For some reason the well oiled machine that is my morning routine came off the ralls this morning and I arrived at the office to find it full though humming with silent intent. Everyone is home from the road and catching up with putting what they saw into a format that's useful and so whilst seats are scarse so are decibels. It's a weird feeling actually. No balloon races, no shoe bowls, no women interviewing by teaching Tae Kwan Do or men bringing in hyper obedient dogs who lose control at the first whiff of crotch. It feels like an office. An office with beanbags, purple sofas and rubber chickens to be sure, but an offive non-the-less.
Idol news. The boys sucked again last night. One audience member lost control and sobbed like she was witnessing the Beatles at Shay Stadium. Lekeisha was fat and rubbish and Doolittle remained a talented dwarf.
Actually let's break it down.
Guests Lulu and that tombstone toothed bloke from Herman's Hermits. She tries to outsing every contestant (and does) he's happy to prove that he's still alive and available for the Chicken in a Basket circuit.
We open with Haley Scarnato who does "Tell Him" in wobbly heels and in wobbly voice. She doesn't have the legs for shorts. Especially for hotpants.
Chris Richardson attempts a ballad "Don't let the sun catch you crying" and comes across as a scratchy voiced adanoid patient. It's more horrible than Scarnato's legs. Or Nigel Lithgowe's teeth
Stephanie Edwards should be a young Shirley Bassey. That is a prostitute in Rhyl. Her version of "You don't have to say you love me" sounded like Mary J Blige having her larynx sanded. Worse than the thought of Scarnato in a g-string.
Blake Lewis likes to beatbox. Like hightower in the Polce academy movies. Only 25 years later. And less tunefully. "Time of the Season" comes across like a YouTube back bedroom performance. The audience lap it up like cats at a leaky udder.
Lakisha Jones did "Diamonds are Forever" against Lulu's advice. She claimed to be wearing a million dollar's worth of diamonds. They were barely noticable stretched around her vastness. It was okay. Lulu had been right.
Phil Stacey sounded pretty good when he sang "Tobacco Road' to the Hermit guy and appalling when he screamed it over the band. He's going home tonight.
Jordin Sparks sang " I (who have nothing)" - quite beautifully. She's good. Real good.
Sanjaya Malakar made one little girl sob when he hammed his way through " You really got me going"... between the tears and snot was a spirited performance. Bless him.
Gina Glocksen is like your mouthy cousin. She's the coolest girl at the mall but has all the authenticity of a Ryan Seacrest smile. Her version of "Paint it Black" was supposed to be satanic - shame it was just bad.
Chris Sligh started "She's not there" by walking through the audience without once looking at any of them. He's a fat fool who's getting by on being self knowing... I liked "Fro Patrol", increasingly I dislike him and his variations on the mediocre.
Melinda Doolittle - does america need or want a hunchback Gladys Knight? We shall see. She's great but looks (literally) like a car crash and that may be unforgivable.
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