It's the final night of American Idol auditions. Soon, there will Hollywood, and the whittling down process from the merely talented to the "Super-awesome!". But in the meantime, a racetrack in Kentucky, and visiting hours for the promising ones, the hopeful and the just plain delusional are open.
As yesterday, this is being published after the US showing, but before the UK one, so if you're waiting for the ITV2 showing and can't bear spoilers, step away now: if, however, you're in the US and looking for a roundup of the Kentucky auditions; if you're in the UK and have held on to this a couple of days, or if you just don't give a stuff about spoilers: come on down.
Welcome one, welcome all, to Louisville, Kentucky. Not literally. Not HERE: This is a website, and not one in Louisville Kentucky, unless you are in Louisville Kentucky, in which case it is, but you probably don't need welcoming there. Wait, I'll start again.
Welcome, one and all, to another American Idol audtion show – In Louisville Kentucky!
Interestingly, the first thing we learn this week is that there are, (who knoo?), about three dozen different ways to pronounce Louisville.
Looey-ville.
Louisville.
Lweeeeviyille.
Loo-uh-vuh.
Etc.
I can only dream of the day when The X Factor judge Louis Walsh has to step in to cover an illness one day and everyone stands around for half an hour wondering if this funny little man really can be called Loo-uh Wuh. They have enough problems pronouncing poor new judge "Kara".
Incidentally, please note, future contestants: yes, he is called Loouhwuh. That's PRECISELY how you pronounce it. He loves it when you say it right.
The first contestant is, once more, someone who's got lost on their way to the open auditions for Delusionidol. A pretty lady who sounds like someone hugging their puppy too tight. We'll not speak of her – or ever see her, as it happens – again.
The second contestant is presented, pre-audition, with her dear old mother. From Philadelphia, Joanna moved to LA alone when she was 16 to try and make it in the music industry, didn't, and has settled somewhere in the middle. Or as the middle is otherwise known, Kentucky. Is Kentucky in the middle? It is now, Joanna's decided it should be so.
"We love you whether you make it or not or whether you don't make it or not" says her mother. Or not.
She does.
After a short introduction to Kentucky races, an introduction to a little round cowboy called Mark. His name is Mud. Literally. Well, literally it's Mudd – being a distant descendant of Dr Mudd, the man who worked on John Wilkes Booth's broken leg after he assassinated Lincoln and jumped off a balcony – from whence the above saying comes. So it's an interesting history lesson, if somewhat brief. And made even more brief by the fact he's not that good: after a high-energy country number, a dismissal and a quick veiled threat, he disappears off our screens never to be seen again.
Brent Keith Smith sings Bad Company, and isn't bad, though seems to have a habit of tap dancing while he sings, or at least trying to tap out a secret message with one leg. "What's that you say, Mr Ed?" They like him – he goes through.
There follows, however, a long segment of terrible, terrible singers choosing the world's most inappropriate songs. Poor deluded darlings. I hope they all cheered when their moment of fame appeared. I did.
Next person up who CAN actually sing isMatt Giraud, who has a touch of the Justin Timberlakes about him. And better than Timberlake, his job title is "Duelling Piano Player". Can Justin claim to make a living settling gentlemen's arguments against 760lb musical instruments? No he can't. Not that that's what that title means, of course. But he still can't.
While Matt might be a little breathy for some – he could blow up a whole Pussycat-Doll-spin-off-band's worth of inflatable sexwomen in the course of one song – the judges like him, and he's through to Hollywood.
Ross is supergeeky and over-explainy to the point of possibly having some form of medical condition, or syndrome. The producers, of course, care little, and milk him for all the comedy screentime that might provide.
"I have been studying everything: YouTube videos, books, internet articles about how my favourite operatic singers …" Woah there, pickle. Regardless of any condition, any justification of technical singing ability that begins "I've been studying YouTube videos…" probably isn't going to end there – and it doesn't. He stands in front of the judges and sings a number of songs. And then he's chucked out, and sings a couple more on the way out just for good measure.
Alexis is from Memphis – which kind of rhymes. Could a simple stay-at-home mom get through, asks Ryan? And then we see her at home, with her daughter Ryan (yes, I know), gazing at a photo of her fiancé, far away at military college in Pensecola, Florida. What's that you say? Footage of a contestant at home before she ever steps foot in the audition room? WILL she get through? I wonder Ryan, Will she?!
Yes of course she will. And should. She sings well, belting out a song with more guts and lungs and heart (and other positive bits of offal) than you might expect from her tiny frame and her neat pink T-shirt.
And what's more important: "You have a very commercial face," says Simon, revealing that stony A&R man's heart that hides behind the cheery "it's all about the music" curtain, once again.
Every ad break through the whole show – just like the other audition shows (has it always been this way?) they're leading with whatever the sob-story of the night will be, which they are, of course, saving till very last.
"And … we bring you the touching story of …"
What will it be this time, we wonder? Debilitating physical challenge? Poorly relatives? Great misfortune? In what way will our heartstrings be pulled tonight?
We have to wait and see.
Meanwhile: Aaron is full of beans. He's full of something, anyway. Deep, deep inside is buried, you know, something. Possibly one of those air raid sirens that you work by cranking a handle. He just opens his mouth and … Simon wants to find some kind of shelter. But the other three judges – they may not like it, but they're certainly joining in with some whooping and squealing pig noises. WOOT! WOOOOEEEEH! They say. And then chuck him out on his ear.
Still, Simon tells her – "I'm telling you one trillion per cent – don't try and have a career in music" which easily wins the "Most Ludicrous Percentage" award for of the season so far.
And then a little flurry of yeses just before the last, most touching turn of the night arrives, and the little of we see of them seems good enough – best thing by far, however, is one little quote that raises the whole sequence into brilliance.
"I'm kinda sitting on the fence with the horses on this one," says Randy. Which is just such a great mental picture it'll keep me happy all day. Because really: if the horses are just going to sit on the fences, why have fences? Why not just have horse-chairs?
Still, again … "After the break … the heartbreaking story of the girl who has struggled through poverty, to …"
But never underestimate the power of the sob story: it is powerful magic here, indeed. Lenicia has been homeless for most of her life, and her mother – who looks more like her sister – has wanted nothing but the best for her, but fallen on bad luck and never been able to provide it.
Luckily, Lenicia is not only unfortunate, she's also cute as a button, and talented as well. And more than that, she says she's "100% sure she's the best out there" and promises to be "100% original". She gets through, and we thank our lucky stars. Finally. SOMEONE who understands how "per cent" should be used. Because if you go over 100, Simon, it just gets stupid. Then you might as well be playing "who can name the highest number". You listening, Cowell?
And that is it. We laugh, we point, we cheer, we shout, and then we cry. And when we cry, it means it is the end.
Until next time, of course.
