These are the best songs that were ever written in America

Well, "Mack the Knife" wasn't all written in America.

I will have you know that I have managed to avoid all manner of spoilerism, save the Good Neighbor 830 WCCO-AM forcing me to listen to snippets of Blake and Gina between the ramblings of Sid Hartman and ads for Wellington Windows. But I don't feel particularly spoiled. Not at all.

We're like a minute in and already I know these will be the two best things in this entire episode:

1) Simon making "sexy wink faces" at Ryan

2) The unbridled basket of wow that is this album cover:

Damn. He put some drama on that.

I always hate standards night. People just seem to get extra stupid. There will be vests. There will be hats. There will be ill-advised hair choices. Everything will suck. Oh wait, that's every night this season.

Phil is sporting head stubble in the mentor segments and it freaks me the F out. It looks so wrong. Sooo wrong.

The one-man war on my sanity continues with "Mack the Knife." Oh how I long for Bobby Darin. Or the ghost of Bobby Darin. Or even Kevin Spacey as Bobby Darin. Tony Bennett points out basically that this one over here doesn't really like to pay attention to what lyrics mean and so he sings them as if they have no meaning. I'm paraphrasing, but I know that's what he meant to say 'cause me and Tone are like that. But yeah, he's totally right. TOTALLY. Let's see, he's wearing a lilac-ish blazer, blue shirt, blue stripey tie and TAN GOLF PANTS. Maybe gray. But they look tan to me. Also, there's what looks like those fake Keds Velcro-top sneakers that only cost $3.99 at Woolworth's but everyone just shoplifted 'em anyway. I mean, ew. There is lots of alleged dancing here. Paula says he is the "personification of pizZAZZ." Another day, another reason to ask, "Are you shitting me?" This entire show wishes I was dead.

Aww, old Tonebone likes the popeyed sailor man. "Night and Day," hmm. The enunciation is only stolen from everyone who's ever sang it, ever. Including Bono. And he keeps going sharp. This is horrible. Oh Phil, I give up. Again. "All the joy of someone singing at a funeral parlor," Simon said. Well, he is Nosferatu, fer crying out loud.

"I Got Rhythm," yup. Even I'm getting tired of "You like me, you really like me," genuine though it may be, and you know I have a high tolerance for pain. She's significantly cuter this week. "You have a beginning, middle and end," Paula says. Well, hmm, I see. Simon wasn't big on the prelude, though I have to appreciate the effort to rep Leo Stella style. So yes, I enjoy this if only that it led me to reminisce about the good old days of Leo Stella. And if you don't like it ...

Vest? Check. Hat? Check. Also suspenders ... hanging down from his waistband ... dangling ... down to his knees. What. I want to see them get caught on something. He can't possibly be straight. "Don't Get Around Much Anymore," well I beg to differ. This is so insanely bizarre and horrible that I LOVE IT. I am truly and utterly confused by everything about this in a way that makes me completely awestruck. I have a new question in life for which I need to seek the answer, and it is this entire performance. I mean it.

Jordin likes "On a Clear Day (You Can See Forever)" because it is upbeat and bubbly and fun! Apparently she has never heard Mark Eitzel sing it in that way that only inspires thoughts of, hmm, suicide. In a good way! Vest? Check. Tuck your shirt in! You look sloppy, young lady. Your outfits will be your undoing.

Oh man, Tonebone got all maudlin on us. I couldn't go on and sing after seeing that! Terrorist attacks and dying soldiers? Jeez oh wheeze. So anyway, "Smile," and a very unusual hair decision. How messed up is it that out of all the people left on this show, I only have "I hope you don't get kicked off" hopes for her?! Not "I hope you win," mind, because the thought of any of these people winning just makes me shrug. Ack. Why am I doing this to myself.

Speaking of "I hope you win," oh man, the Mr. gave me the TARGET SPECIAL EDITION! of the Elliott album yesterday. OMG. Though sadly there is still no trace of his promised rendition of "Sharin' the Night Together," whoa-a, ye-eah. Now that is one of the best songs ever written in America. I NEED THAT SONG DESPERATELY, ELLIOTT. DON'T HOLD BACK THE FEELING. Also, I think you need to hire me as your photo editor, because I don't know what anyone was thinking when they picked out those pictures in your booklet. However, you are rocking one truly badass Jewfro, so maybe it all evens out.

Oh, you are one smooth bastard. I have a feeling he is not meant to project while he sings or have, like, a microphone. Like maybe he's just supposed to whisper in a corner like Vashti Bunyan or something. Did he just say "Welcome to the universe of Sanjaya"? Maybe he is responsible for the yummy taste of Chick-Fil-A lemonade.

Christopher magically materializes as soon as this one's magic cleavage hits the screen. What?! It must emit some kind of high-pitched tone that only he can hear. This is ... well, let's just say I hope she sticks around longer than Blake, I guess. Christopher asks me how this outfit compares to the halter top and formal shorts extravaganza. He's serious! He also questions whether that is actual cleavage or "phantom boobs." And then he disappears a soon as she does: "I saw what I needed to see!" We have a lot of fun here. But there's nothing funny about ... phantom boobs. Meanwhile, Randy and Simon are taking turns sexually harassing her. This show is crazy!

"Stormy Weather," OK whatever. Bahaha, so as soon as they showed old Tonebone telling her not to do the "ain't no sunshine" thing at the end it was like a zillion percent obvious DING that she was going to do it anyway, right? We see right through you, lady! And so do the editors, I guess. Eh. I'm glad it's over.

Oh wait, now I have to get through the results show. YAY. I'll just burn through this fast unless something crazy happens.

America, THIS is your bottom three:

Haley's boobs must not be emitting their special signal, as Christopher has not yet emerged from his Man Cave. OH WAIT! There he is! "I don't see no boobs," he says, and leaves. He's very disappointed.

Michael Buble is one sloppy looking dude. I'll call him Fatt Dillon.

America, THIS is your bottom two:

Clearly I cursed them both. But one person I cursed more than anyone:

Christopher: "That's the one you liked, right? Now you have no reason to watch!" Oh if only.

Posted by Kim at April 5, 2007 03:48 AM | The Sound of Breaking Glass