The ninth season of America’s national karaoke showcase — also known
as American Idol — premiered last Tuesday. The show that has
contributed such legends as Jordin Sparks and Taylor Hicks to the
world of music continues to chug along in spite of the absence of
original judge Paula Abdul and the looming departure of resident
killjoy Simon Cowell. Ratings for the two-hour season opener were down
slightly from last season, meaning a mere 29.8 million viewers
tuned in.
Zuh? How is that even possible? Look, I’m probably the last person who
should lecture anybody on their taste in television. I mean, I’ve been
known to watch Forever Knight marathons on Chill, and my most
prized DVR recording is that episode of Cheaters where Joey
Greco gets stabbed, but AI (as it’s referred to by those
“hip” to industry lingo) is empirically shit, which makes its
continued popularity truly baffling.
It’d be one thing is these numbers were attributable to the train-wreck nature of each season’s first few shows, where we all get to
point and laugh at the Divine lookalike performing “Genie in a
Bottle,” or the kid from Denver nobody could believe was male, or
Constantine Maroulis. These are the same installments you talk about
in incredulous tones with your co-workers/friends/houseplants the next
day, expressing shock that anyone could possibly be so oblivious as to
their own lack of musical talent while ignoring the irony inherent in
the fact that these people are encouraged to make transitory asses of
themselves mostly because you’re watching them in the first
place.
Besides, if the law of diminishing returns has any meaning outside of
microeconomics or beer bonging, shouldn’t we already have determined
who the best singer in the country is by now? Larger and larger crowds
keep showing up to Idol auditions, yet the last,
what…four(?) winners sank into obscurity almost before Ryan Seacrest
finished snorting his post-season-finale rails. I’m not going to argue
that Carrie Underwood is the best singer Idol ever produced
(I’m more of a Kelly Clarkson guy anyway), but after eight years of
this process wouldn’t logic dictate that we’ve probably already seen
the best (and second best, and seriously mediocre) America has to
offer?
Still, almost 30 million people opted for the television version of
“Thank you sir, may I have another?” and endured two hours of off-key
caterwauling, dry British sarcasm, and Spice Girl Victoria Beckham.
The fun continued last night, as it will — twice a week — for the
next four months because Idol, against all reason, remains a
television juggernaut. A slight dip in recent seasons’ ratings did
prompt judge Randy Jackson to promise “interesting
wrinkles” for the coming year, but unless these involve onstage
antipersonnel mines or the resurrection of Johnny, Dee Dee, and Joey
for “Ramones Night,” I’ll be watching Better Off Ted and
betting the under on sales figures for the next Kris Allen CD. Vonder
Haar out.
This article appears in Jan 14-20, 2010.
