First, a disclaimer. I’m not a fan of reality television. I’ve never swooned or cried over any of the “Bachelors” or “Bachelorettes” or cheered for a competitor on “Survivor.”
Do Americans really have nothing better to do?
No, not really, since new reality TV shows continue to pop up as quickly as low-carb versions of your favorite foods.
So now that I’ve made it clear that reality TV is indeed a waste of time, I have a confession to make.
I love “American Idol.”
I’ve been hopelessly addicted since my fellow Birmingham-ian Ruben Studdard wowed the judges and America in season two.
After watching that precious “Velvet Teddy Bear” win the competition, I decided that was it for me. I couldn’t possibly get so wrapped up in another season.
But I did. In season three, Fantastia grew on me despite the raspy Macy Gray quality of her voice. She won me over with her captivating performance of “Summertime.”
After season three, I said that was it.
But no, I found myself eagerly anticipating Jan. 17, the premiere of season four. It’s a vice of mine, sure, but not an obsession.
I have another excuse, though. One of the seven finalists, Bo Bice, lives about 15 minutes down the road from me and works with a good friend of mine.
Even without the connection, Bo is my favorite of the final seven. When he rocked out during one of the first weeks with the Allman Brothers’ “Whipping Post,” I was floored, as was the usually callous Simon Cowell. Bo’s been slacking for the past couple of weeks, but it’s not his fault. What can you expect from a rocker who’s made to sing a Broadway show tune?
Bo landed in the bottom three last week, but Paula remains confident that he’s going to the finals. His good-humored, laid-back Southern demeanor makes him likeable, and his singing and style drip classic rock. As Simon told him, Bo doesn’t seem like a competitor on a TV show, but instead a musician who’s already made it and been in the business for years.
People have dubbed Constantine Maroulis the other rocker in the final seven, but I disagree with this label. After bastardizing Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” and making a mockery of himself crooning the Partridge Family’s “I Think I Love You,” I want to see Constantine off the show. Apparently, he has a huge fan following of preteen girls, but I really don’t get it. His voice is just mediocre, and he always has the creepiest expression on his face, reminding me of the Grinch.
It seems Carrie Underwood is a person to beat this year, and yes, she has a great voice, but she’s generic. It’s not difficult to find a good female singer; it is difficult, though, to find a good, unique female singer. That’s why Fantasia won and why I think Carrie won’t. I detest country music, so I disliked Carrie from the beginning, but when she tackled Heart’s “Alone,” I found some admiration for her.
Scott Savol has a tolerable voice, but his pompous attitude keeps me from liking him. I predict that he’ll be gone within the next two weeks. Either right before or after Anthony Federov, the Clay Aiken wannabe whose every performance is sickeningly saccharine.
The best description I can give Vonzell Solomon is that she’s well put-together, but her blinding smile reminds me of a beauty pageant contestant. She’s gorgeous but forgettable.
I really like Anwar Robinson. He has an unique voice and sings with perfect control, making his every song seem like the first time you’ve heard it. He’s also got a great look and an interesting style.
As far as the judges go, I love Simon’s poor analogies and bitter comments, which are usually right on the money. Paula is incapable of saying anything mean, making her pretty worthless when giving constructive criticism. Randy is just middle of the road: sometimes nice, sometimes brutally honest.
As you can see, I’m pretty wrapped up in this show, and every Tuesday night I pick up my cell phone and text a few votes. Silly? Perhaps. Unhealthy? I don’t think so.
Like fried cheese sticks and chocolate muffins, reality television is delicious in moderation.
And don’t forget to tune in to “American Idol” tomorrow night and cast your vote-or better yet, votes-for Bo Bice.