Odds, Ends & My Hula Girl Tattoo

So last weeked at Hard Rock Park, I got a hula-girl tattoo on my left bicep. (Is it still a bicep if there isn't actually a muscle in there?). This was a pivotal moment in SD history, seeing as how I don't even like pen ink on my skin (or, for that matter, watches or jewelry, especially, it seems, wedding bands).

But there was something in the air up there, so I slapped the money on the counter and some hipster inked me up. Sure, this art was only meant to last a week. And the Forever Fiancee mocked it as soon as I got home. But I've grown rather fond of my grass-skirted gal. She even has a coconut bra. She's kinda ghosty now, with only a day or two left, but I'm gonna miss her.

Maybe I should get a real tattoo? Any suggestions?

Anyway...I'm still on a minor siesta, taking off yesterday and today, trying to regain energy, sanity. But I thought I'd check in, remind you not to forget Mother's Day, for any and all mamas in your life.

If you missed it, I recently spent time with MY NEW BEST FRIEND ROBIN ZANDER FROM CHEAP TRICK. That's right, RZ is my boy, my bro. He's working on a cool Beatles project (with original Beatles engineer Geoff Emerick), so I wrote a big fat feature on it. You can read that HERE.

Is there anything else to report? Oh, if you're an American Idol fan, Syesha Mercado, a Top 3 finalist from just down the road in Sarasota, is in town tonight to warble the national anthem at the Rays-Angels game at Tropicana Field. HERE'S THAT report from our pop-culture desk. (I'll be at the game Monday. Not singing, just drinking. Stop by 113 to say hi.)

Okay, that's that. Hula Girl and I are driving off together, maybe to the beach for a final fling...

The Mother's Day Playlist

A few years ago, I took an awful cruise, on a dented SpaghettiOs can of a ship, with my family. This included my mother, the Diplomat.

Now, the Diplomat has more friends than anyone I know, a tribute to her pathological ability to treat everyone like a friend. A smile, a joke, a hug: My 66-year-old mom doles ’em out like free donuts. She wants everybody to have a good time on her watch, especially on horrific cruises.

It was brutal, too. Luggage was lost, the food was salmonellic, everyone was on edge. So the Diplomat got the idea that in order to galvanize the masses, her only child, her 30-something son, her darling Seany Boy, should enter every ridiculous contest and mortifying event on the lido deck. You know, fire up the troops, make the best of a bad situation. First up, she decided, the 3-on-3 water basketball tournament.

"Come on, Mom. No way. Can’t I just sit here and read?"

"Read? On a cruise?! Get in that pool and play basketball!"

I was teamed up with a little chubby kid who couldn’t swim and a little skinny kid who was approximately 2-foot-6. The pool, unfortunately, was 6-feet deep.

In the first round, my pathetic squad drew a team of German brothers — triplets, no less — each of whom was the thickness of Lou Ferrigno. They were tall, blonde, built. They swam like Mark Spitz on Red Bull.

We were torpedoed from the start. Within seconds, the skinny kid was drowning, the fat one was clinging for his life, and Gigantor & Co. were draining three-pointers and launching themselves off my love handles for glorious Teutonic dunks. Total nightmare.

But a funny thing happened on the road to full-blown emasculation. The crowd, and my family, once so sad, so miserable, finally started to have fun. And who was leading the Germanic Cheerleading Team, who was charming the Ferrigno Triplets’ proud parents?

Yep, the Diplomat.

"Mom, what are you doing?!" I screamed, spitting out a chokeful of water. "You’re supposed to be rooting for me! I’m your son!"

"But they’re so beautiful!" the Diplomat cheered. "Yay! Go! Go!"

So as my thighs were burning from treading water, as I contemplated barfing up the pina colada I unwisely gulped as a pregame motivator, the worst cruise in the world became merely cruddy.

The Diplomat, a proud smile on her face, had done it once again.

• • •

A few months ago, the Diplomat called to say she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I flew up to Baltimore for the operation. I’ll never forget standing in the waiting room and phoning her epic list of friends — some close, some misfits she picked up along the way — to let them know she was fine. If there had been a German mother of triplets on there, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

I’m pleased to say that, after radiation treatment, my mother is now doing great, spoiling her two granddaughters with moneybagged fervor. So here’s a bouquet of songs for my mom, and all moms, as their special day approaches. The Diplomat isn’t always easy. But I wouldn’t be half the water basketball player without her.

The Mother’s Day Playlist
1. You and Me Against the World, Helen Reddy
2. Baby Mine, Alison Krauss
3. Mama Tried, Merle Haggard
4. The Kids Are Alright, the Who
5. Hey Mama, Kanye West
6. Thank You Mom, Good Charlotte
7. That’s Alright Mama, Elvis Presley
8. Stacy’s Mom, Fountains of Wayne
9. Oh Mother, Christina Aguilera
10. Thank You for Being a Friend, Andrew Gold

LIVE IDOL: the Antichrist goes back to the beach!

Woo! My faith in humanity is restored! I can put my high heels back on! Protesting is so two months ago, anyway.

In a jarring and unexpected move, the worst singer on American Idol actually received the lowest number of votes. Evil hellspawn Jason Castro, who seriously confessed to his "brain being dead" on Wednesday's show, went home.

YAYYYYY.

Tuesday, he turned in nightmarish renditions of Bob Dylan's Mr. Tambourine Man and Bob Marley's I Shot the Sheriff. "Somebody told me that I shot the Tambourine Man," he cracked. Well, no, but millions of people threatened to shoot themselves.

We're super close to a two-David ticket just begging for bumper sticker slogans. David squared!

THE BOTTOM TWO: Syesha Mercado, Jason Castro

AND FOURTH-PLACE GOES TO: JASON CASTRO, YAYYYYYYYYYYYY, LET'S HAVE A PARTY!

YOUR TOP THREE IDOLS: David Archuleta, David Cook, Syesha Mercado

LIVE REVIEW: Radiohead

Radiohead's lead singer Thom Yorke, performs at the Ford Amphitheatre on Tuesday night. [JOHN PENDYGRAFT | Times]

TAMPA -- From the look of the zombiefied masses at a near-sold-out Ford Amphitheatre Tuesday, you'd think the 17,500 in attendance were bored or stunned or undead.

But that's exactly what a crowd should look like at a Radiohead show. If you came to hear the famously obtuse British rock band bust out the dance jams or incite arena-rocking sing-alongs -- or, um, play the stuff you know -- you no doubt want your money back.

But if you came to quietly enjoy a tech-nerdy quintet work out its Kafka-esque angst via less obvious tracks that shifted from frustrating to quirky to soul-clutching gorgeous, you floated from the venue blissed-out and satisfied.

(Oh, and if you came to gawk at a state-of-the-art light show featuring dozens of floor-length strobes that seemingly danced in unison to each song -- exploding in orange fireworks to the new "Reckoner," morphing into an underwater paradise for "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi" -- wow, dude, that was one of the trippiest things I've ever seen.)
   
With the mind of a mathematician and the voice of a wounded angel, Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke proved once again to be a beautiful misfit, a Lewis Carollian character obsessed with alienation and alien nations, strange equations and fake plastic trees.

Oh yeah, he's mad as a hatter. But man, can he wail, sending shivers through the throngs with soaring, searing readings of 1997's "Airbag" and 2000's prickly "Everything in Its Right Place." He also showed a rather refreshing puckish side, hamming it up for a piano-mounted fish-eye lens during the comically defiant "You and Whose Army?"

Much hullabaloo ensued last year when Radiohead ditched its longtime label, EMI, and decided to sell new album "In Rainbows" themselves. For the digital version of the album, they even let fans pay whatever they wanted.

It made a swell business story, for sure. But the main reason it worked is because Yorke & Co., even two decades after forming, have been able to reinvent themselves to thrilling, and at times confounding, extremes.

They've literally turned their formerly raging, melody-rich songs inside out, and upside down, exploring their odd, anti-pop urges with bleeps and bloops and whatever else they can find in their addled pysches.

Guitarist Jonny Greenwood spent most of the night trying to make his guitar and his keyboard sound like anything but a guitar and a keyboard. For "There There," he freaked out on his axe, making those strings sing out like a swarm of sick birds. On "Lucky," from 1997's masterful "OK Computer," he conjured a heavenly landscape for Yorke's operatic malaise.

The brainy boys kept things relatively downbeat, but they did decide to let loose now and then. The new "Bodysnatchers" sounded like a surf-rock rumbler done by the Talking Heads. And a ferocious encore version of "Just," from 1995's even-more-masterful "The Bends," proved that when these guys cut loose, they can rock as hard as anyone.

Of course, the crowd pretty much absorbed those upbeat cuts just like all the others: swaying, nodding, smiling on the inside.

IDOL RECAP: Ready the picket line, Jason!

This is the best talent in the country? All those people in all those audition lines, and we have a dude with  French-bread-crusty dreadlocks and alarming cognitive problems in the top four? If Jason Castro doesn't go home, I'm going on strike.

American Idol should just call it a wash and start over next year. It's like when you go soooo far off your diet that you just say, "Eff it, I'm-a just finish this here block of Velveeta and start the 48-Hour Hollywood Miracle Juice Diet in the morning."

That's how the producers must be feeling.

Recap:

David Cook: Hungry Like the Wolf and Baba O'Riley. Did he take a Soma before showtime? Really. He's usually at least got some energy. I've heard better versions of the first song at karaoke bars on the beach at 2 a.m. And song two was the hangover. Incidentally, D-Cook's bangs are really starting to bug me. Embrace your natural hairline, baby. It ain't moving down any further.

Syesha Mercado: Proud Mary and A Change is Gonna Come.  She violated the cardinal rule - avoid songs by the single-named divas: Whitney, Mariah, Tina, Chaka. I'd take Tina any day, even at six-trillion years old. Syesha glammed it up and wailed much better on the second song. She's got a few chops. Then, WAIT FOR IT... water works!  The ultimate vote grabber! Her tear-streaked mineral foundation will keep her in another week.

Jason Castro: I Shot the Sheriff and Mr. Tambourine Man.  SO BAD!  BAD!  BAD BAD BAD!!!!! AND HE FORGOT A MILLION WORDS!!  SO DONE! BOOOOO! BAD.

David Archuleta: Stand By Me and Love Me Tender. Young David admitted in the pre-song clip that he sings to his dog.  It's possible there are some missing squigglies in his genetic pool. Anyway, he's a good singer. And nobody in America seems to be turned off by his grating Kwepie-Doll-Aw-Shucks-They-Like-Me! thing. I can't wait till his inappropriate backless Annie Leibovitz photos surface.

Who's going home?:  JASONJASONJASONJASONJASONJASON.  Uh... I mean, it's, uhh, anybody's game. Yeah, that's it.

Photo: AP

LIVE IDOL! Oh my stars, these people are boring!

ZZZZZZZ...

Hmm? Oh, hi.  Just nodded off thinking about American Idol's "top" four. Lemme just grab a Diet Coke and some electroshock panels, and we'll be in bidness.

By the way, this is Stephanie Hayes. Sean Daly is en route to one of two magical locations: The Radiohead concert in Tampa, or a convalescent facility.

See, everyone's fave Pop Life hero is having a rough time today. His hair looks bad (his words, not mine), he has residual Red Bull Myrtle Beach heartburn, and apparently, he consumed an entire tub of chicken salad at 1 a.m. after the Kanye show. No one should suffer that much Miracle Whip.

So let's give him some respite from the most boring bunch of singers ever in the world, shall we? Seriously, this is getting dreadful. Leading the pack, we've got two schlubs named David (pictured above) with the effervescence of a tablespoon of mayo. Times is hard.

Tonight, the Idols sing songs that shaped rock 'n roll, or something like that. If all goes well, Jason Castro will bite the head off a bat, sending Seacrest screaming like a little girl into the fan pit. But more likely, he'll sing Time in a Bottle and I'll die a little inside.

But forget them! Let's have fun chatting! The Pop Life Idol Chat and Chicken Salad Emporium opens around 8!

LIVE REVIEW: Kanye West

TAMPA –- Say what you will about Kanye West (and hoo boy, the man certainly gets people "saying" things), but the controversial Chicago rapper isn't shy. Or subtle. Or, possibly, sane.

From his braggadocio at awards shows to his best-selling beats, not to mention flapping his yap about hot-button politics, the "Louis Vuitton don" does everything big, brash, bold. And that certainly goes for his live shows, too.

On arguably the biggest bill of the summer –- or at least the biggest bill to feature a randy talking spaceship named Jane -- headliner West, plus three other too-cool hip-hop acts, bounced into Ford Amphitheatre Monday with swagger and sweat to spare. If any of the 9,200 in attendance say they weren't entertained, they're lying.

West digs a big, hot buildup, and he certainly got that. Skateboarding Muslim rapper Lupe Fiasco, West's Windy City protege, opened the night at 6:15 to a small, milling crowd. But the brainy MC quick-lipped his rhymes with panache and pogoing energy. He might be cocky like his mentor (already calling still-fresh songs "Kick, Push" and "Hip-Hop Saved My Life" classics), but he's an original for sure.

Pharrell Williams has made his bazillions as an inventive, meticulous producer. But side project N.E.R.D., the next act, was a chance for him to cut loose and go nuts, unleashing funk-punk scrums "Brain" and "Lapdance" and pulling random fans onstage to freak out. A few cuts into his set, he even invited the cheap-seat throngs to rush forward -- and they did, in a moment of mass mayhem that was chaotically charming (unless, of course, you were security).

Opening with the mad-girl romp "Breakin' Dishes," Barbados native Rihanna strutted about in a pink-and-black one-piece, something Catwoman might buy at Frederick's of Hollywood. On the radio, the young star has rival Beyonce beat, with an endless string of great, catchy hits: "Pon de  Replay, "S.O.S." "Umbrella." That said, Rihanna is still years behind B. in stage presence and confidence, a blah performer whose sole move is slowly (if expertly) undulating her tuchus. Her 30-minute set was long enough.   

And then, at last, there was Kanye, who not only believes he's the best entertainer in the world, but also fancies himself the next George Lucas. On a spectacularly silly, expensive stage made to look like a desolate lunar landscape, 'Ye hammed it up as a wayward space ranger who has crash-landed in oblivion. His only companion? His spaceship Jane, who turns out to be a lot, ahem, friendlier than her cold, robot voice lets on.

With a full band hidden under all the smokey, flamey FX, Kanye worked the stage all by his lonesome, packaging his songs to tell the sci-fi narrative. The tragic "Through the Wire," about his disfiguring car accident, bled into the resilient "Champion," Kanye's Lazarus story set to a Steely Dan sample.

When Kanye longed for some female companionship, Jane (represented on a giant video screen) turned into a gold-plated stripper. The accompanying song? "Gold Digger." After that: the after-party vamp "Good Life."

For a one-man show, it was impressive, as West worked up a massive sweat spitting hit after hit. The storyline's epic finish featured a prayer (the militaristic oomph of "Jesus Walks"), a memory ("Hey Mama," dedicated to his late mother) and, at last, a happy ending (the full-blown get-down "Stronger").

Is Kanye arrogant? Absolutely. But he's also charming as all get-out. And rest assured he knows he has issues. As he sat on his lonely planet and turned to the heavens, he said, "God, if you get me off this planet, I promise to stop talking s---. And I promise to stop spazzing out at awards show."

Does he mean it? Probably not. But hey, it's a start.

Photo: Getty Images (from Grammy Awards)

My Decision-Making Skills Are AWESOME!

I know that I'm speaking for the entire platoon when I say this week should be postponed until this platoon is better rested...

Hey kids, just got back from Myrtle Beach, S.C., where I toured the spectacularly badass Hard Rock Park. I'll inundate you with details of that impressive joint soon enough. (Big story in June. Many adjectives. Stay tuned.)

All in all, it was a weekend filled with lots of hard-nosed journalism. Oh, there was also: my penthouse suite at the Island Vista, myriad synaptic misfirings (and bad dancing) due to Red Bull consumption, a dude at Ripley's who ripped a freakin' phone book in half (I can die happy now) and the coolest, funniest, drinkiest bunch of press peers I could ever imagine. I'll miss each and every one of them.

Now the bad part: Although I'm feeling tired, vomitious, morose, forlorn, funky, smelly, hungover and snotty, I have a Kanye West show tonight and Radiohead tomorrow. Brutal stretch, and I'm sure each and every one of you has great sympathy for me. So now I'm going to sob. And maybe hydrate.

Time changes for Kanye West concert

Two important time changes were announced Friday for the Kanye West-Rihanna-N.E.R.D.-Lupe Fiasco lineup Monday at the Ford Ampitheatre in Tampa.

The doors will now open at 5 p.m., and Lupe Fiasco will go on at 6. The first act was previously scheduled to go on at 7.

Tickets, $30-$125, are still available at the Ford Amp box office and through Ticketmaster at outlets; www.ticketmaster.com; and (813) 287-8844 and (727) 898-2100.

Led Zeppelin: The Ride

Hey Coaster Zombies, this weekend I'm on assignment in Myrtle Beach, S.C., for a "press viewing" of the new Hard Rock Park (HERE). The 140-acre joint officially opens June 2; theme areas include "Born in the USA" "Lost in the '70s" and "Rock & Roll Heaven." There's an Eagles coaster ("Life in the Fast Lane"), and plans for a Bon Jovi suspended-car ride ("Slippery When Wet"). But the mighty centerpiece, the looping, barrel-rolling hammer of the gods, is "Led Zeppelin: The Ride," that sucker to the left: 150 feet tall, with speeds of 65 mph. If you believe the hype, Page, Plant and JPJ were heavily involved with everything from the soundtrack to the look of the cars.

Anyway, I'm a complete coaster/amusement park dork, so I'm pretty stoked -- although the Moody Blues haunted house, "Nights in White Satin: The Trip" (seriously), sounds a little suspect.

"If You Think I'm Happy, You're Right"

Before the Heartbreakers, the hits, the hall of fame, there was Mudcrutch, Tom Petty’s first real band, a gritty Gainesville quintet playing blue collar joints for folks too besotted to remember. They formed in 1970, but the house band at Dub’s was kaput by '75. For some members, obscurity; for others, American Girl.

For 30-plus years, Mudcrutch remained a footnote, an answer to a trivia question. But a funny thing happened when Tom Petty turned 57. With modern life hitting him hard, he became wistful for the good ol’ days and decided to get the jammy, twangy Mudcrutch back together. Two of the guys weren’t hard to find: guitarist Mike Campbell and organist Benmont Tench are solid-gold Heartbreakers. The others, guitarist-vocalist Tom Leadon and drummer Randall Marsh, were dusted off and given plenty to do.

Just like way back when, Petty is once again the band’s bassist, trading in his trusty geetar for some hopalong grooves. On a new album, he writes eight out of 14 songs, and takes the lead vocal on all but a few. (Tench does a great impression of his boss on This Is a Good Street, and Leadon, sounding just like Glenn Frey, steals the mike on Queen of the Go-Go Girls.)

But for all TP’s star power, this is very much a group effort, the Wilburys meet the Byrds meet Pure Prairie League. Petty shares singing duties with Leadon on the opening song, traditional dustup Shady Grove, which sounds like Rawhide with a hint of menace. The nine-minute Crystal River is a sprawling stoner special, with Tench, Leadon and Campbell hogging the spotlight. June Apple is a crunchy instrumental. And on the chuggy Bootleg Flyer, the band sounds as if it never left University Avenue, the tight grooves as vital as anything Petty’s day job has produced in years.

IDOL RECAP: Agony of De Feet

Pathologically barefoot Kleenex machine Brooke White was doinked from American Idol Wednesday, leaving just three singers and one asexual Muppet, David Archuleta, who has managed to charm great chunks of the United States without any semblance of a personality. Some might say Brooke was adios-ed because of her deep hatred for shoes and obvious love of dandelion crowns.

But for the first time all season, the singer with the worst Tuesday performance (Brooke's I'm a Believer, the low point of Neil Diamond week) was given the boot. Finally, justice!

THE BOTTOM TWO: Syesha Mercado, Brooke White

AND FIFTH-PLACE GOES TO...Brooke White

YOUR TOP FOUR IDOLISTS: Jason Castro, David Archuleta, David Cook, Syesha Mercado

LIVE REVIEW: Sheryl Crow

[JOSEPH GARNETT JR. | Times]

CLEARWATER –- Sheryl Crow sure has packed a lot of living into 46 years. She’s battled breast cancer and Karl Rove. She famously dated Lance Armstrong -- and then famously didn't. She adopted a son. She bashed a president. And heck, that’s just in the last few years.

The Missouri singer-songwriter can't escape the drama, so she processes it the the only way she can, building best-selling albums like diary entries you can dance to. She's an intimate, in-your-face performer best seen in an intimate, in-your-face performance hall.

And we had just the place for her.

Touring behind 2007 album "Detours," a hit-or-miss purging of all things political and painful, Crow got up close and personal with 2,039 fans at Ruth Eckerd Hall Tuesday.

Opening with the quiet, acoustic angst of the new "God Bless This Mess," with its damning of "a war based on lies," the diminutive firebrand soon shifted sonic gears and kicked into an endlessly electric rock show, alternating between new stuff and stuck-in-your-head hits dating back to 1993 debut, "Tuesday Night Music Club."

Backed by a tight eight-piece band well-versed in her preferred dive-bar boogie, Crow's bewhiskeyed wail, a finely aged instrument, got stronger and stronger with each song: the funky oomph of "A Change," the restless beauty of "Leaving Las Vegas," the midtempo strut of "Can't Cry Anymore," the tricky breakup smash "My Favorite Mistake."

If the bass was too loud, well, she just got louder -- and better.

Crow was loose, smiling, adorable, the diminutive star with the cascading dirty-blonde hair exuding charm to spare. For a cover of Cat Stevens' "The First Cut Is the Deepest," she even traded verses with a young girl in the front row.

For tabloid-readers looking for Armstrong references, they were there in sneaky, cheeky ways. On the new album, the song "Diamond Ring" is sad, somber. Onstage, however, she tweaked the tune with winky torch-song flair: "I blew up our love nest / By making one little request / Diamonnnd ringgg!"

"I've been engaged three times," Crow said with a laugh afterwards, "and I'm pretty proud of it."

Even the weaker songs on "Detours" were made likable in a live setting. The hamhanded futuristic clunker "Gasoline" was saved by a menacing midsong injection of the Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter." And the cheeseball singalong "Out of Our Heads" ("If we could only get out of our heads, out of our heads, and into our hearts!") turned into a silly but fun drum-circle chant, the seated crowd forgoing protocol and stomping to its feet. 

For the absolutely sublime "If It Makes You Happy," her signature song, Crow reared back and hollered that titular chorus, letting it all go, the catchiest catharsis in her songbook. From the sound of it, Sheryl Crow has a lot of living left to do, too.

IDOL RECAP: I'm Less Alive Than I Was Before This Started

   Hi all, Sharon Fink again, once more subbing for the charming and vivacious Sean Daly, who's out getting a good beer buzz early into the morning with Sheryl Crow. (Or arranging a marriage between her young Wyatt and his Maya. Or both, figuring the former would lead to the lattter.)

Regulars know my Idol credentials. Here are my qualifications to assess Neil Diamond night:     I am a HUGE Monkees fan ("Ohhhh, I'm a believer"). I own vinyl copies of The Jazz Singer soundtrack and the Heartlight 45. I saw Jazz Singer when it came out. And the manager of the record/CD/video store I worked at in a large American city in the mid-1980s swore that the most insane crowd he had dealt with while working security at the local concert arena was for the big D -- thousands of women who looked like your mother sweetly promising not to rush the stage door once he appeared, only to stampede so they could pluck out a chest hair (like there wasn't enough to go around if they didn't line up in an orderly fashion).    

Tonight's Idol Happy Hour had two songs from each of the final five. Why two songs? Not because Fox can't pad an hour show. Because it had to justify to Neil Diamond bringing him on for five people, even if his album does come out May 6. And why do I call it Happy Hour? Because it was like happy hour at a karoke bar in Cancun frequented by spring breakers.       

Jason Castro: First song, Forever in Blue Jeans; second song September Morn. There's being cool and low-key, and there's coming across like you would rather be stationed at a South Pole research station than here. His somnambulant delivery didn't differ between the songs, and of the bazillion songs Neil Diamond has written, one of the ones he picks is a throwaway. I want to say he's in danger of going, but I have a bad feeling about the voting habits of a lot of vulnerable females.     

David Cook: I'm Alive and All I Really Need is You. The judges are so in love with him, they can't bring themselves to point out that both of his songs also sounded the same: "modern rock" arrangements, start out soft, build to a big, shouted ending. The judges also are seeing nonwinner Chris Daughtry's millions of sales dancing in their heads and remembering that they egged along his ejection by telling him he needed to stop with that repetitive modern rock stuff. Cook matches up well with Daughtry, and he has more talent and stage presence than Castro. And he'll deservedly still cruise to the final.

Brooke White: I'm A Believer and I Am ... I Said. Her entire first song was a war between the key it was played in and the key her voice was trying to sing it in. By the second song, I was thinking of Christopher Guest's A Mighty Wind and his mockumentary folk group The New Main Street Singers.    

David Archuleta: Sweet Caroline and America. Sweet Caroline was the best vocal of the first round. And Archuleta is nothing if not audience savvy. If he didn't do Heartlight for his second song, he was going to do America. Simon was right, America was a smart choice. Performance was ragged, but Archuleta's voice is so good, his personality so cuddly -- and his fans so fervent -- it didn't matter. He's also still on track for the final two.    

Syesha Mercado: Hello Again and Thank the Lord for the Night Time. She had the best overall vocals, and a few moments of connection in the second song, but overall her night was another one of "Aren't I just the greatest singer! ... That's a rhetorical question."    

Who will go? Before the show started, it was going to be either Jason, Brooke or Syesha. Their performances didn't change that. Fan-base voting has had a bigger impact this season than in the past, so as much as Jason or Brooke should go based on performance, any one of the three could could be out.     

LIVE IDOL! Hot April Night

Hey kids, should be a good American Idol tonight (and when I say "good" I mean "watchable after a few beverages"). Last week's Andrew Lloyd Webber-a-thon was brutal. But the remaining Top 5 should have some fun with the songs of tonight's mentor: Mr. Neil Diamond, one of the coolest cats around. Show starts at 8 p.m.

Alas, I will be reviewing the Sheryl Crow show in Clearwater. But you're in for a treat, 'cause pop-culture goddess Sharon Fink will be working the Pop Life Idol Chat & Crunchy Granola Stand, which will open at 7:39 p.m. She'll also give a full snarky rundown after the show. If Archuleta does Heartlight, we all win.

Sticky & Sweet: Madonna's "Hard Candy"

Hey sex kittens, just got the new Madonna in the mail this morning. Hard Candy comes out tomorrow. Here's a first impression...

Madonna
Album: Hard Candy (Warner Bros.)
In stores: Tuesday
Why we care: Forty-nine-year-old mom Madge invites the neighbor boys over for a little while-he’s-away on her 11th studio album. Justin Timberlake, Kanye West, Timbaland and Pharrell bring their synthy booty beats and marching-band samples, Madonna purrs out every dumb “give it to me” cliche, and we all dance naked.
Why we like it: If all that sounds a little desperate, a little forced and a lot of fun, well, it is — how you deal with the morning guilt is up to you. The Timberlake appearance has the intended Mrs. Robinson effect, but Madonna merges best with Pharrell, whose restless rhythms goose her into giving more.
Reminds us of: In the liner notes, Madonna looks like a dancer at Adult World in Syracuse, N.Y. This is not a good thing.
Download these: 4 Minutes (WATCH) Heartbeat (LISTEN) and Candy Shop (LISTEN)
Grade: B

UPDATED: Here Comes the Hate Mail...

Dear Sean,

No doubt, you’ve already been bombarded. I wanted to join the ranks. Clearly you are not a Jersey girl who grew up in the 80’s with a door-poster of Jon in your bedroom; I get that. However, if you aren’t a fan of Bon Jovi’s new music, then perhaps you shouldn’t have gone to the concert bearing its name in the first place. I’m sure there were other people that would’ve gladly taken your spot. At 46 Jon is still a great artist/singer and performer, and for you to take that away from him with such demeaning words seems a bit harsh, even for a "critic." I understand everyone is entitled to their opinion, but something tells me your opinion differs from about 20,536 people who enjoyed the show immensely, especially the shimmys! Perhaps you were also a little jealous of just how much we female fans love our man Jon. After all, you certainly can’t argue that he looks DAMN GOOD for his age.

Jersey Girl extraordinaire

****

Dear Sean,

Next time the Times should send someone to the Bon Jovi concert who truly appreciates good music.

Your article and your taste in music need to learn how to rock, cause you don’t!

PS Bob Dylan can't sing to save his life!

****

Sean Sean: What the hell?!?!?!?!

Dumb, dull, fine, sublime, goofballs....What concert were you at????

The Bon Jovi concert last night kicked ass!!!!!!!!!!!!  Did you notice that the crowd,
woman and MEN where on the feet almost the entire concert singing and dancing and having an awesome time. Where were you watching the concert from, the men's room?
You obviously are not a Bon Jovi fan. To bad you missed a GREAT time?!?!

From a true Bon Jovi Goofball Fan

PS: And yes I screamed when he showed some chest and shook his fanny!! Are you jealous Sean?  Are you? I think so!

LIVE REVIEW: Daughtry & Bon Jovi

TAMPA –- When you think about it, or drink about it, Chris Daughtry is basically a hairless version of Jon Bon Jovi. Both hunks excel at a slick brand of bar rock that is essentially, harmlessly, identically cut from the same chords and choruses. You come to their shows not to ponder, but to party, everyman escapism in its loudest form.

Of course, Bon Jovi, New Jersey's second-favorite rock son, has been selling-out stadiums for 25 years now. Daughtry, who famously did not win "American Idol," has only been around since 2006, his self-titled disc the fastest-selling debut rock album in SoundScan history.

So while their double bill at the St. Pete Times Forum Sunday was an inspired pairing, one that sent a humongous crowd of 20,537 into a three-hour tizzy, there was no doubt which act should be genuflecting to the other.

Flanked by four bandmates, the 28-year-old Daughtry first appeared in a cowboy hat. But his head wouldn't stay covered for long, as the dramatic reveal of his bald melon has become as crucial to his act as confetti is to Rip Taylor's.

His radio-ready music was pretty popular with the ladies, too, especially surly-sweet ballads "What About Now" and "Over You," both of which filled the arena just fine. For the latter song, he told the sing-along crowd: "If you don't know the words, it's real simple." Truer words have never been spoken.

Daughtry has a distinctive wail that can sell even the most corporate of rock. Case in point: his band's incredibly earnest, sweetly dorky cover of Foreigner's "Feels Like the First Time." As a lead-in to his smash hit "Home," he even played a snippet of Motley Crue's "Home Sweet Home." He may not be the most dynamic performer, but he treats every word like gospel.

With the beer lines mighty, and the venue's temps getting steamy, Bon Jovi took the stage and proceeded to live by the hits -- and die by the new stuff. The band opened with the title track from 2007's "Lost Highway," a country album that proved to be as dull live as it is on disc. Alas, they played great chunks of that, including the brutally dumb "We Got It Going On."

But the female-strong crowd would wait with googly-eyes and patient smiles until Jon, Richie Sambora & Co. played something they liked. And that the group did, alternating new songs with old faves: "Born to Be My Baby," "You Give Love a Bad Name" and the downright cheesetastic "Bad Medicine."

Bon Jovi has been doing this for a long time, and they certainly know their strengths. Even with crummy material, the 46-year-old Jon would flash some chest or shake his fanny and the moms would scream as if he were playing the best song ever. (He wasn't; he was playing "The Radio Saved My Life Tonight"). He uncorked a short acoustic set in the middle of the crowd (including "Bed of Roses") and slapped every hand on the way back. And in his most winning moment, he did a killer Mick Jagger impression during a winky cover of "Start Me Up."

Using the talkbox or a double-necked doozie, Sambora played for all the air-guitar goofballs in the house, unleasing every solo on "It's My Life" or "Runaway" or "Have a Nice Day" as if he were in great artistic anguish. (He should have been grinning ear-to-ear after getting off easy from a recent auto-and-alcohol misadventure.)

The band cruised into the finale with a couple of crowd-pleasers, including "Keep the Faith" and a "Livin' on a Prayer" that was better than it had to be. After an encore version of the new "I Love This Town" (ugh), Jon asked everyone to rise "for our national anthem": "Wanted Dead or Alive," a great country song that doesn't try too hard to be a country song.

In the end, as a rock show, it was fine. As a girls' night out, however, it was no doubt sublime.

Kanye West: Love? Hate? Couldn't Care Less?

Hey gang, I need your help.

I want your take on Kanye West (even if you don't have a take on Kanye West). Maybe you love his music, hate his ego. Maybe you dig Gold Digger, despise the rest.

Maybe you think he's a liberal windbag; maybe you think more artists should speak their minds like the Chicago rapper. Me? I think Ye has the genius gene in him, which means he's a fascinating, frustrating, phenomenal headcase. I'm pro-Kanye all the way.

Anyway, lemme know. I'm writing up an essay about his polarizing rep for the next Weekend mag. Kanye plays the Ford Amphitheatre in Tampa on Monday, May 5.

IDOL RECAP: She Shoulda Listened to Me

If Carly Smithson had followed my celebrity-enhancement advice -- for instance, staggering the besotted streets of West Hollywood and sucker-punching Willie Aames to juice her boring reputation -- she might have won American Idol this year. 'Cause the Irish lass could sing. Instead, her blah personality finally caught up with her Wednesday. She had killer ink, but no edge. She needed a little rock 'n' roll rebellion. That leaves four singers...oh, and Brooke White.

Next week features the great Neil Diamond as a mentor. David Cook doing "Solitary Man"? Archuleta weeping "Hello Again"? Castro and his E.T. mug doing "Heartlight"? We'll see...

THE BOTTOM-DWELLERS...Syesha Mercado and Carly Smithson

AND THE SIXTH-PLACE FINISHER IS...Carly Smithson

YOUR TOP FIVE... David Cook, David Archuleta, Brooke White, Jason Castro, Syesha Mercado