One more contestant goes home.
The yellow bar across the bottom of the TV screen was not delivering a prophecy, with the “One more contestant goes home tonight”. Some things are predestined, and last night’s edition of American Idol simply confirmed what “had to happen”. When Simon told Jason “I’d pack your bags”, after the Reggae-Lite performer first underwhelmed us with a Marley number, followed by a Dylan tune where the lyrics seemed to be optional, there was no argument from the rest of the room.
I think that the second evening, the waiting for the votes, is far too long when we’re down to single digits. An hour of killing time for the advertisers. Let’s face it, as I write this we’re still ten minutes away from confirmation, but there’s little tension left in how this whole season will play out. In three weeks time the next AI will be designated. Either David or David.
The show is huge; on top of the ratings, with seven seasons of musical baggage. There’ll be new recording contracts for all and sundry, and the iTunes and Ford and Coke franchises will have quenched their thirst at the advertising dollar fountain. I don’t get to vote (could I? would I? should I). I have no connection to the Canadian version. It’s all right here, right now, with a great beat that you can dance to. Music for the masses. Audition comedy. Tension and shock when the talent gets prematurely booted. This is high life drama. And the results never fail us: David, Syeshsa and David, you are safe for another week. For the cynical, check out VoteForTheWorst. And Jason, old buddy: Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, OK?
