Luck Be A Goat Tonight: AI 9 Top 5 do Sinatra

Tonight is Frank Sinatra night on American Idol. Harry Connick, Jr. even came over to help, as Old Blue Eyes has been dead since 1998. It might be an alright show, except for the fact its American Idol and this year’s contestants may very well have no soul and have chosen the most stereotypical Sinatra songs of all time — outside of New York, New York and My Way, the latter of which Siobhan Magnus had planned on wrecking had she made it to the Top 5.

Seacrest is wrong about one thing. Sinatra’s popularity DID wane during his illustrious career. His Oscar-winning role (Best Supporting Actor) in From Here to Eternity was largely viewed as a comeback for the singer. But you know what hasn’t waned? Harry Connick, Jr.’s looks. The man ages magically. (Wait. He’s only 42. Oh well, he’s still aging beautifully.)

(But if you’re wondering why Harry Connick, Jr. is appearing on American Idol, its because his most-recent album, Your Songs, was made with Satan’s Grandpa himself, Clive Davis.) I have owned only one Harry Connick, Jr. album. Blue Light, Red Light. Buy it. I listened to that CD every night (although sometimes, I did play a little Metallica) as I lie in bed during my entire eighth and ninth grades. I also own several Sinatra albums and have since…childhood.

(Of course Sinatra + Connick isn’t necessarily sweet, sweet melodic kismet when American Idol is factored into the equation.)

Harry, one of New Orleans’ most favorite sons, created the entire arrangements and composition for each contestant. They’re even gonna be backed by members of his own band. And Harry! On piano! Before we kick off tonight’s show — 10 minutes in — with Aaron Kelly’s Fly Me to the Moon, I almost want to believe that Harry Connick, Jr. is going to bring something to life in the final five contestants, and I will realize their enormous talents only with his help. Then I think back to something my mother has often told me. Something about not being able to polish a turd, was it?

Nancy and Tina Sinatra brought Simon one of Frank’s monogrammed hankies. Oh, if those hankies could talk…do you think that hankie wiped vomit off Dean Martin’s chin at the Sands? Because that would be sick. (In a good way.)

Aaron Kelly
Fly Me to the Moon

Since little Aaron is singing another song about the magic of being in love, let’s hope he tells Kara DioGuardi that its all about his childhood dream of becoming an astronaut. Just seeing a few seconds of Harry with Aaron Kelly may ensure he is my favorite mentor ever. He’s trying to teach them things about real music stuff! And he’s charming! And funny! I forgot how much I used to love Harry Connick, Jr.

Aaron got a step 1 spray-on tan and combed his hair back. He’s wearing a tie. He sort of really looks like bizarro world tween Edward Norton now. Or maybe he’s auditioning for some remake of Newsies? Season 9′s little puppy dog that could is predictable in his puppy-like offering of the classic, and some of his natural country twang pops out here and there. He’s not necessarily bombastic, but it’s very bobbysoxer. Very innocent. Smooth? Cool like Frank? Not so much. Atrocious, not really. But I’m a bit confused why Randy and Ellen think it was THAT good. Kara tells him it wasn’t as good as last week, but he was good, and about the same height as Frank Sinatra. Simon is still smiling and marveling at his hankie and believes Aaron will stick around because people like him.

Are the judges complimenting little puppy dog Aaron to ensure he goes home this week? Will they pull more of the same on Michael Lynche? And is the #2 performance spot for Casey James Idol’s way of attempting to send him home, because guess what? Lee DeWheezy sings in the pimp spot tonight — although such placement did nothing for Siobhan Magnus last week. Perhaps its just difficult to decide who sucks the most as the list gets shorter.

Casey James
Blue Skies

This week will be the first time Casey takes the Idol stage without a guitar. (And since Harry said he wrote and composed the arrangements, perhaps Casey it explains why Casey “messaged” such things yesterday afternoon.) It seems Casey has been listening to Harry for his entire life. He likes that Casey is using the song as a device to create a bluesy vibe, because that’s what he feels, and sometimes, its not all about the lyrics.

Casey’s hair is slicked back in a pony tail tonight, and he, too, has classed things up a bit with an vest and button-down. This may be a smart move on Casey’s part, as he doesn’t look unlike Brad Pitt circa 1995. Some of the notes are a little iffy, and often, he sounds as if he’s speaking the lyrics. The goat vibrato comes roaring in during a few parts. It was a bit all over the place, but the final note sounded more than decent. Come on…vocals aren’t this dude’s strongest suit, ya know? He needs the guitar. Britney and Madonna need autotune, but they still get work. But truth be told, the performance started off rather nicely, only to derail completely once he hit the bridge.

Randy and Ellen hated it. Ellen makes another joke about there being issues with the piano. Kara tells him she’s glad she heard him hold a few notes for the first time ever, but that he sounded like a lamb in his vibrato. First off, bitch. It’s a goat. Second, I hate you more when you agree with me, so go back to being the ignorant pig you are. (Of course, you’ll do this by the next singer so I’m not worried.) Just before Simon is about to speak, I notice Casey’s exquisite mother sitting behind him. Momma is enraged, throwing an elegant lady fit in her shimmering houndstooth minidress, twinkling gilded creme eye shadow and sassy brass chandelier earrings. Simon isn’t as mean as everyone else because he’s still glowing over his Sinatra hankie. Harry thinks he sounded better in rehearsal and that its really hard to hear up there. Because Harry Connick, Jr. is a nice guy. (I hear he also loves New Orleans.)

I sort of feel bad for Casey for whatever reason. If I was a tard, I would send him a Goat Love t-shirt. And Anthony Hopkins is there?!

This is funny, considering I just said Casey should try and play up the whole Brad Pitt circa 1995 thing, which reminded me of how I skipped school to see Legends of the Fall. A most terrible movie, yes, but obviously I thought of the stroke-addled Anthony Hopkins on his porch with his shotgun and boom! He’s in the audience. And I begin to wonder why tonight’s Idol has done nothing to take me back to my teenage years, and whether or not it is a subconscious result to the college-aged girl behind the counter of Pavement Coffee House/Cafe calling me ma’am this evening when I stopped in with the intention of buying a sandwich. I had to leave. She asked, are you ready to order, ma’am, or something to that effect. I said no. I was shocked. Only Central American immigrants have ever called me ma’am.

Crystal Bowersox
Summer Wind

Harry Connick, Jr. continues his brigade of being the greatest-ever Idol mentor upon meeting with Crystal Bowersox. Tonight, Crystal also must perform without the safety of an instrument — and in an evening gown. She looks quite lovely. The horn section is loud, sure, but its a horn section. Although Crystal isn’t quite used to singing in this style, her performance is subtly restrained, yet still turns on the torch singer charm.

Randy called it sleepy. Ellen thinks she mumbled. Shit-For-Brains says she kind of liked it because Crystal has strong phrasing. Simon calls it indulgent. Huh? Summer Wind is not one of the most showy of Sinatra’s songs, but Crystal was easily the strongest performer of the night. Granted, she’s the usually the strongest performer of the evening, but each judge threw out the stereotypical critiques from the Idol wheelhouse with rapid-fire succession and hey, we’re coming into crunch time. Last week begun the gradual stoppage of blowing smoke up Crystal’s ass, which is rather bizarre when she’s delivered two very fine performances. But this is American Idol, and frankly, psychological fuckery & manipulation/de-pimpage of the one they proclaimed the front runner all season long, that sort of thing, well, it always begins around now. Or is it just because she’s been the best all season long, is she to be judged differently — and now Lee DeWheezy is being primed as the coming-up-from-behind guy…

Crystal disagrees with the judges. And she says so. (Crystal likely regrets going on this ridiculous show every single day.)

To me its a sweet love story, and you don’t sing it very big like that.

This is one of those times when you should talk back to the judges.

I don’t think I should sing really big notes just because I’m on American Idol.

GO CRYSTAL! (Again, more proof that she had never before watched this shit show before auditioning.)

Michael Lynche
The Way You Look Tonight

One of the biggest examples of a beautiful love song that’s been played out for years is The Way You Look Tonight. This song, and Etta James’ At Last, are now in the god-awful category of hammy wedding songs, just because so many people use them. Granted, I totally admit to whooping after Kris Allen’s performance of this same song last season. But I was THERE, dammit. (I was caught up in the moment and not sure what I should do because I was standing in that goddamn PIT, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do, and there were scary women surrounding me on one side — one of which looked like she was going to cut me because I didn’t like Danny Gokey.)

And if there’s anyone soulless and hammy, its Michael Lynche. Technically, he is a solid singer. He’s also a very large man in a very little hat. Big Mike sings this song exactly the way you knew he was going to sing this song. Big Mike is never pitchy. He is just always…Big Mike.

Randy loses his shit, because Randy has his finger on the pulse of what is relevant and current in today’s music world. Sure, sure. It was…good? Big Mike is never bad. He’s just…boring. He’s the cuddly large black dude. He’s been typecast forever. Ellen makes a joke about Harry’s organ, because this is part of her friendly, non-threatening lesbian schtick. (I don’t really care what the judges are saying at this point, as long as the cameras keep showing Casey James’ gorgeous, delicate flower of a goat momma.) Simon tells him he’s the best of the night. Again, what does the best really mean this season?

Tonight’s episode is all sorts of boring, except for when Harry Connick, Jr. is talking. I’m more excited Casey James is the new VFTW pick, as a vote for Casey is a vote for those who love goats. GOAT FOR THE WORST, HATERS!

Lee DeWyze
That’s Life

Yo, DeWheezy, you basically just had the greatest moment of your life, you know that? A former Victoria’s Secret model named Jill Goodacre told her husband, Harry Connick, Jr., that you’re hot. And he just called you a never version of himself (he’s a nice guy, of course). It is all downhill from here, dude. You have no idea what you’re in for once you hit that Idol tour.

This might have been Lee’s best performance to date, as he was less pitchy than usual. Ellen thinks if this was the last night of competition, he would have won it all. Shit-For-Brains got the glint in her eyes and took a deep breath. Now she wants to bang him. Casey James is dead to her. Crystal de-pimpage has begun…Lee is “picking up steam.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. We know the drill. Perhaps I should commend Idol, however, they’ve just thrown in the towel. A female winner is impossible on a show decided upon by menopausal matrons speed-texting in the midst of a hot flash. Essentially, they tell DeWheezy he will win the whole damn thing. He still looks like he’s gonna vomit.

I’m gonna go take a bath, listen to some Harry Connick, Jr., and reflect upon my lost youth, as well as another lost hour of my (still relatively) young life. But I might throw a few votes Casey James’ way, mainly because if sticks around, my Goat Love t-shirt will be slightly cooler than it already is. The judges clearly want Aaron and Casey to go home, and they’re now humping Lee over Crystal and priming Big Mike for a #3 finish so it does not appear as if their save was all for naught. Different season. Same show. Same old shit.

However, tonight’s GOLD star does not go to Harry. It goes to my golden angel of houndstooth heaven. Come Fly With Me, baby.