It’s easy to forget that the winner of American Idol is not a good singer, a sustainable product, or an interesting personality. The crowned Idol is nothing more than a flavorless, featureless zombie who most spurs votes from sofa-bound ‘Mericans and squealing little kids — each group a stronghold of high artistic standards.

So Idol is definitely not music. It’s not even good entertainment. It’s like Scooby-Doo or Mission: Impossible, in which any plot hole can be covered by a character’s sudden removal of a life-like mask; it’s ugly theater played by young adults in sweaty pursuit of suicide-averting popularity, for which they’ll mindlessly comply with any tossed-off suggestion from the Idol judges table; it seeks credibility by osmosis via guest spots for legendary musicians (and Beyoncé) who aim to plug a tour/record/book.

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You may agree with MetalSucks stud Axl Rosenberg (pictured here), who expressed today his waning respect for the totally petering-out Judass Priest. He’s right that there’s too much silliness — K.K. Downing’s departure, the half-committal end of major touring (whatever that means), crappy albums like Nostradamus — for all but superfans to maintain any reasonable level of excitement for this, the final act in the Priest saga. Surely, Judass Priest is one of metal’s first and finest; sadly, few tours have less juice than their newly-announced/unpromotable trek with BBQ-core bores Black Label Society and that Thin Lizzy cover band.

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Last week, Idol bid adieu to contestant Heavy Metal James Durbin and that’s sad. Not only did Durbin leave behind two no-singing country hacks and the tight-assed, moderately skilled classic rocker Haley Reinhart, but he took with him the show’s only smidgeon of, like, real life. Dude has seen some trouble; that tiny measure of authenticity carried him past crappy technique and, later, malproductive cockiness. Plus, he was semi-metal and therefore good for a Judass Priest jam once in a while. Well, exactly once.

In Durbin’s wake, Idol is now a desert of arid suckiness (Countreh Boah Scotty McCreery, Lauren The Winner) pocked by the occasional cactus of pretty goodness (Haley Reinhart). This week, we accompanied each back home to visit all the fake-ass fame humping nobodies from whom each Idol wannabe wishes to escape. How depressing. I mean, let the little kids are excited, but grown adults in tears for these fireflies, these off-brand pan-flashes, these Hostess Twinkie motherfuckers? Yes, people of the heartland, hats off to the inanimate carbon rod!

The good news is the shit is nearly over and I, Anso DF, get my life back in time for summer. Back in fall, I pitched Idol Remains to Axl and Vince as a means for MetalSucks rubberneckers to gawk at the continuous Idol trainwreck and to ride along every week with Steven Tyler, American rock’s greatest frontman. He’s a producer, writer, dancer, singer, druggie, and bon vivant — not a live TV personality or dutiful judge of weak, flavorless singers. (Oh, plus, he sucks at writing books.) So, Tyler the Idol goof may be of little help to me, Aerosmith fans, Aerosmith members, or Idol contestants, but he rescued ratings (aw nuts) and, for a time, managed to counteract the idiocy of fellow judge Jennifer Lopez (uh thanks). Not a good trade-off for all the strife it caused with his band. Sigh.

Anyway, with three performers left, gaze in horror on your penultimate Idol Remains scorecard of hard sores and lard-ass bores.

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As I write this, the insanity of week fucking 17 (!) of American Idol‘s season ten (!!) hasn’t really sunk in yet. It was that mind-fuckingly insulting, pandering, and retardening. See, the guest mentor was Lady Gaga (attired in a way that could not be more distracting to the Idol hopefuls) and she, like Poochie, is just so damn edgy and extreme and viral; in the face of her um I guess pernicious influence, American Idol producers opted to strenuously counteract any potential disapproval from the mythic moral heartland with shitloads of god, 9/11 rhetoric, and peckerwood platitudes. One singer’s antidote to a making Gaga’s acquaintance was to fervently kiss a neck-worn cross; another refused to sing the line “I am evil.”

Fucking pussies.

After this abominable week, Idol producers, judges, contestants, and sponsors would be wise to acknowledge something: Some people are your sworn enemies. They work behind the scenes. They know people. They move with invisibility. They are like Fight Club. And if they so choose, no Idol people shall ever again encounter a meal that hasn’t been farted on, a hotel towel that hasn’t been dick-wiped, or a mic that hasn’t been incubated between two hot, hairy asscheeks. These things happen.

Ahem until then, here comes your Idol Remains recap of crap, your scorecard of hardcore bore, your summary of bummary. Man, this show sucks donkey dicks.

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I’m going to put approximately as much work into this introduction as Osama bin Laden did to constantly changing locations so the American military couldn’t find him. Here’s a bunch of clips that aren’t as good as the new Red Fang video.

To being today we have Steven Tyler’s first-ever solo video, for the song “(It) Feels So Good.” And by the way, if anyone can explain (to) me why the word “it” is (in) parenthesis, (I) would grateful. Because (it) seems pretty fucking random, doesn’t (it)? And also, the song really isn’t that great, although it’s not terrible or anything. The video, on the other hand, is about as exciting as being stuck in traffic in a venue parking lot after a concert lets out. That Red Fang took what looks to me like a very small budget and made something so awesome and Steven Tyler hired some big name L.A. fashionista and Christ knows how much money and only came up with this is fucking embarrassing for Steven Tyler and the big name L.A. fashionista. Really all this video has going for it is a scantily clad hot girl, and not to be a dick or anything, but I live in downtown Manhattan and its spring time, so I can see a hot girl anytime I want just by stepping scantily clad hot girl by stepping right outside my door. And I don’t even need to listen to a mediocre song to do it!

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Don’t you love classic Van Halen? It’s amazing how that band’s music can just save your day. It’s been my go-to cure for post-American Idol misery; it’s Listerine for the ear, and a reminder of what true excellence sounds like. It’s Prozac for PISD (Post Idol Stress Disorder) and a reset button on any mood soured by three phony-ass judges slinging horseshit like stableboys late for a date. See, David Lee Roth and Eddie Van Halen can drown out even the echoes of judge Jennifer Lopez’s barbed whine as she pays lip service to “finding your voice” — yeah like she’s done with her wack new single about ballin’ up in da club, the dick-biting hack — and her more-than-occasional retorts to fellow judge Randy Jackson. (I don’t get that. She already had her turn, so like shut it, harpee!).

While we’re talking VH, can we all agree to end this silly farce already with the new bass player? I don’t give a fuck who he is; whether he’s Ed’s high school-aged son or fucking Jesus Christ, it is a side issue; Michael Anthony is Van Halen. His and Ed’s backing vocals absolutely jam on those records (like here), each of which is way better than what Idol judges can’t stop calling true creativity and great artistry. Those duo vox comprise, like, 35% of the band’s appeal, so the Van Halens should put that shit back together. We, the fans, declare amnesty; we want only what is right. Plus, if the young Van Halen is as brilliant as Ed thinks, he will earn his own chances. (Same goes for these “beautiful, perfect” Idol singers.) Van Halen just is not Wolfgang’s band. It’s Michael Anthony’s, the brothers’, and Dave’s. Period. Get Michael and pay him. And Ted Templeman too. That would counteract any and all effects of American Idol, cancerous shitpile of ear-AIDS.

Okay thanks for sticking around for paragraph #3, by which point I think we’ve established that thinking about/listening to the music of Van Halen is serving as a defense mechanism to prevent my re-living the mind-blowingly stupid, untrue nonsense spewed this week by Steven Tyler (the high preist of hooey), ‘Fer-‘Pez (SYFF), Randy Jackson (how much does it cost Idol to lease your honesty, dog?), guest fucktard Sheryl Crow (want a salt lick, girl?), and each blubbering, fam’ly-lovin’, Bin Laden-hatin’ individualist genius contestant who these days would happily agree to be shat on in exchange for the Idol crown. And because of the show’s near-total resistance to real, useful critique by “your Idol judges,” I’m counteracting this you’re-all-winners jive with a nudge upwards on my assholo-stat. So here comes your stabbiest Idol Remains shitcard ever! We measure in Danzigs ‘round here!

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Here’s an interesting excerpt from a recent interview with Sammy Hagar that was conducted by Forbes, your leading source for rock and metal news:

“I was asked at one time to be in Mötley Crüe. I was asked at one time to be in Pantera by their mangers. I was asked to be in Velvet Revolver when Scott Weiland quit and went back to the Stone Temple Pilots. I was waiting to be asked to be in Led Zeppelin to say no, since they were the greatest band on earth and no could replace Robert Plant. I was asked to be in Aerosmith and I said no. Certain bands and certain front man singers are more difficult to replace than others. Steven Tyler and that band have stayed together for forty years and you don’t to walk into something like that. They had one moment years ago, when they replaced Joe Smith, but it’s still always been Steven at the front of Aerosmith. You don’t replace that. When I came into Van Halen, it was easy because Dave wasn’t a great singer, but he was a good front man. In those times, I was selling out the same arena’s they were so it was like the combination of two forces and it worked but it’s a rare thing. We were all lucky that the fans accepted it and it got bigger. I would avoid bands that are going to break up pretty soon.”

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Me and Idol Remains were on well-earned hiatus last week, but worry not, you missed nothing. Okay, nearly nothing: On week 14′s shows, Heavy Metal James Durbin was wardrobed like Adam Lambert for a run at Muse’s “The Uprising,” the fat-to-filet ratio rocketed skywards in lieu of departed contestants, and Stefano dimples got bounced like a personal check in Torrance. K later, superstud!

Otherwise, Idol played par for the course: Haley Reinhart wailed, Lauren the winner waffled, Scotty warbled and winked like George W. Bush, ‘Fer-‘Pez resembled a eyebrow-bearing strip of turkey jerky, Casey annoyed the shit out of earth, and Steven Tyler spoke faster than he could think. Bam! You are up to date, Idol Remains readers. Both of you! Lulz

Today, we’re mere days from the release of Tyler’s slightly-awaited memoir, Does The Noise In My Head Bother You? (HarperCollins). Alas, I ask that you behold the lukewarm but plentiful ramp-up action in Tylerland:

• In a Rolling Stone cover story, big fat loudmouth Tyler blabbed that he and Joe Perry did drugs together in 2008 — about two decades after their final clean-up — and their intoxication stalled the ultimately abortive sessions with producer Brendan O’Brien. So Perry was MIA for studio work just this January cuz he’s in rehab?

• To go with his forthcoming tome, Tyler’s poppy new single “(It) Feels So Good” (above) was slated for release on May 10. An ego-drunk Tyler guessed that he’ll “hear it coming out of people’s cars this summer.” We can only assume he’ll ignore the accompanying heckles.

• Tyler previewed the book’s um “semiprologue” in which the scarf-enthusiast laid out his value of imagination over knowledge, his wishes for mass lawyercide, and his mother’s warning about becoming “a dartboard for others’ fears, doubts, and insecurities [sic].” (To prove that he is the excerpt’s true author — as if the catastrophic sentence construction left any doubt — Tyler went ahead and rapped parts of it to unwitting Idol hopefuls on Wednesday.)

So it’s a big week for first-time author/Perry-baiter Steven Tyler. But will the pressure get to him during Carole King tribute week? Will his extensive press tour have distracted him from the supplying of vital guidance to budding young pop performers? Will he seem stoned and aloof, or gibbering and jumpy? After the hop, your 15th (!!) Idol Remains s’gorecard:

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American Idol week 13

Wed The final eight perform famous movie songs. Gosh thrilling concept, guys.

Thur Live results + lots of fast-forwarding

Misery Index Shut up shut up shut up all of you!

Tyler-o-meter “I am fucked up right now!”

Hey friends! This week, let’s check out the Idol Remains mailbag! The first comment comes from the nice person who does my boss:

Hi Anso, It’s me Metalgf. I am Vince [Neilstein]’s girlfriend and a fan of Idol. I also saw Idol taped live earlier this year, as you may recall. I am just a mess over the results. Pia [the pageant singer] was so much better than so many other Losers on this show. I HATE James Durbin and Paul [McDonald] is fine but not Idol material, Laura [the winner] is a snooze factory and Haley [Reinhart] is nothing to write home about. Stefano [Dimples] is just a pretty face. Pia and Jacob [Down With Jesus] and maybe Casey Beardo have real talent. But MOSTLY PIA. She was the best. I think I will stop watching the show now. I am just so disappointed and it’s just ridiculous. I obviously, as usual, do not agree with America at large. Our tastes differ more than I ever imagined.

Hi Metalgf, it’s me Anso. I am Vince’s um “silent admirer” and not a fan of Idol. You’re so right that it seems like Pia and Jacob are talented. But do you agree that it’s natural for many viewers to decline any further full-tilt caterwauling from these two? I mean, taken as a whole, the performances of each resemble that movie Titanic if it consisted only of the big finale on a loop until the viewer must stop watching. And now, people are starting to stand up and file out on Pia and, god willing, pitch-weak Jacob too. I guess it’s not about who’s best. That’s why Steve Vai isn’t the world’s most popular guitarist. Superhugz! Thanks for reading!

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Zakk Wylde appeared on American Idol last night, accompanying contestant James Turbin on a cover of Sammy Hagar’s “Heavy Metal,” ’cause, I dunno, I guess he felt like he had too much cred left.

We’re not going to try and give you any actual detailed analysis of this blessed event, though, because, well… that’s why we have ”Idol Remains,” Anso DF’s stupefyingly entertaining weekly re-cap of the show! Anso suffers so we don’t have to… and, besides, his writing is far more enjoyable than the program itself. Just check out these rave reviews!

“‘Idol Remains’ make me sad I’m not actually on the show anymore :( :( :(”
-Paula Abdul

“‘Idol Remains’ is so good it, it makes me wish I could actually sing!”
-Phil LaBonte

“Where am I? Who’s talking? Hello? Is there anyone there?”
-Ozzy Osbourne

So what are you waiting for? Catch up on all of Anso’s “Idol Remains” here. His latest installment will run tomorrow afternoon!!!

“Urban-inspired hand movements” on Idol

American Idol week 12

Wed The final nine perform hits by Rock N’ Roll Hall Of Fame artists

Thur Live results + a shirtless, sweaty 64-year old man

Misery Index Egomania! Delusion! Heartbreak! Finger-wagging! Kill me!

Tyler-o-meter “You’re all winners!”

*

It’s poetic justice that the shrill, strained, self-congratulatory American Idol took on the equally stupid Rock And Roll Hall of Fame this week. It meant that Idol hopefuls would attack time-tested, unimpeachable classic jamz; it meant that Idol repertoire — restricted of late to Motown, Elton John, and hits from the singers‘ birth years — would remain firmly in the comfortable past; it meant that Idol could lap at the nuts of the clueless R&RHoF and stretch the institution’s entry criteria to include the goofiest Idol contestants; it meant swollen heads for the woefully unjustified egomaniacs among the Idol suck pool; and, in true R&RHoF style, it culminated in exclusion of the most deserving and validation of middling, secondary talent. See: Rush, Steve Marriott vs. The Doors, Rod Stewart.

But Idol surpassed even the Hall of Shlame when judges Steven Tyler, Jennifer Lopez, and Randy Jackson — in played-up shock over this week’s unexpected elimination — actually gathered the nerve to scold voters at this week’s conclusion. The implication was that there exists a silent legion of fans who neglected to vote, thereby recklessly cheating an Idol hopeful of her rightful place in the next rounds. Um, did it ever occur to judges that the lowest vote-getter may have the smallest number of fans?

Nope. Instead, judges chastised America, reminding lazy viewers to vote for their favorite. Well, maybe the judges need to take a look in the mirror. They’re the ones who endorsed all these sucks! They brought in consultants of dubious acclaim (like a batty Will I. Am, below). They varnish turd performances from no-singing lames like the country dork and the whiny hunk and the squeaky wimp and the Blues Hammer reject. So, fuck us? Fuck you. Ugh. Now, your Idol Remains recap from the very edge of sanity.

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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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American Idol week 8

Wed: The final 13 perform

Thur: Live results

Misery index: Sweet justice/Random

Tyler-o-meter: Bonerz

Going into Thursday’s American Idol live results show, I was encouraged by its promised 60-minute runtime. That should leave plenty of time to slash the Idol ranks down to the deserving few. But then, Thursday’s broadcast opened with a gaseous Idol group medley of  Michael Jackson tunes. (Hey question, if the vocals were pre-recorded in studio, why was Stefano out of tune? And shit, aren’t all Idol hopefuls ostensibly in possession of live singing skills?) Next up after that bit of bad Broadway, a Hooray For Everybody-style spot starring the would-be idols for a compact car line. Then, a lengthy crossover ad for a new Hollywood thriller which included some words of wisdom to Idol contestants from the sage, experienced Amanda Seyfried. Soon after, former Idol runner-up Adam Lambert (above left, with Heavy Metal James)performed his 2009 hit. Then Sean “Shiddy” Combs performed his new Kanye-aping single; his advice to the budding vocalists? “Keep god in your life.” Shudder. It seemed like no singer would ever be eliminated.

And then one finally got the boot (below in red). One!? Man, this Idol slog is gonna wrap later than the freaking NBA post-season. The good news is that this week, Idol contestants got to work with Jimmy “Check out my red headphones” Iovine and some big-bonerz producers like Don Was and Tricky Stewart. And there was plenty of Steven Tyler hilariousness to counteract giga-hog Jennifer Lopez. Nice.

The bad news is that our prolonged nightmare continues. It was all there: The contestants’ near-simultaneous placating and contradicting of the judges. The marathons of thinly-veiled excuses. The fruitless quests to disguise soulless imitation as art. Even for me, making fun of this shit is easy. I feel so unchallenged. Sigh. Here’s what happened:

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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.