Last week I liked Elise Totino's Pizza Rolls, with her Adele growl-pianoing and everything. But this week it wasn't working for me. Granted, Jimmy Iodine gave her a new song that she wasn't familiar with, "I'm Your Baby Tonight," so she was a little hobbled from the get-go, but then she didn't try to spice it up or really perform it in any real way. It's like she gave in to defeat, and I don't like that attitude. C'mon, Totino's. The worst thing you can have on American Song Journey, other than, y'know a terrible voice or a pair of Gokey Glasses or the lurid sexual menace of Kevin Covais, is a bad attitude. Bad attitudes on this show just really stink up the joint, filling the air with that acrid Haley Reinhart stench (I loved Haley Reinhart, and she was treated unfairly so a little anger was justified, but man did that kid complain and grumble a lot). Totino's is way too early on in the competition to be all grumpy and stink-mouthed about her performaces, you know? It's just very unbecoming of an Idol singtestant. So chin up, Elise. You'll get 'em next week (if you're not voted off tonight, which is a distinct possibility), but only if you spray some Febreeze on your stinky old attitude.
Is there a more boring American than Jeremy Rosado? At least in the context of this show? Whoo boy. What a waste of a Wild Card! I mean, hell, they could have held on to Reed Grimm for another week or two just to watch him fish-flounder around on stage for a few extra episodes, but they kept Jeremy Rosado? Listening to this dude is like sitting in a waiting room somewhere. When he sings I can practically see the fake potted plant, the muted colors on the walls, the dog-eared magazines. It's just a total snoozeathon and I just don't understand why he's still on the show. Quit putting me to sleep, Rosado! I don't even remember what he sang, but it was something slow and borrringgg and he sang it slowly and boringly and ugh will we ever get out of this doctor's office? Sometimes it feels like never.
The bloom has fallen off the rose for Heejun Han, huh? The limits of his range are becoming clearer and clearer and eventually all the weird guy comedy routines in the world will not be able to mask that. You're not long for this world, Heejun Han! Sorry to say it. (Watch, he'll make it to the top two or something and then I'll have to eat my hat.)
THE SMOLDERING EYES OF COLTON DIXON
Hahaha, oh man. When a wallet chain, some silver cross jewelry, a pair of tight black pants, and a terrible Flowbee accident combine forces, they form the mighty COLTRON. Coltronnnnnnn. He's quite a force, isn't he? I mean, he's completely ridiculous and we should all consider him a vague national embarrassment, what with his whining Christian rock 'tude and utter nonsense hair and spanglies hanging everywhere. He's a ludicrous little opossum, but daggum if he isn't a strangely capable performer! And he's certainly caught the eye of one tittering damsel, hasn't he? After Colton sang, Ryan went up to him and said something about his smoldering eyes and how he could "hear the girls screaming in Hacienda Heights." Hahahaaaaa. "Hacienda Heights," while yes a real place, is also what Ryan calls the sad corner of his heart where he puts all his sad things, so yes of course he could hear the girls screaming in there. Oh how they screamed. And sure Colton terrifies him in a way, sure this business with Tim back at home is mysterious and unsettling, and of course there was the bloody fate of poor Johnny Keyser, but whenever Coltron sings on this show, wriggles around in his goth Working Girl getups, it's hard for the whole of Hacienda Heights, the deep pulpy red of it, to not scream and scream and scream. Those eyes. Those terrible, mesmerizing, hotly smoldering eyes. What secrets do they hold? What cat-like mysteries dwell within them? Ryan cannot stop staring into them, cannot stop, cannot stop, cannot stop... He falls into this trance and the next thing he knows he's waking up in his bed at home and Tim is off somewhere, humming in the garden or wearing a big floppy hat and sunglasses and nothing else while drinking on the porch swing, and Ryan still feels the burn of those smoldering eyes. "Hacienda Heights..." he whispers, putting his hand to his chest. And that's when he notices it, there on the bed, gleaming tinily on the sheets. A small silver cross, there, on the bed, where Ryan has just woken up. He tries to remember what everything that happened after Colton's performance, but there is nothing, just a wide black void in his memory. Well, maybe there is one faint echo. It's some kind of music, some kind of chanting, some kind of communal spirit noise. But that's it. That and this tiny cross. There on the bed. He walks to the window and sees Tim doing lazy cartwheels on the lawn, sees the cheery sun high in the sky, feels a warm and welcoming wind on his skin. And it all feels like a lie, somehow. It somehow all feels unreal. And he turns back to the bed and the cross is gone and only then does he realizes that he's been holding it, that he must have picked it up, that it is pressed into his palm and, he swears he swears he really swears, he can feel it burning into his skin.