Tag Archives: guitar

Winter Olympics Closing Ceremony Features Neil Young, Michael Buble

Posted on February 28, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| Leave a comment

Canadian actors Michael J. Fox, William Shatner and Catherine O’Hara also represent their country during finale. By Eric Ditzian Michael J. Fox speaks during the 2010 Winter Olympics Photo: Adrian Dennis/ AFP With Olympic revelers still amped up following Canada’s epic overtime win over the United States in the gold-medal hockey finale, the 2010 Winter Games came to an end in Vancouver on Sunday (February 28) during a music-filled closing ceremony. Though many athletes had long since left Olympic village, American gold medalists like skier Lindsay Vonn and figure skater Evan Lysacek stuck around till the very end. The evening featured performances from Neil Young, Michael Bubl

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All The "Sad" Young Aspiring Media Careers: The Kids Are Apparently Just Fine [Youngfolks]

Posted on February 27, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| Leave a comment

Since this is my last weekend on the site until I return, begging for a job as James Del’s assistant, I’ve invited some friends to jam with me. Joe Coscarelli is a young writer with Things To Say. Joe? “These English majors wanna be some super genius novelists/ They end up music journalists/ chicks ain’t that into it,” noted Craig Finn in 1990, as the lead singer of Lifter Puller. Finn went on to front The Hold Steady; music journalists went on to write listicles. I was a child. “Touch My Stuff,” indeed. (Here, I hoped to link to a YouTube video of the song, as blogs do. As it turns out, the only version of it that exists is an acoustic cover by a round boy in a small dorm room. This means something.) No one is listening. But this version is easier to understand. Finn’s sentiment sounds outdated now in a post-David Foster Wallace era. Or at least an era in which nobody sincerely cares about Chuck Klosterman anymore. Aspiring novelists are archaic. I know this because in four years of higher education, no one ever offered to show me a manuscript, but I’ve seen more blogs than bongs. The bearded, bespectacled Pavement fans Finn was singing about are unemployed or out of touch. Or dead. No one in their early twenties wants to be a music journalist —that would be absurd. These English majors want to be some super genius bloggers. They end up unpaid interns. Aspiring to write on the internet is like aspiring to shred on Guitar Hero . The best part of both is wearing your pajamas. The worst part is the tense shoulders. This past week, online, kids like me made a push for employment. It was sad, sloppy and sweet. It was transparent, but necessary, and tangentially related to the New Niceness we heard so much about. Hamilton Nolan wrote eloquently of the media via the internet and its “currency of ‘friends,'” and he spoke of the days when “feisty young upstarts believed they could circumvent the existing calcified media power structure via the amazing unfettered internet.” My friends and I aren’t that feisty. Pebbles are easier to throw at thrones than rocks because you can grab a whole handful and they fit in 140 characters. Plus, we wouldn’t want to jeopardize any job prospect, however slight. Today, it’s kissing ass. Observe: A senior at Columbia edits a semi-popular blog; it doesn’t pay. Said senior writes a profile for The Awl ; it doesn’t pay, but it gets more comments. The piece is an employment-oriented personal ad for a talented, eager and obsessive Midwesterner, but a reader calls it a “wet kiss (with tongue) to Gawker.” The subject is seeking full-time employment from The Empire, the one you’re reading, or a similar entity. Possibly the author is too? It was suggested. Everyone involved is a total sweetheart. They need to pay their rent and they don’t have a manuscript. Elsewhere, but really in the same place, a blogger-turned-journalist blogs advice to Millenials with misguided dreams of working in media . She was vexed, you see, with a boy who graduated from an Ivy “expecting to easily find work at a magazine.” Turns out, he works for this website, too, if you can call it work, as he doesn’t receive any compensation. He is frustrated and he is frustrating: he should “forget about the ‘media internships’ and ‘high-end retail’ jobs and do something else, where he will actually make some money and gain some life experience, and that does not include starting a Tumblr.” Get off my internets! Do something. Here is what we are doing: We ‘follow’ writers we like, in multiple senses, in hopes of them, for some reason, following back. We link to posts they write, often. We tend to the shaft. We disagree with them, respectfully, in hopes of a counter-argument. In hopes of being discovered. We work for free. We blog when they instant message us, asking about our internships. We compliment how cute their kids are. We ‘like’ them, we really ‘like’ them. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, nor his followers count. Replies are encouraging; @’s are encouraging. It is all about ego and misplaced hero worship and low expectations. And it doesn’t come with a paycheck. But it is relatively easy, and the risks are not great, assuming your parents will subsidize your rent, or the hours at your shitty day job aren’t too bad, plus the pay is pretty good. And at that internship, your boss keeps promising he’s figuring out a way to pay you soon. Maybe by the time you graduate, there will be money in the budget for a real assistant’s position, says your boss at that other internship. And in the meantime it’s the bylines and the comments and sometimes the parties. David Carr retweeted you that one time and that was pretty heartening. “It ain’t just a money thing/ It’s a question of community,” Finn sang. “The liberty, the ecstasy, the love, the drugs, the unity.” Like the internet, really. It’s pathetic when we do this to ourselves and whether it even works remains unseen. But is this even what we really want? The ones who came before us insist it’s not, and they drink a lot . [ Ed. They also do way too much blow for people their age. Truth. ] But on some minuscule level that’s like an actor rejecting fame. If I would’ve known it was going to be like this… The aspiring media kids know what I mean. To the rest of you, I want you to know that this generation isn’t doomed yet. We’re not all like this, I promise. The entitled Ivy Leaguers giving nauseating quotes to Newsweek just need something to do while their girlfriends are at med school. Plenty of my peers are doing really well on the LSAT and at investment banks, continuing in the proud tradition of fucking this country somewhere very uncomfortable. They’re just not broadcasting it, or they’re only on Facebook. They will hold down respectable jobs and make their parents proud. They will make the money and we’ll marry them. Whenever you need a break from this, stop fucking reading Gawker. Close the tab and go outside. Get off your Tumblr. Do something . Which is all to say: tomorrow I’m going to start my novel. Joe Coscarelli used to slave under the well-regarded penis of Dan “Slim Shady” Abrams as the Weekend Editor at Mediaite before being like “peace I’m out this bitch.” I also hired him to do stuff at BlackBook once. I never really edited him. I didn’t here. You can go ahead and re-tweet him, but neither one of us gives a shit. He knows you might think this is meta. It isn’t.

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All The "Sad" Young Aspiring Media Careers: The Kids Are Apparently Just Fine [Youngfolks]

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All The "Sad" Young Aspiring Media Careers: The Kids Are Apparently Just Fine [Youngfolks]

Posted on February 27, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| Leave a comment

Since this is my last weekend on the site until I return, begging for a job as James Del’s assistant, I’ve invited some friends to jam with me. Joe Coscarelli is a young writer with Things To Say. Joe? “These English majors wanna be some super genius novelists/ They end up music journalists/ chicks ain’t that into it,” noted Craig Finn in 1990, as the lead singer of Lifter Puller. Finn went on to front The Hold Steady; music journalists went on to write listicles. I was a child. “Touch My Stuff,” indeed. (Here, I hoped to link to a YouTube video of the song, as blogs do. As it turns out, the only version of it that exists is an acoustic cover by a round boy in a small dorm room. This means something.) No one is listening. But this version is easier to understand. Finn’s sentiment sounds outdated now in a post-David Foster Wallace era. Or at least an era in which nobody sincerely cares about Chuck Klosterman anymore. Aspiring novelists are archaic. I know this because in four years of higher education, no one ever offered to show me a manuscript, but I’ve seen more blogs than bongs. The bearded, bespectacled Pavement fans Finn was singing about are unemployed or out of touch. Or dead. No one in their early twenties wants to be a music journalist —that would be absurd. These English majors want to be some super genius bloggers. They end up unpaid interns. Aspiring to write on the internet is like aspiring to shred on Guitar Hero . The best part of both is wearing your pajamas. The worst part is the tense shoulders. This past week, online, kids like me made a push for employment. It was sad, sloppy and sweet. It was transparent, but necessary, and tangentially related to the New Niceness we heard so much about. Hamilton Nolan wrote eloquently of the media via the internet and its “currency of ‘friends,'” and he spoke of the days when “feisty young upstarts believed they could circumvent the existing calcified media power structure via the amazing unfettered internet.” My friends and I aren’t that feisty. Pebbles are easier to throw at thrones than rocks because you can grab a whole handful and they fit in 140 characters. Plus, we wouldn’t want to jeopardize any job prospect, however slight. Today, it’s kissing ass. Observe: A senior at Columbia edits a semi-popular blog; it doesn’t pay. Said senior writes a profile for The Awl ; it doesn’t pay, but it gets more comments. The piece is an employment-oriented personal ad for a talented, eager and obsessive Midwesterner, but a reader calls it a “wet kiss (with tongue) to Gawker.” The subject is seeking full-time employment from The Empire, the one you’re reading, or a similar entity. Possibly the author is too? It was suggested. Everyone involved is a total sweetheart. They need to pay their rent and they don’t have a manuscript. Elsewhere, but really in the same place, a blogger-turned-journalist blogs advice to Millenials with misguided dreams of working in media . She was vexed, you see, with a boy who graduated from an Ivy “expecting to easily find work at a magazine.” Turns out, he works for this website, too, if you can call it work, as he doesn’t receive any compensation. He is frustrated and he is frustrating: he should “forget about the ‘media internships’ and ‘high-end retail’ jobs and do something else, where he will actually make some money and gain some life experience, and that does not include starting a Tumblr.” Get off my internets! Do something. Here is what we are doing: We ‘follow’ writers we like, in multiple senses, in hopes of them, for some reason, following back. We link to posts they write, often. We tend to the shaft. We disagree with them, respectfully, in hopes of a counter-argument. In hopes of being discovered. We work for free. We blog when they instant message us, asking about our internships. We compliment how cute their kids are. We ‘like’ them, we really ‘like’ them. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, nor his followers count. Replies are encouraging; @’s are encouraging. It is all about ego and misplaced hero worship and low expectations. And it doesn’t come with a paycheck. But it is relatively easy, and the risks are not great, assuming your parents will subsidize your rent, or the hours at your shitty day job aren’t too bad, plus the pay is pretty good. And at that internship, your boss keeps promising he’s figuring out a way to pay you soon. Maybe by the time you graduate, there will be money in the budget for a real assistant’s position, says your boss at that other internship. And in the meantime it’s the bylines and the comments and sometimes the parties. David Carr retweeted you that one time and that was pretty heartening. “It ain’t just a money thing/ It’s a question of community,” Finn sang. “The liberty, the ecstasy, the love, the drugs, the unity.” Like the internet, really. It’s pathetic when we do this to ourselves and whether it even works remains unseen. But is this even what we really want? The ones who came before us insist it’s not, and they drink a lot . [ Ed. They also do way too much blow for people their age. Truth. ] But on some minuscule level that’s like an actor rejecting fame. If I would’ve known it was going to be like this… The aspiring media kids know what I mean. To the rest of you, I want you to know that this generation isn’t doomed yet. We’re not all like this, I promise. The entitled Ivy Leaguers giving nauseating quotes to Newsweek just need something to do while their girlfriends are at med school. Plenty of my peers are doing really well on the LSAT and at investment banks, continuing in the proud tradition of fucking this country somewhere very uncomfortable. They’re just not broadcasting it, or they’re only on Facebook. They will hold down respectable jobs and make their parents proud. They will make the money and we’ll marry them. Whenever you need a break from this, stop fucking reading Gawker. Close the tab and go outside. Get off your Tumblr. Do something . Which is all to say: tomorrow I’m going to start my novel. Joe Coscarelli used to slave under the well-regarded penis of Dan “Slim Shady” Abrams as the Weekend Editor at Mediaite before being like “peace I’m out this bitch.” I also hired him to do stuff at BlackBook once. I never really edited him. I didn’t here. You can go ahead and re-tweet him, but neither one of us gives a shit. He knows you might think this is meta. It isn’t.

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All The "Sad" Young Aspiring Media Careers: The Kids Are Apparently Just Fine [Youngfolks]

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All The Sad Young Aspiring Media Careers: The Kids Are Apparently Alright [Youngfolks]

Posted on February 27, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| Leave a comment

Since this is my last weekend on the site until I return, begging for a job as James Del’s assistant, I’ve invited some friends to play with me. Joe Coscarelli is a young NYU writer with Things To Say. Joe? “These English majors wanna be some super genius novelists/ They end up music journalists/ chicks ain’t that into it,” noted Craig Finn in 1990, as the lead singer of Lifter Puller. Finn went on to front The Hold Steady; music journalists went on to write listicles. I was a child. “Touch My Stuff,” indeed. (Here, I hoped to link to a YouTube video of the song, as blogs do. As it turns out, the only version of it that exists is an acoustic cover by a round boy in a small dorm room. This means something.) No one is listening. But this version is easier to understand. Finn’s sentiment sounds outdated now in a post-David Foster Wallace era. Or at least an era in which nobody sincerely cares about Chuck Klosterman anymore. Aspiring novelists are archaic. I know this because in four years of higher education, no one ever offered to show me a manuscript, but I’ve seen more blogs than bongs. The bearded, bespectacled Pavement fans Finn was singing about are unemployed or out of touch. Or dead. No one in their early twenties wants to be a music journalist —that would be absurd. These English majors want to be some super genius bloggers. They end up unpaid interns. Aspiring to write on the internet is like aspiring to shred on Guitar Hero . The best part of both is wearing your pajamas. The worst part is the tense shoulders. This past week, online, kids like me made a push for employment. It was sad, sloppy and sweet. It was transparent, but necessary, and tangentially related to the New Niceness we heard so much about. Hamilton Nolan wrote eloquently of the media via the internet and its “currency of ‘friends,'” and he spoke of the days when “feisty young upstarts believed they could circumvent the existing calcified media power structure via the amazing unfettered internet.” My friends and I aren’t that feisty. Pebbles are easier to throw at thrones than rocks because you can grab a whole handful and they fit in 140 characters. Plus, we wouldn’t want to jeopardize any job prospect, however slight. Today, it’s kissing ass. Observe: A senior at Columbia edits a semi-popular blog; it doesn’t pay. Said senior writes a profile for The Awl ; it doesn’t pay, but it gets more comments. The piece is an employment-oriented personal ad for a talented, eager and obsessive Midwesterner, but a reader calls it a “wet kiss (with tongue) to Gawker.” The subject is seeking full-time employment from The Empire, the one you’re reading, or a similar entity. Possibly the author is too? It was suggested. Everyone involved is a total sweetheart. They need to pay their rent and they don’t have a manuscript. Elsewhere, but really in the same place, a blogger-turned-journalist blogs advice to Millenials with misguided dreams of working in media . She was vexed, you see, with a boy who graduated from an Ivy “expecting to easily find work at a magazine.” Turns out, he works for this website, too, if you can call it work, as he doesn’t receive any compensation. He is frustrated and he is frustrating: he should “forget about the ‘media internships’ and ‘high-end retail’ jobs and do something else, where he will actually make some money and gain some life experience, and that does not include starting a Tumblr.” Get off my internets! Do something. Here is what we are doing: We ‘follow’ writers we like, in multiple senses, in hopes of them, for some reason, following back. We link to posts they write, often. We tend to the shaft. We disagree with them, respectfully, in hopes of a counter-argument. In hopes of being discovered. We work for free. We blog when they instant message us, asking about our internships. We compliment how cute their kids are. We ‘like’ them, we really ‘like’ them. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, nor his followers count. Replies are encouraging; @’s are encouraging. It is all about ego and misplaced hero worship and low expectations. And it doesn’t come with a paycheck. But it is relatively easy, and the risks are not great, assuming your parents will subsidize your rent, or the hours at your shitty day job aren’t too bad, plus the pay is pretty good. And at that internship, your boss keeps promising he’s figuring out a way to pay you soon. Maybe by the time you graduate, there will be money in the budget for a real assistant’s position, says your boss at that other internship. And in the meantime it’s the bylines and the comments and sometimes the parties. David Carr retweeted you that one time and that was pretty heartening. “It ain’t just a money thing/ It’s a question of community,” Finn sang. “The liberty, the ecstasy, the love, the drugs, the unity.” Like the internet, really. It’s pathetic when we do this to ourselves and whether it even works remains unseen. But is this even what we really want? The ones who came before us insist it’s not, and they drink a lot . [ Ed. They also do way too much blow for people their age. Truth. ] But on some minuscule level that’s like an actor rejecting fame. If I would’ve known it was going to be like this… The aspiring media kids know what I mean. To the rest of you, I want you to know that this generation isn’t doomed yet. We’re not all like this, I promise. The entitled Ivy Leaguers giving nauseating quotes to Newsweek just need something to do while their girlfriends are at med school. Plenty of my peers are doing really well on the LSAT and at investment banks, continuing in the proud tradition of fucking this country somewhere very uncomfortable. They’re just not broadcasting it, or they’re only on Facebook. They will hold down respectable jobs and make their parents proud. They will make the money and we’ll marry them. Whenever you need a break from this, stop fucking reading Gawker. Close the tab and go outside. Get off your Tumblr. Do something . Which is all to say: tomorrow I’m going to start my novel. Joe Coscarelli used to slave under the well-regarded penis of Dan “Slim Shady” Abrams as the Weekend Editor at Mediaite before being like “peace I’m out this bitch.” I also hired him to do stuff at BlackBook once. You can go ahead and re-tweet him, but neither one of us give a shit. He knows you might think this is meta. It isn’t. [ With apologies to Keith Gessen. ]

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All The Sad Young Aspiring Media Careers: The Kids Are Apparently Alright [Youngfolks]

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‘American Idol’ Castoff Janell Wheeler Is ‘Nashville-Bound’

Posted on February 26, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| Leave a comment

‘I definitely heard a lot of us having pitch problems,’ she says of rocky first week. By Katie Byrne Janell Wheeler on Wednesday’s “American Idol” Photo: Fox Janell Wheeler had a standout moment during Hollywood Week when she sang a stripped-down version of Estelle’s “American Boy” and played her acoustic guitar. Unfortunately, she left the guitar at home for her performance of Heart’s “What About Love,” getting the boot Thursday night along with Tyler Grady , Ashley Rodriguez and Joe Mu

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‘American Idol’ Top 12 Men Have A Rocky Live Debut

Posted on February 24, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| Leave a comment

Casey James emerges as one of only standouts during the boys’ first performance night. By Gil Kaufman Casey James on “American Idol” Wednesday Photo: Fox After a number of uneven, forgettable performances by the top 12 ladies Tuesday night, it was starting to feel like Simon Cowell’s prediction that a female would win this year’s “American Idol” was a bit premature. And then the men took the stage Wednesday night (February 24), and for most of the two hours, well, they seemed determined to prove Simon right. From poor song choices to shaky vocals and clear nerves, one by one, the guys got hammered by the judges, with even front-runner Andrew Garcia drawing some fire for his somber Fall Out Boy cover as pinup cowboy Casey James appeared to slip into the pole position with his mix of good looks and strong vocals. First out of the gate was Todrick Hall, one of the most experienced singers in the competition. He took a big chance singing a Chris Brown-y funk take on original “Idol” winner Kelly Clarkson’s breakthrough hit “Since U Been Gone.” He satisfied the judge’s desire to hear something original, and Ellen DeGeneres was visibly pleased, applauding Hall’s stage moves but saying the chorus was a bit of a mess. Randy Jackson actually didn’t love how the arrangement was so different that he almost couldn’t recognize it, and Cowell said Hall came over “as a dancer trying to sing,” docking him for completely “murdering” the song. One of this year’s youngest contestants, spiky-haired 16-year-old Aaron Kelly tackled Rascal Flatts’ “Here Comes Goodbye,” showing remarkable poise and self-confidence as he wrapped his raspy voice around the schmaltzy cowboy ballad. “Bearing in mind it’s your first live show, it actually was quite a good performance,” said Cowell, who suggested that the high-schooler looked a bit embarrassed to be onstage and not confident that he deserved to be in the competition. “You’re a good singer, very likable, very cute, but you have to take control of the song,” he added. Church singer Jermaine Sellers, 27, who almost blew it in Hollywood when he threw the band under the bus, went the inspirational route with Oleta Adams’ version of the gospel tune “Get Here,” busting out some powerful falsetto amid breathy verses. Ellen liked the song choice but said Sellers seemed to be trying too hard, and Randy suggested he go more contemporary with his big voice and try a tune by Ne-Yo or Maxwell instead. Simon likened it to a corny piano-bar song and said the middle section sounded like screaming. “I think you’ve totally blown your opportunity,” he concluded. Tim Urban, 20, revealed that he didn’t even tell his family that he’d made the top 24 after initially missing the cut and then sliding into the 24 spot when Chris Golightly was disqualified , letting them find out only when they watched the final Hollywood Week episode. The floppy-haired Texan went contemporary with OneRepublic’s “Apologize,” strangely staring into the camera and displaying his limited vocal range when he reached too far for the falsetto notes on the chorus and went oddly aggressive on the verses. Cowell congratulated him for coming back. “Having said that, we absolutely made the right decision the first time around by not putting you through with that performance,” he said, calling the performance and vocals weak and Urban’s voice just not good enough. For Randy, none of it worked, and Ellen agreed, saying the high notes were just not there, though people might vote for him because he’s adorable, which she mentioned more than once. One of the least-known semifinalists, California’s Joe Mu

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‘American Idol’ Top 12 Men: How Do They Stack Up?

Posted on February 24, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| Leave a comment

Andrew Garcia is an early front-runner, while Joe Mu

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Lilly Scott’s ‘Fixing A Hole’: The Story Behind The Cover

Posted on February 23, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| 1 Comment

‘American Idol’ contestant makes a song by the world’s most famous band her own. By Larry Carroll Lilly Scott on ‘American Idol’ Tuesday Photo: Fox She’s not Eleanor Rigby, she’s not Maxwell with his silver hammer and she certainly isn’t Sgt. Pepper. But on tonight’s “American Idol,” final 24 contestant Lilly Scott took center stage with a unique spin on another classic song by the world’s greatest rock band and judges were unable to find any holes in her performance. Scott — or, as Ryan Seacrest describes her, “the pride of Denver” — covered “Fixing a Hole” by the Beatles, one of the lesser-known classics off their 1967 Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, a record largely considered to be among the greatest albums ever made. To many, stepping into the shoes of Lennon and McCartney would be a daunting task. But Scott took center stage with nothing but a guitar, green dress and Anna Faris-like haircut and made it her own. “That’s what we’re talking about!” Ellen DeGeneres praised her after the performance. “You have such a unique voice!” Kara DioGuardi agreed, saying, “You’re unbelievable. Everyone is gonna remember you tonight.” Even difficult Simon Cowell had a hard time finding fault, calling her moment in the spotlight among “the best we’ve had so far. You sang this song because it portrayed you as an artist.” Written by Paul McCartney, “Hole” was the fifth song on the Beatles’ groundbreaking concept album. Over the years, its use of words like “hole” and “fix” — and its psychedelic vibe — have led many to believe it is about heroin injection. Other theories include everything from it being about holes in the road to holes in the roof of the Scottish farmhouse McCartney owned at the time. The rock legend did admit in a 1967 that the lyric “See the people standing there/ Who disagree, and never win/ And wonder why they don’t get in my door” was a reference to the fans who hung around the front door of his home in those days. As for 20-year-old Scott from Littleton, Colorado, she auditioned in Denver after a period spent performing locally with a band called Varlet and time spent as a street musician. Citing her main influences as indie and classic rock, she began her path to “Idol” when she sang the national anthem at Mile High Stadium at only 5 years old. Get your “Idol” fix on MTV News’ “American Idol” page , where you’ll find all the latest news, interviews and opinions. Related Artists The Beatles

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Lilly Scott’s ‘Fixing A Hole’: The Story Behind The Cover

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‘American Idol’ Top 12 Females Take Stage For First Performance Night

Posted on February 23, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| Leave a comment

Underdogs Paige Miles, Lilly Scott and Katelyn Epperly shine during new judge Ellen DeGeneres’ first official show. By Gil Kaufman Paige Miles on ‘American Idol’ Tuesday Photo: Fox After endless weeks of prep, “American Idol” finally went live Tuesday (February 23), offering fans of the show the first look at the top 12 female performers as well as new judge Ellen DeGeneres, who quickly established that she will be offering up plenty of good advice mixed with comedy chops and support. DeGeneres, who uncharacteristically seemed nervous at times, set the tone early, setting up a video gag explaining why she was on the opposite end of the judge’s table from Simon Cowell, explaining that he “wants” her via a doctored clip in which he appeared to be feeling her leg under the table during Hollywood week. And then it was on to the real business of the night as preschool teacher Paige Miles, 24, went first, growling her way through a peppy, gritty cover of Free’s classic rock staple “All Right Now.” “I think out of all the girls you have the best voice,” Cowell said, before blasting her for the poor choice of what he called a cheap wedding-singer tune. Kara DioGuardi loved the soulful take on the rock song, also praising her chops. One of the season’s early audience favorites, 22-year-old student Ashley Rodriguez, took on Leona Lewis’ “Happy,” offering up a breathy, dramatic and sometimes off-key version of the song by one of Cowell’s prot

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American Idol: Those of Us About to Die Salute You

Posted on February 17, 2010 by Benny Hollywood| Leave a comment

You know what’s so nice about American Idol ? It really respects our time. As a thank you to its loyal viewers, the show has gotten so efficient! Like, last night’s broadcast was two hours, and we learned seven whole things. Yes, seven things! Last night was the episode where everyone gets put in Rooms of Shame or Ecstasy and has to nervously wait for the four judges to come in and pretend to be sad. All the desperate singtestants are forced to sit on the floor, because they are not worthy of chairs, and then Kara comes in and does her best approximation of human facial expressions and tells them that their dreams are either over or going to be over very, very soon. When I came trudging home in the ice from a friend’s house, where I was watching Lorst and eating far too many Triscuits, I sat down to watch Idol and my lover, D.V. Arr, told me that there were two whole hours to watch before I could go to bed and let visions of sugarplum Weirs skate through my head. TWO HOURS. During the second week of Hollywood Week. So, I kind of expected a lot to happen, because I am too trusting and give away my heart too quickly. But, of course, Idol spent most of the time dicking around with needless recaps of last week and lots of Ryan talking about pressure cookers and corkers and all other manner of terms for stressful things. And in the end, we learned the identities of only seven of our 24 semifinalists. In two hours. Again, TWO HOURS. Seven people. Oh, sure, we found out about some losers too. The girl with the damaged nerves in her face? Better luck next time. Simon muttered that it was the wrong decision, and she seemed pretty good in the singing clips they showed, so that’s too bad. Maybe next year. Though why these people keep coming back after being shamed, I do not know. The heart wants what it wants, I suppose. Um… who else didn’t get in? Oh, yeah, the crazy girl in the video above. She was on last season and was wearing just normal clothes, a simple button-down and dungarees, at her audition and she seemed nice and humble. She seemed normal enough during this go-around too, staying nerdily in the background mostly, but when she was told that it was the end of the line? Plain Jane went nertz. She kept talking about how they had “no idea” what she could do. None whatsoever! It’s not as if she’d just spent a week singing for them and had done similarly a year prior. No, the judges had absolutely no idea. See, she’d lost her voice during group day, so that’s what it was. Her group totally f’ed her over by reaching their gnarled talons down her throat and stealing her voice, or something like that. Guys, you have no idea. No one has any idea. She has no idea what she can do. No idea. Not a clue. I figure now she must be done with the show for good. I mean, can you really get into an awkward, sad yelling fit in front of Ellen DeGeneres and expect to have a good shot at the majors next season? I mean, sure, maybe you can. It’s this show, after all. If you beat Charlie Rose at jai alai one time, you cannot expect to ever be a guest on his show ever again. If you throw Bonnie Hunt down a flight of stairs while taping an interview, that’s pretty much it. Same goes for hurling a Brother sewing machine at Tim Gunn’s head. But on Idol ? Oh, you can just about do whatever you want and they’ll take you back, mostly because you are crazy and interesting. Hey why not just up and stab Randy Jackson. He’ll stand there chuckling, McDonald’s parfait dribbling out of the wound, and say “Ha ha dawg, come back next year.” So maybe the Nutty Nerd will be back. I suppose we’ll just have to watch next year to find out. (None of us are watching next year, right?) So who went through. Well, Michael Clarke Duncan from The Green Mile did, so good for him and his new beebee. Also good for some girl with curly blonde hair who will be smirked at with condescending horniness by Simon all season and will eventually do a sad segue into country music. She’s basically Kelli Pickler, and Simon hopes to pickle her. We should all be very proud of your cousin Ricky, you know Aunt Cheryl’s kid from upstate, who landed in the top 24 even though we’d never seen him before. Mostly he seemed like an awkward cross between Danny Gokey, Kris Allen, and a beetle. Same vaguely beardy puffy face features as Gokey, same easy-breezy troubadour stylings of Kris, same buggy skitteriness of the things that go scattering when you overturn a big rock. He seemed arrogant about his chances, but then in the sit-down they all said that he didn’t seem confident, so who knows what the hell was up. The few singing clips we saw didn’t really seem all that impressive, but I trust the judging and producing staff that gave the world Kevin Covais to only advance the best. Speaking of Covais, yet another squirrely ‘n nerdy young man has been offered up to America. I forget his name, but he’s the one that sang “The Climb” at his initial audition. Do you know what “The Climb” is? It is a song by Milly Sirrus, and it was featured in her movie about Hannah Montana called The Hannah Montana Movie. In that movie, which is about Hannah Montana, Milly goes to a farm with her mom Billy Ray, played by the redoubtable Billie Jean King, and learns important lessons about being nice to old ladies and how to find hay-blonde farmboys attractive (this is a very hard thing to do!). Anyway, Hanna Montana sings this song at the end, to prove that she’s learned so many lessons and come so far, and everyone cheers. (GUYS, I SAW THIS MOVIE.) So then a teenage boy went on a nationally-watched reality show and sang that song. Ha. Heh heh heh. Anyway, the kid is like twelve years old and I’m sure some swirly-girlies will eat that shit up (“He’s so sensitive and stares at Ryan Seacrest almost as much as we do!!”). Unless those other teendreams, Shaggy and More Shaggy, get through. Then old Morty Cyrus over here is screwed. Angela Martin, who I like and feel bad for , got through the Torment of Rooms, but we do not know her fate beyond that. Hopefully she will make it. That Raspy girl from last week who was all annoying and bossy was in the room that they doused with gasoline and lit ablaze, Kara wedging a chair under the door handle to keep everyone in. Too bad for her. I think she is 29, so that’s the end of the line for her. Good thing all that bitching paid off! That blonde girl who is basically Brooke White made it through, so good for her. Still no word on the fate of Yellow Teef, but dear god we saw her again, and her teef aren’t even yellow. They are a russet potato brown. I feel like she’s been drinking chicory or root juice or something. Is she Inman from Cold Mountain ? I think she is Inman from Cold Mountain . Ellen is her Ada. Which makes Randy the guy Ethan Suplee played in the movie and Simon is Kathy Baker. That works. But whatever, she’s a really good sanger and if she makes it through, hopefully someone will take her aside and tell her about teef bleaching. It’s a fixable problem! You know who’s a funny story? That Shirtless Guy. You know, the one who Kara made strip at the audition? We all thought he was some dumb oaf-faced gimmick. But he’s not! He’s actually got singerly chops and now he’s in the voting pool and I’m sure the ladies will vote for him alllll nite longgggg. And by “ladies” I mean Ryan Seacrest in a wig, guzzling Cavit pino grigio straight from the bottle, weeping and clutching his phone and saying “Iloveyou, Iloveyou, I loveyou…” in shuddering, wet spurts over and over again. “What’d you do last night,” a staffer will ask him the next morning. “Not much, nothing, turned in early,” he’ll reply with practiced nonchalance. The staffer will frown in a pitying, concerned way. They’ll lower their voice and say “Ryan, honey, you’re still wearing your voting wig.” Did any of your favorites make it through? Does anyone have any favorites? Egghead Latino, who will get verrrryyyyy far, has not been asked to come to America’s loneliest prom yet, but he will be tonight. You can take that to the bank. Oh, and, while you’re at it, do you use TD Bank? Great, take this sack of loose change to that that coin machine and bring me back the cash. And by “sack of loose change” I mean Kara. There’s not much else to say. For two hours of Entertainment, that’s all there was to talk about. Some tears, some cheers, some warm lonely beers, Ryan sitting on the roof, staring out at the goofy LA smog. He takes a pull and swallows it heavily, letting out a weary sigh-burp. “Oh Kevin,” he says quietly. “Kevin Covais.” A thick breeze sweeps up and turns his tie into a windsock, makes his unblinking eyes water. And he feels terribly sad, and terribly small. But then he hears a noise behind him, he turns, and it is Shirtless Guy, brandishing his guitar, humming something warm and familiar. Traffic roars, buildings breathe and bend. Ryan stares at Shirtless Guy and reaches his hand into his jacket pocket. He feels the synthetic honey-blonde curls of the voting wig. “Soon my friend,” his whispers. “Soon.” But not soon enough.

Excerpt from:
American Idol: Those of Us About to Die Salute You

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