In preparation for Idol Remains, I usually steel myself with drugs and self-reassurance that what may seem like my senseless negativity is fair reportage. It’s not the flogging of an defenseless mental defect, it’s the passing along of facts. Right?

Not anymore. All bets are off, Idol. I must thrash you.

Why? It’s not because of the shitty singing. And it’s not revenge for the product placement and exploitative theme nights (like this week’s systematic decimation of the Elton John catalogue). And, truly, I don’t fault producers for sexualizing minors and parching an already shallow well of human drama. No sweat.

But here’s my problem: The judges are fucking liars. It’s unconscionable. They overlook gaffes; they praise the abortive. They insist to Idol’s viewership that there is validity to this parade of bad Broadway, vibrato farming, and tin-eared karaoke. They swear to the buying public that this is music. Even Steven Tyler now sports a Kool-Aid mustache that is visible from space.

That is bullshit. See for yourself in the meanest, hatefulest Idol Remains recap yet:

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American Idol week 10

Wed The final 11 perform the hits of Motown Records

Thur Live results + one freak-out

Misery Index Goddammit, I just knew that this was coming after Randy Jackson’s shout out to Motown founder Barry Gordy a few weeks back.

Tyler-o-meter Waaaaay too nice to this gaggle of lames

*

To borrow a phrase from Idol judge Jennifer Lopez, let’s talk a bit. First, I reiterate that the purpose of Idol Remains is to examine American Idol through a Heavy Metal microscope. If metallists have an edge on other genre fans, it’s our ability to identify the genuine, the real, and the compelling. We’re not about only beauty, but reality, force, and truth.

Therefore, to us, the American Idol construct sucks donkey balls. True, the show ultimately suffers only a moderate shortage of skilled singers, yet Idol’s bombastic production, ramped-up human drama, and hollow, obtrusive promotional partnerships cannot mask its dearth of credibility. See, I could stand up in English class and fluidly read from Crime And Punishment, but as I have not faced the challenges of life in 19th century Russia, my performance is bound to the realm of recitation. Likewise, nearly none of these Idol sucks emote or express in any real way. They are karaoke singers, impersonators, and students of mimicry. Not artists. Not in this lifetime.

And there is no place for these phonies in modern music. Their ranks are already swelled by the physically gifted and socially fortunate: ambitious models, drugged-out jewel thieves, puggish reality stars, and sidelining actors. Enough.

And yet, week ten of Idol was all about opportunity. Opportunity for training-wheels singers to exploit the pinnacle of American hit-making. Opportunity for big bonerz music producers and Idol minnows to hijack secondhand glow from Detroit’s finest bygone moments. Opportunity for Motown to hawk its back catalogue. Opportunity for the TV to help our society to tweak our ethnic and political history. Opportunity for Idol producers to preemptively explain the fallacy of soul music sung by the privileged and soulless (Motown’s hits were cough “music for everybody”). Best of all, it was an opportunity for all of us to glory in the majesty of Motown: It is not about chops; it is about emotion, experience, and backbone.

Idol so clearly lacks all three. So, only this last and most beneficial opportunity was missed. How sad. This show sucks! Alas, your Idol Remains recap of doom:

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American Idol week 9

Wed: The final 12 perform songs from their birth years

Thur: Live results plus tons of bullshit

Misery index: Kill me

Tyler-o-meter: Double bonerz

Live television production seems like heavy-duty work, and that might explain why this week’s American Idol shows overflowed with easily avoided gaffes, stillborn gags, puzzling messages, and momentum-killing guest spots. It started with host Ryan Seacrest’s hailing of the show’s ahem “ten-year anniversary” and picked up stinky steam with a laughable guys vs. gals mash-up of “Born To Be Wild” and “Born This Way.” The messages: Copywriters need pay no heed to second-grade language study and men are “wild” while women are in need of acceptance. (Bonus message: It’s acceptable to plagiarize a Madonna song.)

What followed a second car spot featuring the Idol hopefuls (barf) was a montage of Q&As in which they talked up their childhood dreams (only one dreamt of a singing career) and special talents (none included singing). Each segment was an attempt to endear viewership to these personality-free showbiz kids, but more closely approximated a high-school AV club project and online dating profile reject reel, respectively.

Then came performances from the reigning Idol champ (Coldplay wants their piano part back) and the reigning champs of defective robot rap (Chuck E. Cheese wants his stage act back), each of which demonstrated the ease of spurring a standing ovation in the Idol torturedome. And as soon as judge Jennifer Lopez was done assigning the blame for Jacob’s pitch problems to the front of house mixing team, contestants Haley, Naima, and Karen were placed in the Bottom Three (I just watched Irreversible before Wednesday’s show; the term Bottom Three is particularly revolting). At least four Idol singers should’ve been swept right out into the street by Sandman Sims; alas, only one was eliminated.

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Tues: The final 12 (men)

Wed: The final 12 (ladies)

Thur: Live results

Misery index: A dropped taco

Tyler-o-meter: 1%

For years I’ve secretly wanted an excuse to watch American Idol. And Aerosmith frontman Steven Tyler’s appointment to the panel of judges provided one. Hey, I want music programming on primetime TV. I want to enjoy great songs sung by nice people. I want some schlub to get a career-enabling break.

Too bad there’s so much baggage. The fabricated human drama. The Running Man-esque torturedome. The pandering, ass-kissing, and marginalizing. The Jennifer Lopez. I hate this damn shit.

But here in week seven, things are looking up slightly. It’s live broadcast time, so no kind editing for the persistently idiotic ‘Fer-‘Pez. The Idol house band helps drown out all the weak, scared singing. And since there remained only 24 contestants, we can see a distant end to this rancid slobberfest. Thank fuck.

Now that judge input is reduced to a minimum (though ‘Fer-‘Pez displays no compunction about talking into Randy Jackson’s time) and the 100% inept singers are removed (several 80% inept singers remain), it’s probably the safest time for music lovers to join Idol season ten in progress. Before you do, get to know the singers — and see who moved on to next week — with our Idol Remains Week Seven Contestant Sc’whorecard.

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Wed: Las Vegas, The Beatles/The Final Judgement pt. 1
Thur: The Final Judgement pt. 2
Misery index: A billion trillion kazillion
Tyler-o-meter: Jennifer Lopez STMFU

This week, there’s no point to a detailed autopsy of season ten’s most recent 240 minutes of blood-curdling horror. Suffice it to say, it was gruesome to witness the marching band-style bludgeoning of The Beatles catalogue by these spastic wail-bots. It was disappointing that Idol’s fleet of Vegas-bound busses suffered no breakdowns nor attacks from flesh-hungry buzzards. It was mind-boggling that many an Idol hopeful freely admitted to total ignorance of The goddamn motherfucking Beatles. It was nice to have an extra voice of reason in visibly disgusted guest judge Jimmy Iovine and his gang of talent scouts/hat models. It was shocking, in these the final episodes before eliminations are determined by the voting public (shudder), to witness the Riefenstahl-esque theatrics and terminology employed by Idol: Contestants were “singing for their lives” immediately prior to “The Final Judgement.”

It was also disgusting to witness judge Steven Tyler’s overshadowing by Lady Crotchburn Jennifer Lopez and his further slide into Idol protocol of fake-outs and jerk-arounds; as the remaining 61 singers were reduced to 24, viewers were repeatedly treated to judges‘ use of the old “This is so hard to say … [frowns] … We had to make some hard decisions … [sighs] … I’m sorry, but … You’re in! Congratulations!” Good one, guys — especially the 24th time over three hours here in week six. It’s not just stupid, it’s bad TV, the equivalent of Fonzie perishing in flames and being miraculously resurrected on either side of every commercial break. Pretty lame, Milhouse.

So, we’ve entered the endgame where Idol contestants now number only 12 women and 12 men (20 of whom suck) and after six weeks of this brain-bending cack, we metal people have netted three imperatives of varying importance:

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Wed: “Hollywood” group night
Thurs: “Hollywood” solo auditions
Misery index: Barrrrrffff
Tyler-o-meter: 87%

Wednesday on American Idol was group night, in which remaining contestants break off into groups of at least three to perform with live accompaniment. In Idol lore, the group week is a fiery tribulation for the singers that requires a measure of dependance on teammates and – gulp — on mastery of rudimentary dance. It proved to be too much for nearly all contestants. They sucked ass! Period.

But if group night was an ordeal for the singers, then it was torture for judges, for viewership, and, if their monitors were on, for the backing band. You know that movie, The Running Man? It’s comparable to group night with one small but vital tweak: Imagine that if Arnold defeats his unfairly advantaged predators to pass a stage, then the gladiator-style game show of death’s sadistic hosts and spectators don’t merely get mad, but get subjected to a taser to the junk (or its emotional equivalent). That is exactly what group day was like: Horror for all.

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Wed: San Francisco, auditions day seven
Thurs: “Hollywood,” first round of eliminations
Misery index: four hankies
Tyler-o-meter: 60%

Wednesday’s American Idol broadcast didn’t constitute entertainment as much as hardcore, face-banging tragedy-porn. It was an orgy of misfortune, a cumshot compilation of adversity. After all, this seventh and final audition was the last chance for rubbernecking viewers to gawk at unhinged auditioners; on the flip side, show producers seemed desperate to lock in viewership for the coming weeks when Idol makes the ostensible transformation from blooper reel to talent competition. So out came the human-drama canons to douse us in sap. There wasn’t even time for a viewer to sigh wistfully after one tale of woe before another was blubbered out over drippy music. Shudder.

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Steven Tyler’s review of “Idol Remains” on MetalSucks

You folks have all been closely following MetalSucks’ own “Idol Remains” column by Anso DF, right? They’re awesome, because they’re just like watching American Idol, without having to suffer through actually watching American Idol.

Here’s what the critics are saying about the column:

“I am, quite simply, in lust with Anso DF’s prose.”
-Satan Rosenbloom

“The anxious unpleseantness of awaiting the next ‘Idol Remains’ is akin to forced urine retention.”
-Axl Rosenberg

“I am intimidated by Anso’s great dancing and super bod. I finish reading ‘Idol Remains’ in in a state of conspicuous arousal.
-Vince Neilstein

The next “Idol Remains” will go live tomorrow afternoon; in the meantime, you can read Anso’s columns thus far here.

I see a pattern developing in 2011; the only albums selling are old ones. It’s quite startling, in fact; it’s already mid-February and the new release machine is kicking into high gear, but the charts are still dominated by best-of compilations and classic albums from the likes of Metallica, Van Halen, Ozzy, Aerosmith (Idol Effect), and Guns N’ Roses and perennially charting butt-rock bands like Godsmack, Disturbed, Three Days Grace, Theory of a Deadman, Kid Rock, Linkin Park, Nickelsuck, etc etc etc. AKA bands that appeal to people mostly over the age of 30. Will 2011 be the year that folks stop purchasing music en masse? It’s too early to tell, but things are not looking good.

In any case, last week saw a variety of solid new releases in the metal world from Full Blown Chaos, Lazarus A.D., Thomas Giles (of BTBAM) and Abysmal Dawn. Not bands you’d expect chart-busting numbers from, but still, heavy hitters in our world. Sadly, only one of those bands was able to crack the Top 100 in the Top Hard Music Charts. We know better than to claim these numbers as a definitive measure of those bands’ popularity, but as long as record labels are the source of funding to launch these bands’ careers — and until there’s a better ranking system that incorporates record sales, merch sales and touring revenue into one chart — sales numbers will matter to some degree.

Let’s look at how last week’s new releases, and a few others, performed on the Soundscan charts.

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Auditions week three
Cities: Austin (Wed), Los Angeles (Thurs)
Misery index: 10/10
Tyler-o-meter: 3/10

Let there be no doubt: This week’s fifth and sixth rounds of American Idol auditions were a trip into the fetid bowels of Hell. Not the Deicide-Danzig fun Hell — the bad Hell. The kind of Hell where L.A. loonies make Sly Stone and Lauryn Hill seem calmly sane. The kind of Hell where atonal country warblers make the “One Hot Mama” guy seem tasteful and talented. The kind of Hell that resembles a tranny-packed West Hollywood donut shop at the brink of total wingnut anarchy on a Friday night. The kind of Hell that no amount of pills can conquer. Friends, I am shaken, so deeply shaken and disturbed.

Before I plunge us into this Hades for fuckheads, let’s prelude our shared suffering with a recap of this week’s action surrounding our Steven Tyler and Aerosmith in which…

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The #4 album in the country last week came from Social Distortion, yet that album failed to register on the “Top Hard Music” chart I usually cover in this column where it would’ve been #1 by a long shot. I mean, I know Social Distortion aren’t exactly splitting eardrums anymore, but come on, Mike fucking Ness! Bizarre? Yeah, but this is the music industry we’re dealing with, the same group of retardos who regularly send us MP3s for review without any artist, label or track name labels whatsoever and who make us jump through flaming hoops to download them. So, surprising? Not at all.

Anyway, let’s look at said Social Distortion-omitting Top Hard Music chart for the week ending January, 25th, 2011. The new Times of Grace project featuring ex-Killswitch Engage vocalist Jesse Leach and current KsE guitarist Adam D. charted respectably in its debut, but there wasn’t a whole lot else out there in the metal world that was big enough to chart in its debut week (aside from Electric Wizard) despite a decent list of new albums. As such, there’s a lot of greatest hits packages leftover from the holiday rush showing up on the charts (Aerosmith, Ozzy, Van Halen, etc) and perennial butt-rock sellers like Nickelback, Disturbed, Three Days Grace, Breaking Benjamin, etc. Let’s take a look at a few notable releases:

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This week’s were my first ever episodes of American Idol, and man, that shit is hilarious in the most unfortunate way. Singing, man. It’s not rocket science. Step one, you visit a voice coach weekly for six months; two, you sing to bars and to your mirror for a few weeks; three, get in line for American Idol auditions. But for some reason, thousands of let’s face it fucktards think that singing is not a skill that you need learn, develop, or even acknowledge. “Hey, I have the ability to make sound with my voice. And therefore I’m going to sing on the TV!” You dunces. I mean, I have arms, eyes, a brain, and an ass — all the tools needed to pilot a chopper — except I’d crash it into a fucking mountain cuz I’ve never taken a Flying Helicopters Not Into Mountains lesson, duh x10000! And one after another, the losers’ refrain was “My friends say I’m a great singer!” Oh well fuck man, if Tina from Accounts Payable thinks you’ve got the stuff, then shut my mouth. Wait, let me pre-pre-order your album. Here’s a twenty.

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I’m not a masochist and therefore I have never endured more than a moment or two of American Idol schlock. My first experience with the show involved an army cowboy yodeling his way through “I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thang” and yee-haw that shit was enough AI for a lifetime. But things have changed here in 2011 with the addition of Aerosmith lip-flapper Steven Tyler. He’s batshit. He’s a tweaker. He’s the most talented, versatile, lovable American rocker in history. I will be watching that shit!

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Man, Aerosmith guitarist Joe Perry is having a rough month. First, his arch-frenemy Steven Tyler finalized a spot on that TV show about pre-failures caterwauling hit songs while nervous. And this follows know-it-all beardo John Kalodner’s description of Perry as “completely wrong,” “jealous,” and “ultra-pissed off,” which supposes that Perry hoped that the AI judge seat was to be shared by the Toxic Talkshit Twins. Actually that would’ve been cute, every week Tyler perched gamely on Perry’s lap, stroking his abs while some featureless shriek-droid performs “Don’t Stop Believin’” to a theater of fame-wet spectators. Well, that’s what I dreamt last night anyway. Cough.

Anyhow, when Perry awoke and rolled off a pile of my money this morning, he was probably too crabby to just ignore the announcement that his band is the latest victim of an Atreyu Cover Version attack. It happened to Bon Jovi in 2004, when Atreyu launched an emo-guided missile of Twilight-level corniness at “You Give Love A Bad Name” (I complained all about it on The Deciblog). Then, an unapologetic lameness mine overturned both Faith No More’s “Epic” and “Clean Sheets” by The Descendents in 2008 and holy shit let’s not validate that type of ear-terrorism with discussion of any kind. (It never happened if everyone on Earth denies it. You fuckin’ deny that shit.)

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Which is a smart move on Fox’s part, because now people who have never watched American Idol in the past — like me! — will tune it at least once, just to sate our curiosity.

Stranger might be that J. Lo is also a new judge on the show. Various celebrity gossip sites claim that Lopez is a massive bitch, which doesn’t shock me at all, and it’s readily apparent that Tyler is no cupcake; hopefully this pairing results in some back-stage cat fights. My money would totally be on Lopez.

Here’s a Tyler quote from the LA Times:

“Tyler said he wanted to be a ‘part of something bigger than himself. I wanna bring some rock to this roller coaster.’”

So I guess Aerosmith isn’t “bigger than himself.”

Does this mean the end of the Boston quintet? Will they just hire a new singer, Velvet Revolver-style? Or will everyone make nice once they realize this is probably good for record, concert ticket, and merch sales? Stay tuned…

-AR

So I can’t keep track of what the fuck is going on with Aerosmith these days, mostly because I barely care on account of the band’s “let’s never release anything musically relevant ever again” policy; I know Steven Tyler and Joe Perry hate each other, though, and even though Tyler is still in Aerosmith (at least for now), I guess he’s doing some solo stuff anyway.

Like this song called “Love Lives,” which Ain’t It Cool News has helpfully pointed out is in the trailer for this new Japanese space opera, Space Battleship Yamato. As a matter of fact, Tyler apparently wrote the song specifically for movie. I don’t know why he would want his lead solo track going in a Japanese film which will most likely be watched in other countries only by nerds of the highest order; I assume the thinking was, “Well, one of my biggest hits was in Armageddon, so I should try to re-create that success with a power ballad in another sci-fi action flick,” and then everyone in Hollywood was like,”That’s fine, but only if it’s with Aerosmith,” and then Tyler was like, “Fuck that,” then the Japanese were all, “We’ll take it!” ‘Cause Japan is where dudes like Sebastian Bach are still popular.

No word on when/if this flick will get a release date outside of Japan, but presumably Tyler’s song will end up on the internet sooner or later.

-AR

So in case you haven’t been following the madness, late last year it looked like Steven Tyler was leaving Aerosmith, and then he came back and things were s’posed to be all hunky-dory in the Aerocamp, and the band has even been touring again. And then suddenly it was announced that Tyler is gonna be one of the new judges on American Idol, and, that news seemed to divide the Aerofamily yet again.

Then, earlier this week, things took another interesting turn when Joe Perry ass-bumped Steven Tyler right the fuck off the stage during a show. We got a lot of e-mails about it, but didn’t write anything because it appeared to be a perfectly harmless accident with absolutely no deeper meaning:

But Napoleon once said “There is no such thing as an accident,” and I think Freud probably would have agreed with him. And so the above incident might reasonably be considered the physical answer to a Freudian slip.

And now Tyler has slipped Perry right back, bopping him on the head with mic stand — again, “by accident” — at a recent gig (go to the :32 second mark):

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Oh, baby! There has been escalation in the volatile Aerosmith situation. Until this weekend, it was a case of a lead singer gone coconuts after too many spills and pills vs. his semi-hetero life partner/drug buddy and the other three guys. Since Steven Tyler seems kinda, um, relapsed and not into Aerosmith, the upper hand goes to Joe Perry, whose public support comes in return for promises of more touring and a real Aerosmith record.

Arms were twisted, so Aerosmith is on tour; then the fragile, contemptuous truce was rocked by Tyler’s recent threats to join American Idol‘s panel of insightless windbags. Perry, noticeably aggrieved, returned to the press to gripe and, frankly, his case is stronger than ever. It was four on one, yet the four were hostages. But that was until Monday when blam!!! The balance has shifted. It’s a power struggle!

Drummer Joey Kramer told Billboard.com: ”We’ve been talking about it the last couple of days, and it’s made me come to realize what a positive impact it could have for [Aerosmith]. The possibilities are kind of infinite with something like that happening, us being exposed to a whole new generation of people. So we’ll see what happens. It should be interesting.”

I bet Perry was like, “The drummer went over to Steven’s side? That fuckin’ shank!” All the same, Kramer’s statement is meaningful; Tyler’s cross-generational marketing prowess — not Aerosmith music — is responsible for the band’s prolonged success. So I can see how Joey K. would trust him now, though Tyler is currently way batshit insaner than he was circa Get A Grip. Oh, and only a drummer could fail to notice that American Idol is not exactly the portal to the young wallet like hip-hop, MTV, and big soundtracks once were. I’m sure Tyler even knows that, which means Idol was his third or fourth choice after The Hills and Jersey Shore. Think about that shit.

-ADF

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Welcome to “Question of the Week,” a (sometimes) weekly debate amongst the MetalSucks staff regarding a recent hot button issue.

Inspired this week by the rumor that Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler may be a new judge on American Idol, we decided to ask our writers:

IF YOU HAD TO PICK ONE METAL MUSICIAN TO BE A JUDGE ON AMERICAN IDOL, WHO WOULD IT BE AND WHY?

The MS staff’s answers after the jump.

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Ugh, I absorb a lot of insults from my elitist friends for loving Aerosmith. But the scary thing to consider is how often strangers casually slam Aerosmith. Anti-Aerosmith vibe is everywhere! Like, my Pump tee might as well read Who Farted? judging from the eye-rolls I got at the library yesterday. At the bar the day before, I rocked “Deuces Are Wild” on the jukebox and when I returned to punch in “Rag Doll,” it was requested that I not wreck a perfectly nice Sunday afternoon with, ahem, “faggot music”. (I face-blasted that guy with Boston’s “Foreplay/Long Time.”)

But please, good people, you don’t need to put me down for lovvvvvvvving Aerosmith with my entire being across space and time; I already feel pretty bad about it. Everybody everywhere holds you responsible for how they’ve overstayed their welcome by, um, two decades! They say the band is so corny and hideously dressed. And their songs are not theirs. And by the way what in the motherfuck is an aerosmith?

I know all that! And don’t bother pointing out that Aerosmith may reach a new apex in annoying if Steven Tyler is indeed to be a regular on American Idol. You non-fans think you’re annoyed by this new way Tyler has discovered to tunnel into your life, but the major beef belongs to fans like me, who squirm whenever Tyler devotes energy to non-Aerosmith activities. His resources are finite in an very real and very immediate way. This is a fact: Our days are numbered. So please, Steven Tyler, just make one last great fucking Aerosmith record, then go on and sack-tickle Randy Jackson under the table all you want. Eye on the ball, please, Steven Tyler.

-ADF