Ah, American Idol. The last season is but a foggy memory. The imminent 30th season is eager to descend upon us in the New Year. So here we are in the inbetween. The American Idle, if you will.
Last season I probably paid more attention to this “phenom” than in any previous years. I would usually just watch the first few episodes, when it’s just a parade of wildly depressing individuals presenting themselves to their fellow Americans in all of their freakish glory. Then they weed out the good ‘uns and the rest of the episodes are just people standing around singing. Bleh. But last season I stayed tuned in all the way to the end, though this was somewhat involuntary since my coworkers were obsessed and discussed it incessantly. Hey, when in Rome, right?
And no, I have nothing to say about stupey-poopy Sanjaya. I am so bored with that twit.
Remember last season there was that little dude with the big eyes who wore that polo shirt that sort of looked like a burger king uniform? And Simon called him a bushbaby and everyone got all upset about how he was a big arsehole and then Rosie O’Donnell took the kid and his portly friend on a cruise to cheer them up. Or maybe it wasn’t Rosie. I don’t know it was something like that. Well they became these big celebrities just because someone was a jerk to them, just like that William Hung fellow is something of a pop culture icon for making a she-banging mess of himself. But really, this is what American Idol is all about, isn’t it? Celebrating America’s losers. Like, who really cares about Season 2 winner Ruben Studdard? Or the asexual Taylor Hicks?
That said, I’m not so sure the losers are really making the best name for themselves, judging by the artwork of their post- AI albums. Perhaps they don’t realize they are walking very thin ice here, that there is a new set of hopeful losers ready to take the stage next season.
To wit, this guy:
Blake Lewis. Or, "that beat boxing guy with the highlights." He was last year's runner up to Jordin Sparks. What the heck is going on here? This head to the front/head to the side double exposure is reminiscent of those Sears portraits in the 80s...you know where it was like one picture for real, and then in the top right hand corner of the page was a fuzzy edge, tiny version of that person, looking sort of off to the side. That's what we have here, with Blake standing infront of the default desktop background of Mac OS X Leopard.
When I first saw this album cover, I thought it had to be some kind of joke. It reminds me of something you'd see in a comedy movie epilogue that revisits the lead characters 5 years down the road, revealing that little Blake Lewis quit his job at Pac Sun to release an album of dance hits. The audience all says "haha, what a tool!" Roll credits. Everyone goes home happy. In fact, perhaps what I recall here is BBC's The Office Christmas Special, when Ricky Gervais's David Brent confesses he released a single.
Moving on, does anyone remember Corey Clark? He was that contestant who allegedly had an affair with Paula Abdul, and then randomly brought it up to the media like 3 years later. Anyway, he made an album:
I think I was shopping at Hollywood and Highland the day Corey had his buddy/manager T-Dawg borrow his niece's digital camera to snap his album cover shots. I was standing there with my Auntie Anne's pretzel and he was all, "Yo T, get one over here by the Kodak theatre. No wait!" He then grabbed a fedora off of one of those kiosks that sets up in mall hallways to sell hats. "Ok ok, ready."
And now, Constantine:
Do you remember this guy? No, me neither. But I think homeboy needs to pick either that name or that look. He can't have both. Two negatives make a positive, or something. Anyway, I just want to laugh in his face.
This is getting tiresome, so I'll just do one more.
Chris Daughtry, who the devil do you think you are? I mean really. It takes balls to name your band after yourself, and I realize than Van Halen and Bon Jovi were also nobodies when they started their bands, but I bet they were at least cool. And you, Mr. Daughtry --Oh, whats that? Just Daughtry. Fine-- And you, Daughtry are not cool at all. Your band should be called Douchey. You make Nickelback tolerable. You shave your head but not your face.
If you look in the background of this cover, behind Douchey's denim ensemble, you'll see a few sad looking blurs. Ghosts? Fans? (yeah right.) Oh, wait, isn't Daughtry supposed to be a whole band or something? Where are your band mates?
OH THERE they are. On the back cover. Nice move. Look at them, they are trying so hard not to look hurt by this.
Anyway, next season starts January 15th. I can't wait.