One late night, many, many moons ago, I found myself driving in the middle of Kansas. It was dark and late and the road in front of me was straight and flat as an arrow thus making dozing a distinct possibility. Being out in the middle of absolutely no-where, a place even god wouldn’t visit (assuming he or she or they could find it), I was left with the distinct possibility of slumbering right on off the road. After much fiddling with the radio, I was finally able to get a signal from some podunk little radio station whose specific mission seemed to be to keep the truckers and such awake throughout the night. Lawd, the music that blasted and bumped from my rental speakers was not something I could easily describe. It was a mish-mash of genre’s and artists not easily found on your top 10 radio station. While I would never wish that musical disaster on anyone, I will say that it got me across that long ribbon of road to an airport where I was able to escape back to the sanity of my little home high in the hills of Hollywood.
I’m sure by now you are wondering what the hell my little trip through the wilderness has anything to do with the fiasco that was last night. Well, as I listened to that radio station way out in the middle of a corn field, a little ditty came a blastin over those rental speakers. What were those words that so resembled last night’s show?
It’s all about the money
It’s all about the dum dum dee duh dum dum
I don’t think it’s funny…
As Meja belted out those words to a quasi-European beat totally incongruent to my location in the middle of fields of corn and ribbons of road, it never dawned on me that many, many moons later I would finally be able to make sense of that song that often drives it’s self right through the middle of my head at the most inopportune times.
Last evening we were assailed by many images that were truly vulgar. Voices that belched, burbled and hiccuped their way through the destroying of classics. Judges bored by the process (even the new one). One host who rather limply tried to prop up his heterosexuality with a impotent make out session with bikini girl (who, by the way couldn’t sing her way out of a trash bag and will quickly and easily be bounced out of Hollywood week). The biggest vulgarity of the night? A damn commercial every other audition. For real! If all the commercials had been removed from last night’s show, it wouldn’t have lasted longer than 40 minutes. It was truly “a night of a thousand” commercials. And they weren’t even stars!
Going forward, we will be TiVo’ing the show and skip through the damn commercials! While money may make the world go round, it will be the death of this already bloated show.
And, was it just me, or did we fail to see anyone who stood out and would blow our socks off? No we didn’t! I’ve still got a headache from that caterwauling.
Idol Chatter 