I don’t tune in for the judges’ witticisms. Paula Abdul was “forever my girl” when I was 10, but it’s time she take her two steps back. Bitchy Brit Simon Cowell can’t sing a note, and Randy Jackson, dawg, it’s time for a new catch phrase.
Still, I chanted “Ruuuuben!” with the rest of the country last year when 205 snatched the “American Idol” crown from go-directly-to-Broadway Clay. I even called to vote. Twice.
Now I curiously count myself among the 29 million viewers who tuned in Monday for the premiere of Idol 3. The wildly popular croon-fest earned the biggest debut of any series on network television this season.
It’s a larger-than-life winner with widespread reach. Special Olympics is sponsoring NU Idol because organizer and fan of the show Katie Del Priore, a Communication sophomore, recognized the phenomenon and the wealth of musical talent on campus. The 20 students who have signed up thus far will compete for the title March 2 in Cahn Auditorium. E-mail Del Priore if you’re interested in getting in on it.
If silly things like class or work have interfered with your Idol watch this week, I’ll catch you up.
The show broadcasts auditions before it names the 10 typically talented finalists. In these glorified blooper reels, off-key people with excessive self esteem belt out pop favorites for the three-judge panel. These Kelly Clarkson wannabes camped out in cities across the nation because, like this week’s other celebrated dreamer, they had one.
But most of those dreams of stardom are now dead. And by dreams I mean nightmares — with really bad soundtracks.
Bring on the rejects. This is my favorite part of the contest.
Clearly others’ failures make us feel better about our own. It’s a rare day when I can say, “I could sing better than her.” It’s an exceptional day when my friend Abby yells, “She sounds like a horse.” Abby would know — a trained opera singer, she’s the resident expert in my house.
Now, I know I’m no Britney — not that that says much. If a birthday party isn’t big enough, I’ll mouth the anthem’s words. Karaoke? It’s only happened twice — after several shots.
I have a healthy humility about my subpar vocal chords — which is why it amazes me that thousands of other people don’t. It doesn’t take a music major to agree with the judges’ assessments. Terrible, awful, pathetic — yes, yes and yes. I couldn’t tell you the difference between an alto and a soprano, but I know a “no” when I see it.
We love judging people from the comfort of the living-room couch. My roommates and I watch hopes and dreams get crushed then reach for more popcorn. It’s a train wreck, really.
And isn’t that the draw? Reality hits expose faces without makeup, women of average weight, pale people — all the things Hollywood leaves out on “The O.C.”
Some people say I’m wasting my time screening the masses this week. They want to be entertained by none other than Simon-approved singers.
Not me. Give me your flat, your sharp, your affected. Now ain’t that American?
