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Here's Amy Winehouse's performance from the Grammys last night. Via satellite from London, where it was 3 a.m. (By the way, what in the hell was Cuba Gooding Jr. doing there?) Not a great set from Wino, but not the train wreck you expected (and probably kinda wished for).
American Idol starts next Tuesday.
And although I will continue to post a wonderland of musical madness and self-referential playlists, I will also be taking over a hulking portion of the Idol coverage here at your St. Pete Times.
I intend to cover the show irreverently but comprehensively, as both a chronicler of popular culture and a large man in his boxer shorts eating Chunky Monkey and chortling at Simon Cowell's man-bazooms.
In other words, I'll make it worth your while, baby.
So as you gaze at the vocal talents of Antonella Barba, let's start the Idol 2008 campaign by asking this question...
HOW MANY OF YOU PLAN TO WATCH (all of, part of, none of) SEASON 7 OF AMERICAN IDOL?
Love Phil Collins. Love chocolate. Love gorillas. Here's a new U.K. commercial for Cadbury.
I'm a total Curb Your Enthusiasm junkie.
Each year, I'll sign up for HBO solely for a new season of Curb, and then, because I've already seen The Wedding Crashers 500 times, I'll cancel HBO until good ol' LD puts together a new batch of genius.
There are certain episodes -- Tabasco finger, beloved "aunt," hooker at the Dodgers game, the Nativity scene -- when I'm thoroughly convinced it's the greatest sitcom of all time. Next to The Simpsons, I've never laughed at a show so consistently for so long.
Two episodes in, Season 6 has been solid ("Then why did you take home the balls?"), if not classic.
Anyway, I'm happy to report that iTunes has a comprehensive selection of music from Curb, including the theme song, Frolic, by Luciano Michelini.
We all have our Larry David moments. So we should at least have the music to go with them.
So I'm in Target today, holding Ashley Tisdale's solo album in my hands. Part of me is saying, "I need to write about her! She's so real, so honest" while the other half of me is saying, "C'mon, Daly, get a grip. She's 22. This is an extremely unhealthy obsession. What's the matter with you? This is kind of like your thing for Charlene Tilton back in the '80s!" To which the other half of me countered, "He liked Charlene Tilton?" and the other other half of me answered back, "Oh yeah, he had a full-on Charlene Tilton thing. You don't remember that? But that's not the worst of it. Remember his crush on Betty White?" To which both halves of me said, "Ewwww."
No music today. Instead, in the matter of full disclosure, here are 10 unlikely celebrities (real and imaginary) on which I've had a strange crush:
10. Tennis player Carling Bassett
9. The Fairy Godmother from Shrek 2
8. All of the Golden Girls except for Estelle Getty
7. Dallas star Charlene Tilton
6. Jessica Rabbit
5. She-Hulk
4. Natalie Merchant
3. Belinda Carlisle (chubby version)
2. Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment
1. Ashley Tisdale
Today, tomorrow and Friday, I'll be one of four judges taking part in Tampa Bay Idol, FOX 13's contest to send one singer to Miami on Aug. 22 to (potentially) perform in front of Simon, Paula and Randy for a spot on the real deal.
Last year's champ, Jordin Sparks, was a FOX "golden ticket" winner out of Arizona. If you win, you get an automatic audition in front of the show's top producers -- no waiting in line with the desperates.
Anyway, at the Tampa studio, FOX reporter Charley Belcher, former Idol Top 12er Melissa McGhee (left), WQYK jock Chad Brock and I will be listening to hundreds of audition tapes, ditching some, keeping others, whittling down to 10.
Then on Friday at noon, we'll be heading to Westfield Brandon mall for a "live" battle between the final 10. The winner gets the big prize -- the losers get to threaten me in front of the Sbarro kiosk then key my car.
I'll write a column about it next Tuesday -- plus I'll no doubt blog now and then about the tsunami of no-talents I've been forced to hear. Should be fun...hopefully.
...or this is a funny show.
It started as a mere distraction for Kid Lulu: Here, watch this show while the Old Man takes a nap. Then, peeking at the screen now and then, I started to chuckle: You know, the portly kid is kinda funny. And then, in a matter of days, it became appointment television for father and daughter: Hey, Lulu, Drake & Josh is on!
One of cable television’s highest-rated sitcoms, Nickelodeon’s Drake & Josh is totally cookie-cutter in formula: total-opposite stepbrothers share a room, family dysfunction and related madcappery. The two leads, however, make the show addictively watchable. Chubby brunette Josh is played by Josh Peck, who's dropped a ton of weight over the show’s run, but has retained a prepubescent Jackie Gleason routine. Sometimes he overdoes it; sometimes he nails it just right.
Drake Bell is Drake, the cutie-pie ladies man, cool in every way that Josh is not. He’s also a bit dim, but Bell plays it with a subtle likability.
Alas, fictional Drake is also a pop star who lives at home but still manages a No. 1 hit. That cheeseball, Brady Bunch, marketing-manipulative subplot would be a deal-breaker for me if his songs weren’t so catchy, especially Makes Me Happy, which he’ll no doubt play Aug. 18 at Ford Amphitheatre on a teeny-popper bill with Corbin Bleu and Aly & AJ.
Kid Lulu and I won’t be at the show, but rest assured we’ll be supporting Drake back home in the front of the tube
Drake Bell, Aly & AJ and Corbin Bleu perform 6 p.m. August 18 at Ford Amphitheatre, Interstate 4 at U.S. 301 N, Tampa. $27.50-$39.75 each, $85 for four. (813) 740-2446.
Just recorded a podcast with Times TV critic Eric Deggans, who is currently out in L.A. at the TV Writers Liquor 'n' Hype-a-thon, where talented tube scribes get schmoozed and boozed by major broadcast networks. Eric is staying at the Beverly Hilton; they are no doubt fanning him and feeding him grapes, as well. Eric spins some good yarns, so definitely check out the podcast. We'll be recording a new podcast every day, my jealousy, my envy, my rage reaching new fevery peaks each episode.
In the meantime, I'm feeling inspired. Let's talk TV themes. THE 10 BEST TV THEMES, that is. I'm a big fan of Mike Post, so you'll find a lot of his work on here, including two in the top spots. I'm basically disqualifying pre-existing songs a la the Who hits for the CSI franchise. That said, Quincy Jones is getting on here, rules be damned. I also have no idea who wrote a couple of these. (In Search Of..., anybody?) So basically, the rules are loose, just like my morals and grasp of journalism. So here you go...
10) The A-Team Theme -- Mike Post and Pete Carpenter
9) The Dick Van Dyke Show -- ???
8) Meet the Flintstones -- lyrics by William Hanna and Joseph Barbera, music by Hoyt Curtin
7) Hill Street Blues -- Mike Post
6) Miami Vice -- Jan Hammer
5) The Greatest American Hero -- Mike Post (sung by Joey Scarbury)
4) In Search Of... -- ????Maybe Leonard Nimoy????
3) Sanford and Son -- Quincy Jones (theme's real name is called The Streetbeater, I believe)
2) Magnum, P.I. -- Mike Post
1) The Rockford Files -- Mike Post
Do bridges make you feel all sexy inside? (And how!) Do you wear high heels and little else? (You bet!) Do you refer to yourself in a sassy third-person fashion? (Seantastic!) If so, you could win free tickets to a June 1 Fergie concert at Ruth Eckerd Hall in Clearwater, FLA. This is being called a "free" show, but there’s a catch. In order to score tix, fans have to visit a participating Verizon Wireless store and either (1) dress in "your most Fergalicious outfit" (we’re quoting here, folks) or (2) show that you have Fergie music on your phone. Tickets are available while supplies last, and will not be available at the Ruth Eckerd box office. For more information (and whatever other "catches" there might be), go to http://fergieperformances.com/.
How about that Jordin Sparks, huh? (Don't hate the player, Sharon Fink. Hate the beat-box. Finally, someone owes ME a burrito.)
Weird show last night, like watching Battle of the Network Stars, but instead of Erik Estrada in a kayak, it was Jerry Springer crying during "Wing Beneath My Wings."
And how much did they have to pay Joe Perry to play with Sanjaya? Sheesh.
Lotta theories about why American Idol was sucky this year -- poor talent, not enough pretty contestants, not enough backstory, Randy Jackson's endless supply of tacky Sgt. Peppers jackets. But after they flashed that picture of an actual bush baby when that bug-eyed kid came back for his 15th minute, I realized what Idol '07 was really missing: its nasty streak. It was just too nice. Not enough humiliation.
Oh well. I wasn't going to blog about Idol again. But I guess I should take a perverse pleasure in spotting the winner from the start. Yesiree, I can really pick those underage women.
Only 240 days until next season...
I spent most of Tuesday on FOX 13 in Tampa, barking incessantly about Idol. Yes, I felt a little silly. But I'm also a total slut for television, which won't surprise anyone. So Sell-Out Sean, ready (and sweaty) for his close-up, had a blast. ("Ah yes, the Sanjaya Factor...")
That said, I'm soooo ready to be done with this season.
So let's keep this brief: Jordin or Blake? If you care in the slightest, who's it gonna be?
I picked Jordin from the start, a fact that's been well-documented in your St. Pete Times, and I'm not ditching her now. The show was a little too pro Blake last night, maybe to even things out, but Jordin did a better job with that crappy final song, which will probably be the difference. (And let's be honest: That beat-box bit of Bon Jovi lost a whole lotta luster the second time around, didn't it?)
We here at the St. Pete Times threw our own post-Idol party last night. It was a celebration of myriad delights: Sanjaya's sister, Elliot Yamin's Willie-Aames-meets-a-hobo haircut, the almost-end of Season 6, soon getting our lives back, etc.
In fact, Eric Deggans, Sharon Fink and I had so much fun, we hit the recording studio and taped the whole shebang. (We even made a call and got connected to backstage in Hollywood.)
Need something to listen to during lunch?
Click here to hear the podcast, including our picks for who's gonna win the whole thing...
(It's so Jordin. Money in the bank.)
Lesson No. 1 When Choosing A Song on American Idol: Never sing something that hints to your potential demise. Because when Seacrest says you're goin' home, back to the 9-to-5 where you belong, you don't want to be the loser who has to choke out "Another One Bites the Dust" or "Last Dance." It's hard enough getting eliminated. But when America is also snickering into its collective Dorito bowl as you warble about getting "shot down in a blaze of glory," as Phil Stacey did Wednesday night, that's tough.
Poor Nosferatu. I almost felt bad for the bald dude. But he'll be fine. Vampires always land on their feet.
As for Chris "Timberfake" Richardson, his song was also telling. "Wanted Dead or Alive"? Uh, dead, please.
By the way, I was totally waiting for Chris and Blake to kiss. Am I wrong in thinking they're in love?
KiKi goes next week. Then Melinda. In the finale, Jordin trumps Blake in a squeaker. Then we all go back to our lives. Huzzah!
Here's what's cool about my relationship with the FF. She'd totally leave me for Jon Bon Jovi; I'd totally leave her for Gwen Stefani. We're cool with that. It's an open relationship based on alcohol + lust for recent American Idol guests. (In related news, Kid Lulu would leave both of us for anyone with M&Ms and a vague resemblance to Greg Wiggle.)
On to Idol chatter about last night:
Phil Stacey, Blaze of Glory: FF praises Nosferatu, "He's nailing it! He's nailing it!" Yuck. I've changed my mine. The FF and I are sooo over.
Jordin Sparks, Livin' on a Prayer: Love the dirty rock chick look. Too bad she killed the chorus. Could be trouble for my incandescent beauty. Don't give up on her America.
KiKi Jones, This Ain't a Love Song: Not bad. But to be honest, I was too distracted by her bazooms-enhancing two-tone top. Who dresses these people?
Blake Lewis, You Give Love a Bad Name: The kid's got extra-large huevos, I'll give him that. Plus he was smart enough not to mess with the classic chorus.
Chris Richardson, Wanted Dead or Alive: Timberfake is the epitome of this season's perilously shallow talent pool.
Melinda Doolittle, Have a Nice Day: Call me crazy, but she was damn sexy doing that one. Total Tina T.
...Miss Jordin Sparks.
"You'll Never Walk Alone"? And she nails it?
It's over.
Seriously.
OVER.
Jordin wins.
You know that, right?
So how much crap is Simon Cowell gonna catch for that poorly timed eye roll Tuesday? If you didn't catch "Country Night" on Idol, it went down like this: Chris "Timberfake" Richardson was absolutely lousy. And after whining something really moronic to the judges ("Nasally is a form of singing"), Chris then referenced the Virginia Tech tragedy -- never mind that Ryan Seacrest had already opened the show with a thoughts-and-prayers message. The camera then turned to Simon, rolling his eyes at what he thought was Timberfake's blatant plea for votes. Later, after Blake Lewis' Cure-meets-Tim McGraw performance, Cowell awkwardly referenced Virginia Tech again, obviously because producers told him about his eye roll. He was trying to save face. Cowell shouldn't take any crap for it -- he was right to think Chris was being manipulative -- but he probably will.
IN OTHER NEWS: I'm now thoroughly convinced Martina McBride is a robot. I'm also convinced there's going to be a surprise vote-off tonight. Maybe Sanjaya, who was strangely charmless. Maybe LaKisha, who WAS SHOUTING "JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL" REALLY, REALLY LOUDLY.
I find it sad, and disturbing, and probable grounds for assisted-living help, that Tony Bennett was pissy with all of the American Idolists Tuesday except for Sanjaya. But not only was he kind with Malakar, he was complimentary. Did Tony really say, "I'm a big fan"? I couldn't hear too well 'cause I was nervously eating Sweet Tarts to chase away the horror of it all. (Even worse is that none of those little spoiled brats listened to Bennett. They all disobeyed his orders, including Lakisha with that Ain't No Sunshine kicker on Stormy Weather.)
Oh well. Sanjaya's hair and wardrobe -- obviously inspired by a 
certain pair of John Travolta films -- was amusing. But for my money, the most memorable performance was by Haley Scarnato, whose entire life is inspired by the pinup to the left. She's so fake, so phony, so Busch-Gardens-Salute-to-WWII, it's mind-blowing. And yet, I'm not going to lie to you, I'm totally hot for her. I hate myself for it. I really do. She's about as genuine as Bennett's rug. And yet, Scarnato's coconut-cracking gams have me in a sick, twisted vice grip.
So who's going home tomorrow night? My guess is Gina, who shoulda ditched the tongue ring (I'm pretty sure Charlie Chaplin did), or Phil Stacey, whose vampirical hold on America is losing its power.
Chaos is about to reign on American Idol. But first, a few words about Sanjaya, who now has tweens, teens and anarchists on his side.
Sanjaya is smarter than you think. He's definitely smarter than Gwen Stefani. He also might be a little nasty, too. Some say he's a victim, a pawn in game of life. I say Sanjaya is like Keyser Soze. Beware.
As most of America now knows, on last night's Idol, devoted to the songs and influences of No Doubt, the manipulatively hirsute "singer" looked like he was trying out for a high school version of Mad Max. He didn't even bother singing No Doubt's Bathwater, instead letting his locks do the work for him. His appeal has always been that of a 9-year-old girl gripping her hair brush and singing in front of the mirror. But last night, he was almost spiteful, almost eeeevilll, daring you to vote him off, a 13-year-old who hates her parents and is contemplating a tongue ring. Gwen Stefani thought he was doomed, but Simon Cowell was smarter, noting that it doesn't matter what the judges say.
Sanjaya isn't going anywhere. (Chris Richardson, the weakest of the pasty white guys, is doomed, although Chris Sligh's Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic was abominable.) Heck, he might make the Top 4. He's already made the Top 10, which means he gets to tour with his Idol pals at the end of the season. I'm telling you right now: There will be more Sanjaya fans in stadiums across the country than Melinda or Lakisha fans. This is all good news for Idol. Don't believe the crap about the show's integrity being tainted. It's all about buzz. It's all about viewership.
Haley Scarnato, who looks like a 1920s pinup in GAMS magazine, is also safe. Which means very soon, legit talent will start getting axed. Some people are saying that won't happen, that Idol normalcy will soon take over. I don't know about that. This year's different. It is. Sanjaya is wicked. So is Haley. I can see them cackling in a shadowy hotel room, hatching their evil plot, making fun of Phil Stacey, and doing each other's hair. Chaos, I tell you. Chaos.
Just found out that future American Idol champ Sanjaya Malakar's sister worked at Hooters. Why wasn't I notified of this sooner? Shamal Malakar was an early plotline on this season's show. Bro made it to Hollywood; sis went back to the orange hot pants.
Shamal is free to work where she wants. That said, I hate Hooters. The Forever Fiancee always gives me crap about that, saying I merely don't like the food (which is true). She says that, in actuality, I'm a great fan of the theory behind Hooters. That crazy FF, always busting my chops.
Besides those crappy wings, my big problem with Hooters are those ridiculous pantyhose the servers have to wear, like dollar-store scuba suits. It's totally unappetizing. And I'm not sure I see the health benefits of keeping their legs covered, but it's okay to allow their shellacked hair to swing all over my two-dozen nuclear wings.
By the way, I totally endorse Wing House.
If all goes well, I'll be chatting up Chris Daughtry on March 26. This would be a pretty good get -- especially considering the fallout after the EW article, which he reportedly wasn't too happy about.
So let's hear 'em: Questions for Chris Daughtry?
You had some good ones for Pete Townshend, which I wound up incorporating into my interview.
By the way, bonus points for Chris questions that have nothing to do with Idol...
By Sean Daly and Sharon Fink, Times Staff Writers
Designed by Josh Engleman
There is no better couch potato sport than American Idol. But this year the singers have all the charisma of your basic Idaho russet. So today we handicap the field and rate each hopeful’s appeal on the Spud-o-Meter. Instant mashed, start packing. Loaded, you are so in. Get ready for hot spud-on-spud action!
Here's a press release from that slimy dude behind Girls Gone Wild. You know, I'm shocked that some irate father of a topless coed hasn't shot Joe Francis in the head yet. Plus isn't he supposed to be in the slammer for underage antics? Anyway, Joe Blow is trying to seduce American Idol's Antonella Barba to be a GGW co-host. I can hear her Dad cocking his shotgun as I type.
New York, N.Y. -- Joe Francis and Girls Gone Wild (GGW) have made a public offer to controversial American Idol star, Antonella Barba, to become the newest member of the Girls Gone Wild family. In the deal, Barba is being offered $250,000 to be the newest celebrity host following in the footsteps of Snoop Dogg and former REAL World celebrities, Syrus, Tonya, Cameran and Ace.
Barba became an instant sensation this season when racy photos of her appeared on the web. This is happening on a regular basis with Katie Rees being disqualified from the recent Miss USA pageant and the recent Newsweek cover story featuring Paris Hilton and Britney Spears "behaving badly".
"Girls gone wild has become part of pop culture, capturing real carefree college age students cutting loose. There’s a little Girls Gone Wild in every woman," says GGW founder Joe Francis, "and this should be embraced as a positive, not a negative."
Thanks to Barba’s overnight popularity, GGW and Joe Francis want to reward the young lady from New Jersey with a $250,000 hosting contract to join the GGW brand and lifestyle.
"Antonella Barba is an unbelievably sexy girl who obviously knows how to have a good time," said Joe Francis, CEO and founder of Girls Gone Wild. "Why are people being ridiculed and punished for being sexual? It’s ridiculous."
As much as I believe the undead should be given equal opportunity in the entertainment industry, Nosferatu must leave American Idol. Did you see him last night? There's just no place for a cold, bloodless vampire on prime-time television (except for Rosie O'Donnell, of course). If you're gonna allow Nosferatu (also known, in shape-shifting form, as Phil Stacey) to perform, at least flash a parental-advisory warning before each show. Fer crissakes, my daughter, 3-year-old Kid Lulu, woke up screaming last night. I asked what was wrong and she said, "Nosferatu is coming to get me!" I'm with ya, kid. I'm with ya.
(Avert your eyes, or be damned forever.)
(I'm serious, look away.)
(Sharpen your stakes.)
(Prepare the garlic.)
(Cover your neck.)
(Nosferatu is in da house.)
As you've no doubt heard by now, American Idol's talent-free Top 24 contestant Antonella Barba has herself a scandal. Saucy pictures of the witchy woman are currently swirling about cyberspace. Her annoying pal Amanda Coluccio (who tried out for the show but failed, probably because she was really evil) says the racier pictures are of someone else. That seems to be the case. But Antonella has admitted that a few of the pix are of her. She had them made for her boyfriend, including presumably this feel-good Halloween snapshot. Idol shouldn't kick her off the show for this. No, Idol should kick her off the show because she sucks and she's mean. If you want more of Antonella, you're on your own.
Say what you will about the Grammy Awards (no one watches them, they're irrelevant, etc.), but "music's biggest night" is a helluva lot more fun than the Academy Awards. Jesus, the Oscars were dull last night. No, I mean record-setting dull, even more record-setting dull than last year and the year before that. Was there one moment worth remembering? Maybe when Beyonce and Jennifer Hudson were singing side by side. That was pretty good. Beyonce so wanted to one-up her Dreamgirls costar (who had earlier won a nice shiny trophy), it reminded me of Daffy Duck versus Bugs Bunny. I totally expected Beyonce to hit Hudson with a cymbal.
The Grammys long ago realized that the actual awards were meaningless, so they just lined up the microphones and had people sing for three hours. Not a bad idea. Viewership is still pretty ragged, but the Grammys are at least listenable. But the Oscars? Lord, what a mess. It seemed like they gave out 350 awards last night, and there wasn't one memorable acceptance speech to be heard. What happened to giving out Best Supporting Actor/Actress early in the night? By my watch, the first significant (read: somewhat interesting) award wasn't handed out until 9:45.
Edy's Ice Cream is launching a line of American Idol-themed flavors, including Hollywood Cheesecake, Soulful Sundae Cone and Choc 'N Roll Caramel. Normally, I wholly approve of Edy's "Slow Churned" attempts, but they dropped the ball on this one. Those flavor names blow. Just think of the better possibilities:
Berry Underwood
Crandisa!
Ruben's Big Tub of Goo
Brain Freeze (official dessert of Kellie Pickler)
Guarini's Tears
And I Am Telling You I'm Not Fudgy
Snow Bice
Dumb Raisin (OK, Pickler gets two)
Randy Apple
Marshmaroulis
Anybody got a flavor for Taylor Hicks? Bucky Covington? Kat McPhee?
UPDATE! Gotta say, I tried Edy's American Idol "Take the Cake" flavor last night, and it was damn delicious. Like a strawberry sundae with moist chunks of brown-sugar crust. Mmm, I can just feel myself getting fatter.
That said, the show itself was a disaster. Get ready for a ratings drop. There's a bad vibe to this year's show. And the Jack Osbourne clone -- Chris Sligh -- is turning out to be a creep. He forced a couple bad jokes last night, including awkwardly insulting Simon at the end, and made himself look like a jerk. Just sing and be pudgy, dude. Stop with the zingers.
American Idol looks pretty weak on talent and charisma this year, but I'm loving that fat dude with Jack Osbourne's face and Julius Erving's hair. That guy rocks. Everyone else is awful and mean, including those conniving talent-averse girls at the end, who totally torpedoed the country bumpkin ("Because God likes good people"). Anyway, here's a few other notebook ramblings from last night's show:
That Zit Nosed Kid annoys me. Stop crying dude. Stop calling your mother. No wonder she never says she loves you...Perla, the Shakira wannabe, needs to buy a bigger bra....Sundance Head? That sounds like something they teach in Bangkok...That Domino's commercial featuring men with elephantiasis is terrifying....Sundance Head also needs to buy a bigger bra....That said, if fat guys become vogue, I'm so in....Anyone associated with the U.S. Military is getting humiliated. I blame that sniveling Brit Simon Cowell.
As the Grammy supastars gamboled down the red carpet last night, Times fashion diva Sharon Fink and I snarked back and forth about the plethora of bad duds. For the record, I was wearing vintage Target and ratty Stan Smiths, so I know of what I speak. Feel free to snark along.
JOHN MAYER
Sean: He looks like a schlubby high school senior monkey-suited for the prom. He could also use a trip to Supercuts.
Sharon: That's an insult to schlubby high school seniors. And Supercuts.
OK GO
Sharon: Some people get paid $5.75 an hour to dress like that and stand on a street corner advertising rug stores.
Sean: Come on, Sharon. Haven't you ever seen The Shining? That's the haunted-hotel-tapestry look. Very hot, very redrum.
DIXIE CHICKS
Sean: Natalie Maines, middle, looks like she's covered in seaweed. Plus, I don't like the dark hair at all. She looks like evil Bizarro Natalie.
Sharon: Speaking of bizarro, Emily Robison, left, is this year's winner of the Wednesday Addams Lookalike Contest.
JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE
Sharon: I didn't know he had an endorsement deal with Brooks Brothers.
Sean: He looks too dressed-down, doesn't he? I mean, it's the guy's big night and he's dressed for his First Communion.
For one loud, brash night filled with Mary J. Blige’s tears, Shakira’s shimmy and Sting’s age-defying studliness, the music industry was able to pretend that album sales aren’t in the toilet and its future isn’t a mess.
Instead, the 49th annual Grammy Awards, held Sunday at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, were flush with optimism, swagger and more hot performances than dopey acceptance speeches, including a killer kick start by the Police, which disbanded decades ago but used the Grammys to announce a reunion.
Even the trophy-trading made for good drama. Country outcasts the Dixie Chicks, persecuted in 2003 for speaking out against President Bush, won a leading five awards, including song and record of the year for Not Ready to Make Nice and, in a tasty take-that to their Nashville naysayers, both album of the year and best country album for Taking the Long Way.
"To quote the great Simpsons: Ha-ha!" zinged lead singer Natalie Maines. "A lot of people just turned their TVs off right now." Better watch your back, cowgirl.
Nominated for a leading eight awards, Blige won four, including best R&B album for The Breakthrough and best female R&B vocal performance for Be Without You. She also performed twice, which (almost) made up for the fact that The Breakthrough wasn't nominated album of the year.
Despite a drool-inducing dud of a performance that put a screeching halt to the night, punk-funks the Red Hot Chili Peppers won four awards, including best rock album for the double-disc Stadium Arcadium and best rock performance by a duo or group for Dani California. The likably confident Ludacris won best rap album for Release Therapy.
And lest country fans feel slighted by those feisty Chicks, former American Idol champ Carrie Underwood won for best new artist and best female country vocal performance for Jesus Take the Wheel. The blonde hottie also uncorked a hubba-hubba version of the Eagles’ Desperado.
Over the past few years, the Grammys (and the peer-based recording academy in charge of them) have learned that the best way to showcase new music is to simply let the talent shine. And that it did, making this one of the most entertaining Grammy broadcasts in memory.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are the Police, and we’re back!" hollered Sting as the Fountain of Youth coursed through his ruggedly handsome veins. The trio kicked into Roxanne, a robust promise that an upcoming tour will be worth the ticket price.
Most energetic performance of the night? That’s easy. Shakira, Wyclef, and, um, Shakira’s abs teamed up for the dance smash Hips Don’t Lie. Wyclef wisely got out of the way once the Colombian songstress started shaking her groove thang — that’s a good way to lose an eye.
Although there’s much concern about the future of the music business, talent shouldn’t be a problem. Dressed like airline pilots, Gnarls Barkley’s Cee-Lo and Danger Mouse gave a subdued, vaguely militaristic version of their hit single Crazy. Christina Aguilera honored the late James Brown with a hair-raising It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World.
And the night’s most subtle performance was also its most lovely: a rhythm-and-bluesy collaboration between Brit newcomer Corinne Bailey Rae, soul prince John Legend and guitar whiz John Mayer, who won two early awards, including best pop vocal album for Continuum.
Not all the performances killed. Prince’s comically brief "One word: Beyonce" introduction was far more interesting than the performance that followed, a sloppy version of Ms. Knowles' Dreamgirls showstopper, Listen. And Justin Timberlake, who won two trophies in the nontelevised awards portion, seemed out of it the whole night.
And in a final note, here’s a shout-out to Wolfmother, the Aussie hairballs who took home best hard rock performance for the song Woman. If you’ve learn anything from this column, let it be that Wolfmother RULES.
You probably haven’t noticed — and you’re certainly not alone — but the Grammy Awards have been damn good fun the past few years. Although the ratings for "music’s biggest night" have been lousy at best, the Grammys have been one of the smartest awards shows around, mainly because the peer-based Recording Academy is getting increasingly cooler, with older, Victrola-spinning members dying off and boomer rockers and rappers voting for hipper acts.
Also, with the music biz in disarray (CD sales are down, digital sales are up, the future is murky), the Grammy folks consider selling product more important than honoring it. So Sunday’s 49th annual Grammy broadcast will be overloaded with loud, brash live sets, including a reunion gig by the Police, and performances by Beyonce, Christina Aguilera, Shakira, John Legend and Ludacris, to name a few.
The awards given out, and the dopey acceptance speeches that come with them, will number fewer than 10. (More than 100 awards will be given out in an earlier, nontelevised event.) But even during the trophy trading, the drama will be juicy. Here are the nominees and predictions for the biggest awards, plus pointers for maximum Grammy enjoyment.
ALBUM OF THE YEAR: Taking the Long Way, Dixie Chicks; St. Elsewhere, Gnarls Barkley; Continuum, John Mayer; Stadium Arcadium, Red Hot Chili Peppers; FutureSex/LoveSounds, Justin Timberlake.
The Recording Academy is sooo proud of itself with this category, especially the Gnarls Barkley nomination. The hip-hop duo of roly-souly singer Cee-Lo and beat-making DJ Danger Mouse is the hippest, hottest band on the planet, and the most deserving of the night’s biggest award. Unfortunately, the eclectic, eccentric Gnarls won’t take home the hardware (the Grammys aren’t that cool), but the academy will get points by letting the guys play live, which should be a hoot.
So who wins album of the year? The Recording Academy will make a show-closing, long-live-liberals statement and give the award to the Dixie Chicks, for the utterly lackluster Taking the Long Way, most of which was about being persecuted by Nashville peers for speaking out against George W. Bush. The Grammys are famous for barely tolerating country music, so the Chicks will win for best country album, too, which is a sneaky dig at Music Row. Oh, and you better believe frontwoman Natalie Maines will zing Dubya one more time, so set your TiVo for10:55 p.m.
RECORD OF THE YEAR: Be Without You, Mary J. Blige; You’re Beautiful, James Blunt; Not Ready to Make Nice, Dixie Chicks; Crazy, Gnarls Barkley; Put Your Records On, Corinne Bailey Rae.
Queen of Hip-Hop Soul Mary J. Blige led all artists this year with eight nominations. But for some head-scratching reason, her album The Breakthrough didn’t get a nod for album of the year (the Grammys aren’t that smart). So expect Mary to kill in other categories, including record of the year (an artist and producer’s award) and song of the year (a songwriter’s award) for the hit Be Without You. She’ll also win best R&B album for The Breakthrough.
BEST NEW ARTIST: James Blunt, Chris Brown, Imogen Heap, Corinne Bailey Rae, Carrie Underwood.
In a perfect pop world, soul-kissed British chanteuse Rae would walk away with the best new artist title. But this one’s like high school — a popularity contest among pretty bubbleheads. That means it’ll be Brit hunk Blunt, whose You’re Beautiful was a sappy smash, against Underwood, the former American Idol champ who has sold more than 4-million copies of her debut album. If you’re wondering who has the edge, Google “Underwood + legs.” She’s the hotter hottie. She wins.
BEST ROCK ALBUM: Try!, John Mayer Trio; Highway Companion, Tom Petty; Broken Boy Soldiers, the Raconteurs; Stadium Arcadium, Red Hot Chili Peppers; Living With War, Neil Young.
Petty and Jack White’s Raconteurs made two of the best albums of ’06, but neither sold particularly well, and that’ll hurt. And although the Recording Academy loves faux-blues schmo Mayer and crusty gadfly Young, those guys probably won’t win, either.
Nope, this one’s going to the Chili Peppers, the SoCal punk-funk quartet who got their lives together and uncorked an ambitious double album of solid fun. Don’t expect bassist Flea to wear a shirt (or pants) at the podium.
BEST RAP ALBUM: Food & Liquor, Lupe Fiasco; Release Therapy, Ludacris; In My Mind, Pharrell; Game Theory, the Roots; King, T.I.
It has been a while since Kanye West wasn’t nominated in this category, and for that reason alone, the best rap album battle will lack big-ego drama. There’s no Jay-Z or Eminem or 50 Cent, either. Still, this is a talented group. Neptunes/N.E.R.D. brainiac Pharrell is due some industry love, but his album underperformed in the stores, so he’ll have to wait. The Roots are hipster faves but commercial duds. T.I. is a sales giant, but he’s not quite there artistically.
So it all comes down to the prodigious Lupe Fiasco, whose Food & Liquor was one of the best albums in any genre, vs. Ludacris, the loud/brash rapper/actor. Luda’s star is rising to super status, plus buddy Pharrell will no doubt help him work out infectious bumper Money Maker, giving the Grammys two-for-one recognition. Feel free to shake it at home when Ludacris takes the prize.
Thanks to my friend and colleague Josh Korr, here's a mind-blowing clip of Prince (plus Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne, Dhani Harrison and more) honoring George Harrison with a cover of While My Guitar Gently Weeps. It's from the 2004 Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame induction. Prince uncorks his solo around the 3:20 mark. Hold onto your 'do rags. It's a killer.
"Any song that I pick, I have to feel, because if I can feel it, I can make you feel it."
-- Bucky Covington
2006 American Idol dope
On April 17, AI huckleberry Bucky Covington (not to be confused with twin bro Rocky) will release his self-titled debut. I received the first single, A Different World, in the mail yesterday. It's a midtempo shuffle about being an old man (he's 30) growing up in ye olden days (the late '70s). It's so bad it's close to brilliant. Bucky didn't write the song -- he chose it because it spoke to him. If "Weird Al" covers this song, he won't have to change a thing. Here are the lyrics (AND NO, I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP):
We were born to mothers who smoked and drank
Our cribs were covered in lead-based paint
No child proof lids, no seat belts in cars
Rode bikes with no helmets and still here we are
Still here we are
It was a different life
When we were boys and girls
Not just a different time
It was a different world
School always started the same every day
The pledge of allegiance, then someone would pray
Not every kid made the team when they tried
We got disappointed but that was alright
We turned out all right
No bottled water, we'd drink from a hose
And every Sunday, all the stores were closed
It was a different world
Raw, wet, unpredictable -- and he left the lip-syncing to the suckers. Prince absolutely ROCKED the Super Bowl last night. In fact, seeing as how I lost money on the game, I'm willing to say His Royal Badness (aka the Purple One) was by far the most exciting thing about Super Bowl XLI. His set mixed hits, bizarro covers (the Foos?) and those phenomenal licks of Hendrixian axemanship. The tone that guy gets out of his guitar is just sick. And while Prince is hellzapoppin' in dry conditions, the rain added such drama, such peril, it gave the entire spectacle some epic edge, especially the funky, to-hell-with-formations marching band and, of course, the Purple Rain finale. Hell, I even liked his 'do rag. After years of dealing with phoned-in Super crap from McCartney, the Stones and Aerosmith, Prince's performance will go down as the best halftime set ever.
American Idol has always been a smartly manipulative show, but despite the massive ratings, it was a disaster this week. Memphis was just plain boring, and last night's New York show left a bad taste in my mouth. First of all, lemme just say AMERICAN IDOL ISN'T MEAN ENOUGH. It should be even meaner. Like Simon sez, "When someone's down on the floor, kick them." They should have eviscerated that Noo Yawk buffoon who opened the show last night. What a horrific, depressing way to start a two-hour sh-- sandwich. Can't we get Don Rickles as a guest judge? Chris Rock maybe? They're making all the wrong people cry. I was gonna transcribe my notes, but forget it. Instead, I'm gonna pull an Abdul and hit the pharmacy.
It took three hours (and a day and a half of programming), but at 9:01 p.m. last night, American Idol finally gave us someone to root for: the Indian-American bro-sis combo, who were like a Bollywood version of Donny & Marie. They're a great storyline. Anyway, here's my rambling notes on last night's Idol, which was much better than the premiere, if only because they gave us a scattering of legit talent among the freaks.
Did the "Hotness" used to be a man?...Seriously, this show needs a bodyguard to move the lame-o's along....Where are all the talented people?....Too many dorks....Why is everyone crying?....Paula seems more lucid, Randy seems more surly....GOOD LORD, THE BLONDE BROAD ISN'T WEARING A BRA!!!!....Mark my words: Zitzmann will show up again on the season finale....Ryan Seacrest is a funny dude. Probably an a-hole off-camera, but damn funny when the tape is rolling...."Bush baby": Marty Feldman....I like the tall girl. She's gonna do well.
Hey gang: I've been asked to give my first impressions of last night's Idol premiere. But instead of coherent sentences, would you mind if I just transcribed my rambling notes? Thanks.
Idol Season 6...Five months to to go....They should hire the bald dude from Springer to be a bodyguard. Someone's gonna get shot. Probably Randy....Girl singing Titanic song so bad, I almost choked on a Skittle...."Other door! Other door!" Why don't they open both doors?....Denise Jackson, the grown-up "crack baby," says she's 16, but she looks like she's 47....Secretary and her boss: creepy, but she's hot. Idol looks. Too bad her singing sucks....Latina chick from Florida (Paula?), nice body, flirty, won't make it past Hollywood, but she makes me feel funny inside....Somewhere Over the Rainbow should be banned forever....As should Burt Lahr/Cowardly Lion impressions....has Simon become compassionate?
Season 6 of AMERICAN IDOL doesn’t start until tonight — and doesn’t end until May 23 — but we already know who’s going to win. That's right: The winner is as obvious as the unibrow on Taylor Hicks’ face. The No. 1 TV show in the country succeeds by mixing 10 basic ingredients such as race, genre, sexuality, juicy backstory and accessories (click here to read them) and subtly tweaking each for a new season. If a contestant follows the unspoken rules, she (that's right: she) will win.
HERE'S WHAT OUR WINNER LOOKS LIKE: A flirtatious multiracial Lolita from Awshucks, KY, who loves rock ’n’ roll, always wears a leather bracelet imprinted with “Save Africa” and Angelina Jolie’s face, had her broken nose fixed (after her imprisoned Daddy's turkey-fryer exploded), and is called by Simon (who hated Taylor Hicks) the worst Idol wannabe since Justin Guarini.
SO...WHO DO YOU THINK WILL WIN AMERICAN IDOL? Boy or Girl? Gay or Straight? Rock or Country? Juicy Dysfunctional Backstory?
Let's hear it...
TAMPA -- Did you hear the screams Wednesday night, that awesome glass-shattering EEEEEE! that sent dogs into delirium from here to Boca?
That was the unforgettable sound of thousands upon thousands of cotton candy-jacked tweenagers bursting from their grade-school shackles and pleading for a chance to mingle with the big kids. Or, at the very least, sing with them.
Jocks and nerds forgoing wedgies and crooning as one is the utopian message behind High School Musical, the Disney Channel's made-for-cable phenomenon that spawned a triple-platinum soundtrack (the biggest-selling album of the year no less), a mega-selling DVD and now this: an $8.5-million concert spectacle that rah-rah-sis-boom-bahed into a sold-out St. Pete Times Forum on Wednesday.
More than 15,000 fans can't be wrong, folks. And they can't be quiet, either.
Over the past few years, the Mouse House has increasingly shanghaied the allowance money of squeaky 8- to 13-year-old kids via clean but hip entertainment with major cross-marketing clout. Give Disney credit: Kids are bombarded with music from all sides these days (iPods, video games, commercials), so songs have to be legitimately likable and catchy to stick.
And that's exactly what High School Musical is: the legitimately likable, incredibly catchy story about a basketball star (we love you, Troy!) and a brainiac (we want to be you, Gabriella!) who fall in love via a shared desire to sing Broadway-style ditties.
Of course, you didn't need to know any of that for Wednesday's event. The frenetic 90-minute stage show was all about the hits and the hot special effects -- shooting sparks, smoke machines, an IMAX screen showing clips of the movie -- and not at all about the movie's plot. I don't think a character's name was mentioned the whole night.
Instead, High School Musical: The Concert focused almost exclusively on selling its stars. Disney has a fiscally sound knack for turning unknowns (who get paid entry-level dollars, dontcha know) into knowns, and HSM is no exception. Almost all the leads from the movie were booked for the touring production, save for the original Troy, cutie-pie Zac Efron, who is currently filming Hairspray. No worries: His replacement, Drew Seeley, will no doubt be a household name by recess.
Next Big Thing Vanessa Hudgens, so cute and shy as brainy brunette Gabriella, now slithers and slinks with J.Lo Jr. sex appeal. Ashley Tisdale (pictured), so nasty and mean as snotty rich girl Sharpay, is now Britney Spears before the badness. And wild-haired Corbin Bleu, who played Troy's pal, has become Disney's energetic entry into the hip-hop market.
In a shameless bit of marketing, Hudgens, Tisdale and Bleu were all given too-long solo "showcase" sets in between the HSM parts, singing wishy-washy cuts from upcoming debut albums. Killing momentum, emcee Lucas Grabeel (he played Sharpay's bro in the movie) would then "interview" each performer in a mumbly back and forth. Lame-o-rama.
Still, it was hard to get too jaded for too long. Those HSM tracks, given oomph by a live six-piece band, were pretty darn good. Get'cha Head in the Game got its beats from basketball bounces and sneaker squeaks, and the accompanying dance routine was supercool. Hudgens' When There Was Me and You was an updated take on Grease's Hopelessly Devoted to You. And the utterly Godspellian Stick to the Status Quo had legit gospel punch and Greek chorus cheek.
And I'm willing to bet that every single person bouncing in every single seat knew every single word to every single song.
By the way, one of the biggest screams of the night came for an advertisement that flashed on the video screen: "High School Musical 2. Coming Summer 2007." You've been warned, Mom and Dad. EEEEEE!
The Grammy Awards love it when a bad girl goes good. Last year, the Recording Academy capped Mariah Carey’s comeback from delirious diva to chart-topping powerhouse with eight nominations at the 48th annual Grammy Awards.
This year, the 49th version of "music’s biggest night" (airing Feb. 11 on CBS) could be a celebration of Mary J. Blige, whose album The Breakthrough details her triumph over drug addiction and toxic men. When nominations were announced Thursday, the Queen of Hip-Hop Soul scored a leading eight noms, including R&B album of the year.
(For a list of all the nominations, go here.)
The Grammys got it right with Blige — well, sort of.
Oddly enough, The Breakthrough will not compete in the night’s biggest category. Instead, album of the year will be a battle between hip-hoppers Gnarls Barkley (St. Elsewhere), country gadflies the Dixie Chicks (Taking the Long Way), soft-rocker John Mayer (Continuum), funk-rockers the Red Hot Chili Peppers (Stadium Arcadium) and just-plain-hunky Justin Timberlake (FutureSex/LoveSounds).
That’s just silly: You’re telling me Timberlake’s hip-thrusts are better than Bob Dylan’s Modern Times? Christina Aguilera’s Back to Basics? Wolfmother’s Wolfmother? (Okay, maybe I was the only person rooting for that last one.)
With the exception of Gnarls Barkley, the awesomely off-kilter duo also nominated for record of the year (Crazy) and best alternative album, the major category has serious potholes. The Grammy folks looove Mayer, who they see as hunky and smart and, most importantly, safe. Unfortunately, Continuum is as exciting as a one-man pillow fight.
The Dixie Chicks Taking the Long Way was a wishy-washy bore of an album, but you better believe leading liberals Natalie Maines & Co., nominated for five awards, are gonna have good seats at that show. Unlike Nashville, where the girls are no longer welcome, the Grammys are Bush-bashing territory, so expect plenty of love for the ladies.
Here’s another question: Why is rookie crew Gnarls Barkley nominated for all those grown-up awards, but they don’t get a nod for best new artist?
Instead, the newbie battle includes country princess Carrie Underwood, wuss-rocker James Blunt, R&B hunk Chris Brown, British singer-songwriter Imogen Heap and neo-soul lovely Corinne Bailey Rae. Former American Idol champ Underwood has outsold all her competition combined, but don’t count out Blunt, whose ballad You’re Beautiful is nominated for record and song of the year. (In a perfect world, Rae, whose hit Put Your Records On was also nominated for record and song of the year, would win in a landslide.)
The best R&B album category is interesting, if only because it shows off the Grammys as being an utterly confused consortium of talent scouts. Blige is joined by Jamie Foxx (and his dreadful Unpredictable), India.Arie (Testimony: Vol. 1, Life & Relationship), Lionel Richie (Coming Home) and Prince (3121, also snubbed for album of the year).
Best rap album might have the strongest five entries in the whole competition: Lupe Fiasco’s Food & Liquor, Pharrell’s In My Mind, Ludacris’ Release Therapy, T.I.’s King and the Roots’ Game Theory.
Best country album, on the other hand, stinks like a set-up: the Dixie Chicks’ Taking the Long Way will no doubt cream Little Big Town’s The Road to Here, Josh Turner’s Your Man, Alan Jackson’s Like Red on a Rose and Willie Nelson’s You Don’t Know Me: The Songs of Cindy Walker.
In producer of the year, a category that’s a lot cooler than you think, the Black Eyed Peas’ underrated Will.i.am is going up against Howard Benson, T-Bone Burnett, Gnarls Barkley’s Danger Mouse and Rick Rubin, who helmed, among other things, Johnny Cash’s gorgeous farewell disc. Rubin will win, but here’s a shout-out to Will.i.am.
That’s just a sliver of of the 108 Grammy categories. If you’re a fan of jazz or classical or comedy (go Weird Al!), don’t feel snubbed. I just didn’t have time and space to get to you.
I’ll give my predictions when we get closer to the big night. For now, commence moaning about who got jobbed. (Seriously, where’s Wolfmother?!)
Just got Faith Hill's "statement" regarding her "reaction" to Carrie Underwood's Female Vocalist of the Year victory at last night's Country Music Awards. If you haven't seen the footage, go here. I can't tell if Faith is actually ticked off that she was beat by an American Idol contestant or just goofing around. Either way, I can't stop watching the tape...
FAITH HILL STATEMENT:
