Oh, Chikezie, just when I learned how to spell your name, you’re off into the annals of the “Idol” history books.
I wasn’t a tremendous fan of this season’s Luther/Ruben clone, but I do think the “O Brother Where Art Thou?”-lovin’ crooner deserved a few more weeks to establish that he’s more than the clone I just deemed him.
Not to mention, are you kidding me, America? You don’t vote enough for the big C, yet the dreadfully off-key Ramiele – whose name, incidentally, I can spell, but still can’t pronounce without first turning to Ryan Seacrest for guidance – is allowed to yip another week?
And I know there was no chance of Kristy Lee “I’m Playing This Country Thing to the Hilt” Cook even being threatened with a bottom three sweat-a-thon thanks to Tuesday’s contrived performance of that swelling hunk of Lee Greenwood cheese. But she’ll falter again soon enough, as all of the mediocre ones always do. (This just in – Dolly Parton is Tuesday’s guest mentor. Great. Another week we’ll be stuck with Cook.)
I’ll also say that while it was no shock that Syesha – pretty-voiced, poised, exciting-as-a-golf-game Syesha – had a heart-thumping moment in the bottom three last night, I was a teeny bit surprised at the appearance of Jason Castro.
His “Fragile” wasn’t a thunder clap like Michael Johns’ “We Are the Champions” or the moody stunner that was David Cook’s Chris Cornell-ized “Billie Jean,” but it was an interesting song choice, smoothly delivered. Perhaps Jason’s half-hearted response to Simon’s inquiry about his level of seriousness in the competition left the Dread-head’s female fans thinking, “Nuh-uh, buddy. I’m not wasting my text messaging on you if you don’t even want to win that badly.”
I think my favorite part of Wednesday’s results show, though, was Carly Smithson addressing the where did THAT come from? pregnancy rumor, and as soon as the first syllable of p-r-e-g was out of her mouth, some members of the audience started clapping, as if they were already planning a baby shower.
What the laser-eyed lass was saying was that she is not pregnant. Though she apparently didn’t say it loudly enough, since my husband poked his head out of the kitchen to ask, “Did the Irish chick just say she’s pregnant?”
Sigh. And this is why the game of telephone is still relevant.
Anyhoo – here’s to next Tuesday. Can’t wait to hear David Cook break out the talk box and the six-string for a little crunched-up “9 to 5.”
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