wearing an extremely ugly hat (I hate that newsboy style with an unreasonable fervor), and Kara has one of those dresses with holey-sleeves, which is almost equally ugly.
Tatiana has chosen to decorate her Barbie Dress with mosquito netting. The Powers That Be (hereafter TPTB) obviously want us to hate her, which I would have done even without nearly 10 minutes devoted to her insanely annoying giggle and carefully practiced smoldering. I’m disappointed that she doesn’t sing all that badly, though I fully expect her to implode in Hollywood.
Nick Reed hums frighteningly in a monotone, and Jiayi tries to Build this City with Bad Singing.
Dean Anthony Bradford and his Horrible Technicolor Plaid Coat take American Idol where it’s never gone before: into contemplation of pubic hair. It’s a frightening place.
Jesus Valenzuela has the cutest boys in the world, and a pretty serious case of Goat Vibrato. Also Note-Wanderingitis. He’s going through to Hollywood, where the judges won’t have to look the little ones in the eye when they cut him.
Here’s something you don’t see every day, even on American Idol: a girl singing through a mouth full of vomit.
As a singer, Dalton makes a good Rubik’s Cube solver, which reminds me that I was amazed at my boys' Cube Solving Abilities until I caught them prying the faces off of the sections and snapping them back on in the proper order.
Coke evidently does not want us to drink Coke, Halle Berry is still beautiful, and Hotel for Dogs looks purely wretched.
There were hippies in San Francisco in the 60’s? Who knew?
It’s good to see Kara stand up to Simon. He ruled the roost for way too long.
I don’t know which language Akilah speaks, but it’s only marginally related to English (or, more specifically, American). There is something about her voice that I like, despite singing from the wrong rectum. Too bad I won’t get to hear any more from her.
We see flashes of good singers John Twiford, Allison Something, and Raquel, who, as far as I could tell, sang about The Son of a Creature Man.
Adam Lambert and his emo hair are both very theatrical, which is not surprising, given that he works, you know, in the theater. Maybe it’s time for AI to admit that Broadway is the final destination for most of its winners.
And, omigod you guyz, Kai Kalama, well on his way to curly-haired sainthood, sings The Platters, and might just be The One. I love love love love his voice. And I want to see his hair unleashed. I suspect it has super powers.
Tomorrow we go to Louisville and possible threats of physical violence, but I don’t care. I want more Kai.
I’d make fun of AI’s first in-line wedding, except that I was married in my stocking feet by a Justice of the Peace in a double-wide trailer, and people who get married in mobile houses should not throw snark.
Paula is wearing an extremely ugly hat (I hate that newsboy style with an unreasonable fervor), and Kara has one of those dresses with holey-sleeves, which is almost equally ugly.
Tatiana has chosen to decorate her Barbie Dress with mosquito netting. The Powers That Be (hereafter TPTB) obviously want us to hate her, which I would have done even without nearly 10 minutes devoted to her insanely annoying giggle and carefully practiced smoldering. I’m disappointed that she doesn’t sing all that badly, though I fully expect her to implode in Hollywood.
Nick Reed hums frighteningly in a monotone, and Jiayi tries to Build this City with Bad Singing.
Dean Anthony Bradford and his Horrible Technicolor Plaid Coat take American Idol where it’s never gone before: into contemplation of pubic hair. It’s a frightening place.
Jesus Valenzuela has the cutest boys in the world, and a pretty serious case of Goat Vibrato. Also Note-Wanderingitis. He’s going through to Hollywood, where the judges won’t have to look the little ones in the eye when they cut him.
Here’s something you don’t see every day, even on American Idol: a girl singing through a mouth full of vomit.
As a singer, Dalton makes a good Rubik’s Cube solver, which reminds me that I was amazed at my boys' Cube Solving Abilities until I caught them prying the faces off of the sections and snapping them back on in the proper order.
Coke evidently does not want us to drink Coke, Halle Berry is still beautiful, and Hotel for Dogs looks purely wretched.
There were hippies in San Francisco in the 60’s? Who knew?
It’s good to see Kara stand up to Simon. He ruled the roost for way too long.
I don’t know which language Akilah speaks, but it’s only marginally related to English (or, more specifically, American). There is something about her voice that I like, despite singing from the wrong rectum. Too bad I won’t get to hear any more from her.
We see flashes of good singers John Twiford, Allison Something, and Raquel, who, as far as I could tell, sang about The Son of a Creature Man.
Adam Lambert and his emo hair are both very theatrical, which is not surprising, given that he works, you know, in the theater. Maybe it’s time for AI to admit that Broadway is the final destination for most of its winners.
And, omigod you guyz, Kai Kalama, well on his way to curly-haired sainthood, sings The Platters, and might just be The One. I love love love love his voice. And I want to see his hair unleashed. I suspect it has super powers.
Tomorrow we go to Louisville and possible threats of physical violence, but I don’t care. I want more Kai.
"I was married in my stocking feet by a Justice of the Peace in a double-wide trailer"
ReplyDeleteI knew I loved you.