bunt sign live

I plan to knock you on your feet
Oh, my. Do I ever love the American Idol audition rounds. I was just stupidly happy tonight, sitting there watching the folks from Philadelphia, some talented and others painfully deluded, try to get through to Hollywood. It’s not about the judges, because as much fun as they are, I can tell whether someone can sing or not, even though I personally can’t sing a note. And I certainly know when to double over in laughter, as the judges did along with me when tour guide James Lewis, who considers himself a cross between Paul Robeson and Eddie Vedder, butchered “Go Down, Moses.” “Would you like me to sing something else?” he asked. No! shouted the whole world in unison.

We did need the judges for Temptress Brown, though, because the TV audience wasn’t there to give her a hug, wipe away her tears, and walk her back to her family after she attempted, with no success at all, to sing “I Am Telling You I’m Not Going,” a song a little too big for the sixteen-year-old, even if she is a middle linebacker.

But for every unfortunate searching for the high note on “Unchained Melody,” there’s someone who could either (a) win the competition, or (2) make it as a recording artist. As we know, the two don’t necessarily mean the same thing. This is the television show portion of the Idol experience, so we need Alexis Cohen, who didn’t do a bad job channeling Grace Slick on “Somebody to Love,” but whom Simon compared to Willem Dafoe, calling her “possessed” (and then she went outside and proved it, in word and gesture).

I couldn’t disagree with the opinions of the judges, but there were three performers tonight that I thought had star quality. The first was Angela Martin, the 26-year-old mother of a little girl with Rett Syndrome who made the mistake of telling Simon she was a wedding singer. That almost kept her from going through, despite her soulful version of “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” The second was Kristy Lee Cook, the martial artist-horse trainer from Oregon whose personality is as infectious as her voice. That gives her a real chance with the Idol voters.

My favorite tonight was Chris Watson, who said he wanted to be a legend and then sang “Follow Me” so well that I didn’t want the judges to stop him and tell him he was through to Hollywood. I just wanted to hear him finish the song. He has terrific stage presence, and if I were predicting anything, I’d say he’s a lock for the top 24, if not the top twelve.

Philadelphia was a good first audition city, but did they really need to waste our time showing us the absolute clowns, like Milo Turk, the 39-year-old who warbled his own composition, “No Sex Allowed”? Did we have to spend so much time getting to know Udi Samrat, watching him do the Hammer dance, only to learn that he can’t sing a note? On the other hand, challenging Ben Haar to wax his chest and then allowing him to sing only one note of “Dontcha” was deliciously sadistic. And I rather enjoyed Paul Marturano’s song about stalking Paula Abdul (“If I were Columbo, I would Peter Falk her”).

There’s nothing quite like American Idol, and I’m glad it’s back. It’s not exactly what we thought it would be, when Kelly and Clay and Ruben were winning our hearts and votes. It’s not so much a star-making show as an entertaining diversion that has the potential to launch a career a little faster than it might have happened otherwise, for a fortunate few performers. If we take it as that and nothing more, it’s easier to have fun with it.

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