American idol 5 -- episode 8

By: B -- 3/21/06

I very nearly drop-kicked my computer right off my balcony when I first heard mention of Barry Manilow. I was not going to sit through “Barry Manilow Night.” I have precious few principles, but that was one of ‘em. I’m glad I kept my cool, because it turned out Tuesday’s theme was actually “’50’s Night,” with Barry’s presence limited to vocal coach (whew).

But still, what a letdown for the competitors. Last week they were given the opportunity to meet living legend Stevie Wonder. Then this week they skip all the way to practice, spirits soaring, only to be met by – um…who is that, KD Lang?

It was sad to hear each competitor feign excitement when asked what it felt like to meet Barry. They each looked into the camera and stammered, “working with Barry was…fun?” Kids, it’s okay: you don’t have to be a Fanilow. We’d prefer it if you weren’t, actually.

Mandisa

Mandisa’s song selection was a foreign-to-me “I Don’t Hurt Anymore,” some up-tempo theatrical blues number, assumedly written for a burlesque show. ‘Disa, looking like an XL Etta James with a curly crop of short hair and classic black dress, was her usual powerful self, putting her pipes through a workout (insert cruel fat joke here). Paula calls her a thoroughbred (huh?) and claps like a mental patient. Simon calls the performance sexy. I respond by choking on my Diet Mountain Dew.

Bucky Covington
Bucky forever ruins Buddy Holly’s version of “Oh Boy” by singing so poorly even howling cats were like, “dude, can you knock it off? You’re hurting my ears.”

I have a sneaking suspicion that Bucky is secretly a member of the “Make A Wish” foundation. The only way I will ever understand his continual presence in this competition is if he drops dead from cancer shortly after the show’s conclusion. Which would suck, don’t get me wrong, but come on. Bucky is horrible. Even though he provides ample fodder for these recaps, I don’t even want to make fun of him anymore. I just want him to leave.

Also, I miss Gideon.

Paris Bennett
Paris, classy as ever in an era-appropriate pastel yellow dress, limps out of the gates with her version of “Fever,” but brings it home during the latter half. She’s good, damn good, and everyone in Minnesota is claiming her as our own (“she used to live here, you know”).

After Paris’s performance, the camera pans her entourage. A female member of her posse claps by smacking one fist into an open palm (universal sign for “you’re about to get punched”), which is funny in a way I can’t accurately describe. The jovial smile on her face combined with the fist-pounding gave the impression of the woman thinking, “I am so gonna pound the shit out of Paris later, and it’s gonna be FUN! Yippee!” I start laughing, but then the camera cuts to another section of the audience and zooms in on none other than Constantine Maroulis, who, of course, shoots the camera his trademark “I’m going to rape you later” look. I immediately stop laughing and call my sister to make sure she locks her door tonight.

Chris Daughtry
Chris possesses what we business squares lovingly call “a healthy disrespect for history.” He cares not who came before him. He cares not what they’ve done. He’s blazing trails, man, and you can either get the fuck out of the way, or get the fuck run over (his hypothetical words, not mine. I am far friendlier).

Last week, Chris virtually spit in Stevie Wonder’s face by telling him he was unaware that Stevie originally sang “Higher Ground,” then furthering the disrespect by cribbing the Chili Peppers’ version (not Stevie’s) for his performance. This week, Chris takes Johnny Cash’s “I Walk The Line” and turns it into a slow, tortured hard rock song. When he looks in the camera and says, “because you’re mine,” he looks like a stalker. For crying out loud, I was scared shitless, and I’m not even his.

The gist: it was the most unique cover I’ve ever heard on Idol, and – dare I say – the best. Yup. The best ever. No shit. Idol does not get any better than this.

Katharine McPhee
I must admit, I’m conflicted at Katharine’s chosen song of “Come Rain Or Come Shine.” Mostly I dig it, but the song leaves a bad taste in my mouth. You see, when I first heard Don Henley’s version (on the Leaving Las Vegas soundtrack) I enjoyed it so much I briefly reconsidered my unbridled hatred for him. Hey, I thought, is Henley that bad? Have I been unfairly hating on him this whole time?

Soon enough, I returned to earth. Yes, Henley is that bad. He is the worst. That’s a fact. So now you know: I love “Come Rain or Come Shine,” so much, actually, that it temporarily caused me to go insane.

Katharine’s version is a bit rambling, and definitely imperfect (a few of her wailed notes are a wee bit sharp), but the McPheever’s got the talent to impress despite minor flaws.

(Oh, and also, I’ve finally decided: she’s hot. I admitted as much to roommate Spoon and he immediately responded with a whiny, “aw, but she’s mine!” We stared at each other blankly for a few moments, just trading blinks in silence while a tumbleweed blew through the living room. Before I could say, “uh, Spoon, you do realize neither of us has a shot in hell of ever meeting her, right?” he walked into the bathroom and gave himself a much-deserved swirly. Melodramatic wiener.)

Taylor Hicks
Barry describes Hicksy’s voice as a “whiskey tenor.” Why, that’s a perfect description. You gotta admit. Barry may look like an angry dyke, but I wish I’da come up with that.

Taylor chooses to sing Buddy Holly’s “Not Fade Away,” one of those silly dance numbers that remind everyone of poodle skirts and duck tails (ew). Taylor, wearing a grey suit with white tennies, chooses to dance around the stage like a manic goon, bouncing like George Michael in that “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” video. He shakes his legs as if they’re asleep and he’s trying to wake them up. When the sax player comes on the stage for a solo, Taylor stares at the instrument like he’s going to molest it. His campiness is two parts silly, one part scary.

Lisa Tucker
Sings “Why Do Fools Fall In Love” and it’s, oh I don’t know…good? Great?

Whatever, forget it. I’m sick of trying to praise Lisa. Can’t we just admit that she’s vocally gifted but a bit meek and boring? Thank you.

Kevin Covais
I saw last week’s episode via TiVo a couple days ago, and was hoping to be emotionally prepared by now to lampoon Kev’s dancing during his “Part Time Lover” debacle…but I just can’t. The wounds haven’t healed yet.

So bad. (Shaking my head, trying to convince myself it never happened) Just. So. Damn. Bad.

Luckily (I guess), Kevin’s performance tonight replaced last week’s horrors with outright laughter. I honestly could not keep a straight face. Kev chooses to sing a mousey, vibrato-ey version of “When I Fall In Love” (a childlike song to begin with) but the song selection ain’t the worst part. He starts the performance sitting on the stage steps, looking like he just saw his golden retriever get beaten to death. So forlorn. Then he stands up and places his hand in his front pocket, as if to say, “gee America, look at how innocent and adorable I am! I’m just standin’ around, singing a little ditty, hoping I find love!” He shuffles around the stage, toeing virtual pebbles, hand in his pocket throughout.

Let’s hope Nostril’s got the “10-year-old and younger” vote on lock-down, because the rest of us are laughing our asses off.

(PS. what are the odds that Manilow had a “secret” after-hours voice lesson with Kevin in his hotel room? 2-to-1?)

Elliott Yamin
Elliott, apparently unable to convince the producers to shut the lights off for his performances, shows up tonight with a neat little chin-beard. Good choice. The song, “Teach Me Tonight” (don’t worry, I haven’t heard of it either) is kind of a dawdling r&b number that demands impeccable chops. Elliott mostly rises to the challenge (he is, in my opinion, this season’s best technical vocalist), save for a few rough spots that any other competitor woulda hit as well. Check it: homie can blow.

Kellie Pickler
Barry takes one listen to Kellie, declares her to be too cutesy and proceeds to coach her into adding some sexiness into her act. This makes me endlessly happy. I stand up and do a half-cartwheel (I can’t do a full. Shut up). Barry, your check is in the mail.

So, “Walking After Midnight” is a perfect choice for Kellie’s clear-as-a-bell country twang, resulting in a sweet vocal effort, but she can’t quite pull off the scorned lover ‘tude necessary to complete the performance. Pickles tries, god bless her, but she’s a naïve bumpkin and we all know it. Sure is purty though.

Ace Young
Barry looks all hot and bothered when trying to coach Ace, which is funny funny funny. He’s all stuttery, eyes jumping, trying to act like a man but visibly intimidated.

My question is: who the fuck told Ace to act like Scott Stapp on stage? He extended his arms like Jesus on the cross for most of the song, which was needlessly over-the-top and, well, a bit embarrassing. I was embarrassed for him. The performance was nicely altered from the original (had to be, since the original was a group song) but it wasn’t quite perfect. He hit most of the notes, showed of his nut-squeezing falsetto and made all the ladies scream. Whoop-de-doo.

Paula all but throws her panties on the stage (which, judging by her spacey demeanor, were probably soiled). At this point, short of popping her happy pills right on stage, nothing Paula can do will surprise us. We've seen it all.

Tonight's best performances: (1) Chris Daughtry, (2) Elliott Yamin, (3) Mandisa.

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