by James Tuttle
As I was barreling somewhat recklessly down Olympic Boulevard toward American Idol’s finale at downtown L.A.’s Nokia Theatre last week, my friend Mary sat in the passenger seat, calmly applying her eye shadow. “My Gaaad,” she said in her lovely Mid-western accent, “Jennifer Lopez has probably been in hair and makeup for three hours already.”
Brazilian idol: Sergio Bochert by Rick Day.
Within an hour, we were only a few feet away from La Lopez and it looked like Mary had called it pretty accurately. Jennifer was stunning in long-sleeved beaded Blumarine, but Mary in her black strapless floor-length Rick Owens gown was no slouch, either, even if she did do her makeup in the car.
by Eric J Baker
The Voice is better than American Idol for two reasons: It doesn’t publicly humiliate untalented people who are too simpleminded to know they are being exploited, and the judges are legit and successful music industry veterans, not the stunt-casted personalities on Idol. Ellen DeGeneres might be everybody’s favorite TV host next door, but she knew as much about music as I know about Olympic diving. And you won’t see me in London this summer giving out 9.0s or whatever, will you?
Christina has great pipes. And she can sing.
Unlike Paula Abdul, the judges on The Voice are all sober and can sing. Blake Shelton’s country-corny lyrics don’t rock my world, but he knows how to write a hit. Cee Lo Green is brilliant at combining sweeping production with amusing, personal lyrics, and, like The Killers, one of the aughts’ most successful bands, Adam Levine’s Maroon 5 borrow heavily from 80s pop/rock yet somehow make it contemporary. I’d say the star of the show is Christina Aguilera, but perhaps that’s simply where my eyes go when the camera is pointed in her general direction.
Crowds surge. Cameras flash. We rush to seats. So many mill about. See friends. Wave. Wait. Waiting. Clear the aisles! Quiet! Five. Four. Three. Two. Ryan Seacrest.
I thought I was about to disappoint you once again by writing about live performances rather than the television shows that, together, we have come to love but I then happily realized that I’m not! Even though I may have been watching the live performance from an excellent seat at Nokia Theater/L.A. Live, you were watching it at the same time on the nation’s most beloved reality competition. Yes, it’s the American Idol finale!
Gaga ran into the Chinese beaded curtain on the way in and kept it.
Okay, I know, Chip McKinney, gay polo leader. You are going to say, “I was there, too! And I was actually sitting two rows in front of you, which technically makes my seat better.” But, for the sake of argument, let’s say the rest of you were watching the show from the comfort of your living room or kitchen or dungeon or whatever you’re into. And thanks for your (imagined) two cents, Chip.