The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Alas, a run on American Idol is cut short this night. My dear Danny Noriega was cast aside in favor of KaCheezie, who will no doubt crack under the pressure of the atmosphere in the Kodak Theater.
Why, America? Why?
I've watched American Idol since the very beginning. It was a perfect meeting of my malaize with summer reruns and a brilliant upstart little talent contest that was horrifying to watch. But watch I did. I watched it with curiousity, then with ironic disdain, and then with acceptance. All the while waiting for some magic to happen.
And it did. Kelly Clarkson sang "Respect," Justine G sang "Get Here," Clay Aiken sang "Bridge over Troubled Water," some other people sang some stuff, Blake sang "You Give Love A Bad Name." This little joke of a show ended up being the place to see people blossom and mature and to see others crash and burn.
But I sat down to watch this season with grimness. Am I really up for this again? I didn't know, but I slogged through the auditions, watching people sing whom I'd probably never see again. It was not the time to get invested. And then Danny walked in. He sashayed through that door and did the best drag queen act I'd ever seen since the last time I watched the Disney Channel (I'm talking to you, Ms. Montana, if that really is your name).
Oh, brother, here we go, I thought. And then he sang. Whoa. He suddenly became the one to watch. But he drifted away in the fog that surrounds the swamp that is "the auditions." When he came back in Hollywood, I was glad to see him make it through. He's funny, if overly practiced in his dramatic ways. At least he would cause Ryan a little tension and that's always a good thing.
I settled in to watch him sail into the finals. Up until this point, I liked Danny but he bugged me. Enough with all the affectations, already. It was gilding the lily, in my opinion. Stop being an asshole. Then he came out and sang "Jail House Rock." As an Elvis fan, I had a flash of dread at the thought of him going anywhere near Elvis. But my dread soon dissolved when I heard him sing. I was so surprised to hear this very masculine voice turn this former queen into a king. I was knocked out. It reminded me of watching Annie Lennox for the first time. It was fucking awesome.
And that was it. Danny was my pick to win. Or at least to place second. It was weird to like someone so completely like this. But I was glad to have someone to root for. I grew a bit concerned when I checked in to Vote For The Worst to confirm my suspicion that Amanda was there. She was. And so was Danny. Uh-oh. What? The worst? What about fucking Luke Menard?!? He is the worst of the worst! But I brushed my fears away. This could be a good thing for him. Votes are votes, right?
Alas, it wasn't to be. Danny's fun and sassy rendition of Tainted Love wasn't enough to save him. Maybe he wasn't the worst anymore. And maybe his performance wasn't quite good enough to get him off the ground, votewise. Maybe the folks at VFTW caught wind of the flopsweat of fear flying from KaCheezie and turned their sites to someone who would really make AI suffer. I haven't looked over at VFTW since that fateful day. I know longer trust them. They are dead to me.
So, now what? Am I supposed to just save a little love for some third rate man child? Do I hitch my wagon to the Comb Over of Wonder? Or should I just give up and vote for Brooke like Simon wants me to?
I don't know, friends. I just don't know. But it's gonna take one helluva musical miracle to make it happen.
Oh, Danny Boy; You're THTH, obviously.