It’s just not the same without the Lord being flanked by sub-par British D-list stage actors doing mock “we are not worthy” hands…
Yup, for those of you watching last week’s “I’d Do Anything” (GO TEAM SARAH!) the “lordly business” Andrew was on was telling America that WORDS are what makes songs important. WORDS. That and elderly cats that have broken hearts and get carried away by spaceships, and anthropomorphic trains, and creepy scarred weirdos who make stalking romantic, and Madonna playing a Latina political icon, and Bible stories for kids, and the tragic and sad manic leaping on any trend that looks currently popular (football, Bollywood, reality tv, Hollyoaks) and stuffing it into your crap-musical producing sausage factory of a brain.
Stay away America. Stay away.
Syesha Mercado : Singing what sounds “One Rocky Road Too Many” ie a song theoretically about overindulging on ice-cream. Which would probably make more sense than whatever the hell it is about, given that it’s from Starlight Express, a musical that’s basically a sexed up Thomas The Tank Engine. At any rate this week Syesha gave a performance (which she badly needed to) that reminded me why she was, after Alexandrea Lushington, my black lady of choice this year. Because this got the full on cheeky, squirmy, boobs out, humping a piano a la Michelle Pfeiffer in that scene from that film which apparently had no other scenes in it, performance that it needed to make an obscure song memorable. It pains me to admit it, but the haters were right – what Syesha needed was to get away from the beaten track of divadom, because really it’s giving her farewell lap on this show (the next two weeks at the MOST) the air of triumph that has been the hallmark of the latter stages of this year’s competition.
Jason Castro : Was singing “Memory” from Cats, which I at least have heard of. Elaine Paige sang this you know. I feel I should get all my Andrew Lloyd Webber knowledge out whilst I can, and that’s a good 21% of it right there. What’s made clear throughout this week is that Jason Castro and Andrew Lloyd Webber did not like each other. or more accurately, Andrew Lloyd Webber did not like Jason Castro, and Jason Castro just kind of shrugged and waved his dreads around like usual, wondering who this guy was who writes songs about sexy cats, and sexy trains, and sexy stalker-burns victims and sexy Jesuses. Which kinship in not getting Andrew Lloyd Webber led me to hope that Jason Castro would own him without even liking him but… This was awful. I’ve heard he was sick, but there’s no sick to justify this level of lack of breath control. It was like the Darth Vader version of Memory. Even worse than that, in-between the “HOARRGH!”s this is boyband Jason, and I do not like boyband Jason one bit. His worst performance, which is sad, because for a while there I thought it was conceivable that either he or Carly could shockliminate Moon-Boy Archuleta but… well probably not now. What with everything.
Brooke White : Oh Brooke White. Who would have thought the sheltered Mormon woman who loved 70s music and married young and who spends all day with children and who wants everyone to just get along would turn out to be the one who was secretly insane? Like, we’ve just cut back to her crazy face as she holds the bloody knife whilst standing over the bloody corpse of Miley Syrus (IN HER FEATURE DEBUT) and in retrospect it was obvious all along. In case you hadn’t heard, she asks to restart “You Must Love Me” (which is for a hundred reasons a great song choice and for one obvious reason completely the wrong one : the title) after mangling her words at the beginning, which makes Paula mad and Simon sympathetic and is the only thing anybody cares about with Brooke this week when the rest of the song was a carnival Ghost Train of crappy shoddy neon spray-painted horrors for which her mangling the first line was only the clattering of the doors. On the other hand, she was most awesome in the pimpomercial. That’s what I’m hanging onto.
David Archuleta : Quick children. Run up to David Archuleta. Touch him in a non-sexual way, and he will cure your ague. This week the Moon Boy was singing a song from Phnatom Of The Opera, on the set of Phantom Of The Opera, as was the other David. Please to make it less obvious who the Final Two is show, k thanx bi. What’s weird is that everything I said about last week’s performance is true of this weeks. It was his best performance yet. I really enjoyed it. I still do not care one iota. Clearly he’s using up the different cards in his pack he has to play so him bursting out the inspirational like crazy in the final will be less obvious. So my liking him well enough now is going to come to an end in a fiery ball of doom very soon. And he’ll probably go back to shutting his eyes and licking his lips and all that other attendant business as well.
Carly Smithson : I think this performance gave me a suagr rush. I cannot thank the show enough this year for having most of these kids leave on a high. Amanda, Ramiele, Michael, Krusty, and now Carly, all leaving at their most likeable to me. Because this was amazing. Her fucking storming out from the back with all the lights on, hair flying, ugly tattoo covered up (IN A NICE DRESS FOR ONCE), made-up properly, having been adorably over-familiar with Andrew in their training montage, screaming “JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-SUS CHRIST SUUUUUUUUUPER-STAR!” aiming her mad bug eyes in every direction at once, connecting with every particle in the Universe like I Heart Huckabees, stomping around with flames and strobes and mad shit. It was beautiful, and everything Carly Smithson could have been since day one, and leaving on it? Best thing that could have happened to her. Plus her scary husband got in full shot for the first and last time.
David Cook : Who, like Jason last week, is now top of my rankings by virtue of the best eprson leaving, and having done a mediocre performance. Because honest to God this was ick-tacular. I do not need, want, or hope to ever see again, David Cook full on eye-fucknig me for two minutes. Or singing gross, disgusting Andrew Lloyd Webber ballads from Phantom Of The Opera – the most gross and disgusting of all Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals. But the thing is that how I disliked this was intimately entangled in with why I don’t like Andrew Lloyd Webber. Jason honked it with the singing, and Brooke… spooled off into the abyss she’s been threatening to for a while now, so their problems were all of their own making. David? Did the best version he could of what he was given. And whilst it made me ill, he played his particular game to a high standard, and I have to give him credit for that, just like I did KLC with “God Bless The USA”.
Next week : Neil Diamond Week! Two songs! Man, Brooke and Syesha are screwed squared!
