American Idle

Call me an elitist but I fail to see the attraction—for viewers—in the whole American Idol phenomena. Of course, television has made millions from televising talent shows over the years so I guess it's just me that's out of step.

My major bitch against American Idol—other than its terminal boringness—is that it gives musicians, and that's musicians with a small "m," the idea that they can get around paying dues and just jump right into stardom. Great. Just what the music biz needs more empty-headed ninnies who have no life experience.

All this was made very clear to me after five minutes spent watching the ACM Awards on Tuesday night. Last year's American Idol champ Carrie Underwood, sprinted to the podium, much visible cleavage in tow, to accept two awards, one for her hit, "Jesus, Take The Wheel." Hey, even better, a mix of American Idol and religion.

On the moronic scale, Underwood was at least fun to leer at, unlike Rascal Flatts who continued their scorched earth campaign to embarrass and shame the white race.

Then there were the Mohawk haircuts seen in several backup band members. Ahh, 1976 it ain't.

Nashville has completely slipped off the rails. They’re churning out bad rock music by guys whose addiction to highlighted hair—all of it badly cut—is actually scary.

Buddha's picture

Lucky for me, I'm so elitist that I don't know who you are talking about.

No sense railing against the masses; TV, Nashville, or otherwise. They are the same people who buy and sell J-Lo and Brittany music, so this American Idol thing makes complete cultural sense.

Plus, living through a season of whatever it is they must endure to win that show should be considered ample dues paying. It's probably not much different than hanging out in Hamburg playing cover tunes and chasing skirts, like the Fab Four did.

On the religion front, I'm not surprised, either. We live in times of poor old Jesus being turned into a Holy Concierge, being called upon to intervene in elections, football games, boxing matches...why not try to turn Him into a chauffeur, too?

Take John Prine's good Nashville advice and blow up your TV.