'Idol' thoughts

Allow me to rant. I stopped caring about American Idol long ago, several seasons back, in fact, and now seeing it return for yet another round is like watching those damned George Romero zombies, always lumbering through their paces, no matter how many times you pop a cap in their heads.

American Idol is clearly on life support, its makers no doubt having glimpsed last season (probably around the time that Idol reject Daughtry sold millions of records without the coveted AI seal of approval) that their raison d’etre had kind of evaporated. Ratings may continue to linger, because, like those Romero zombies, people still like hanging around familiar places, like shopping malls, even after they’re dead; but no kind of life support is going to get me interested in the prepackaged goo that this show has served up for too many years.

I’ve railed for years about the decline of music in our age, but I may as well let the American Idol results speak more eloquently. Set up to create new pop “stars,” but also as a promotional vehicle for ghoulish comebackers who serve as the show’s “mentors” (Barry Manilow, Neil Diamond, Dolly Parton, et al), AI can’t help but broadcast the fact that real songwriting talent lies in the past, when songs were well-constructed and language was poetic, when verse-chorus-verse seemed like a sound idea, and when records actually sold in the kajillions.

Now it’s about selling ringtones, or merch, or TV appearances, or Vegas revues — or MP3s, if you’re lucky.

No matter how many wavering scales, histrionic stage moves or delusional losers the “judges” sift their way through each week, occasionally pausing to cast their god-like deadma stares upon the good, the bad and the ugly, it hasn’t added up to a great deal of stars being hurtled into the heavens. That’s the sad truth.

Other than Kelly Clarkson (a contestant who has bended over backwards to bite the hand that fed her), the show hasn’t launched a huge star. (Quick! Name the last five AI winners in succession.) Records show weekly viewership peaked at season six of the show (37 million) and have dropped to around 30 million since. Still sizeable, but a trend is a trend.

The real nail in the coffin, though, is that American Idol, for me, will forever be associated with the Bush Years: a period of nearly a decade (though, really, it seemed like much, much longer) that I’d like to erase from my memory banks; a period when stupidity reigned, and it seemed people were content to be fed a steady diet of stupidity. Worse, they may have felt that stupidity was what they somehow deserved, that it was somehow their due.

The Bush Years, not coincidentally, saw the rise of reality TV, a rush toward cheap, voyeuristic thrills and weekly doses of schadenfreude. It wasn’t the Alfred E. Neuman-style irresponsibility that characterized the feel-good Reagan years, when being clueless seemed like a good idea to people, because it was fun. The Bush Years were the equivalent of watching a nation of headless chickens in the barnyard, scrambling around for some relief, some sense; and, failing to locate sense, they settled for senselessness. It was ugly, and sad, and well worth putting behind us.

One can only speculate how much money is required to steer a buck-raking character like Simon Cowell back into the judge’s seat for another run. But he’s clearly scowling all the way to the bank. Surely, for some of the judges, being on a hit TV show is like manna from heaven — just as it is for would-be contestants who have no shot whatsoever but seem to feel a need to glitter in the spotlight. AI has long trod in the shady area of irresponsible TV by allowing mentally ill people to vent themselves before the cameras; now what’s left is a nation of viewers pummeled by inanity, and too tired to change the channel.

Stupidity will continue on television, with or without Idol, just as it will continue in politics, the media, Hollywood, Wall Street and other pockets of our lives. American Idol may even linger on for a few more seasons, as many seasons as it takes to drain the last drop of “entertainment” value from watching tuneless people warble their way through Amazing Grace, We Are The Champions and other standby numbers. But I’ve decided, finally, to get off the Stupid Express and take the Road Less Traveled. Or at least the Road Less Stupid. It’s a lot quieter out there, for one thing.

Oh, and there isn’t a single Filipino contestant worth rooting for this year. One more reason to pull the plug.

Bush has left the building. American Idol, now it’s time for you to go, too.