"American Idol" has been around for 10 years, but it feels like forever. That's because the concept is nothing new. "Idol" can trace its roots to TV's "Star Search" in the 1970's, "Major Bowes Amateur Hour" on the 1930's radio, and countless other prehistoric talent contests.
Many people are huge fans of American Idol and follow it religiously and vote online and all that shit. Buster is not one of those people. The best I could do was watch the first night, for comedic disasters like William Hung, the "Pants On The Ground" guy, and so many others. And, of course, for the acid-tongued assessments of Simon Cowell: "That was stunningly awful." "Perfectly wretched." "Do the world a favor -- do something else with your life." Hilarious! But after the first night, I always lost interest, and quickly.
This season, the lovely Mrs. Gammons insisted that I give Idol another shot, so we watched it regularly. Simon is long gone. This year, it's Randy, J.Lo, and Steven Tyler. They're like the anti-Simon -- they love 'em all, everybody's great! And yeah, there were some good singers, forced to endure the show's gaunlet of contrived silliness. ("Tonight, Jimmy Iovine and L'il Wayne help the contestants interpret the songbook of Edith Piaf!")
So it's down to the final two, Scotty McCreery and Lauren Alaina. And they're both country! Thank you, red-neck America. It's fuckin' hillbilly karaoke. In the future, I think I'll pass.