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Auditions week two
Cities: Milwaukee (Wed), Nashville (Thurs)
Misery index: 9/10
Tyler-o-meter: 7/10

Before Bradley Cooper played hunky douchelords in Wedding Crashers and The Hangover, he stole scenes as Ben, a drama queenly camp counselor in Wet Hot American Summer. In one of the hilarious movie’s hilariousest scenes, Ben warns would-be auditioners for Camp Firewood’s production of Godspell that, and I quote,

I’m only speaking from personal experience, but if you can’t carry a tune, don’t come into the audition environment and waste our time. For serious, okay?

…and let’s just agree that these words should be broadcast on a loop at face-scorching volume to all American Idol hopefuls/delusionals. It’s for their own good. They need to hear it.

Sure, this is almost redundant to last week, but a little reiteration is warranted by this week’s fresh crop of time-wasting, lifeforce-sapping mushheads. Cuz it’s so freaking nuts: Contestants, it appears, must complete applications, sign waivers, travel, wait around a lot, get punched by judge Randy Jackson, and then experience the bowel-loosening sensation of being critiqued by famous people before TV lights and cameras. And apparently, that is the goal for some wackjobs: Just getting there and getting attention. And then dancing around with a giant toothbrush.

Of course, the trainwrecks are good TV and each hilarious meltdown helps to counteract AI‘s horrific “Bart’s People”-style weeper segments. I hear that. But to music fans, it’s kinda evil for these screechers, bleaters, and freaks to fruitlessly occupy a guy who could be elsewhere making Aerosmith records. Oh and what about the beggars, whose mantra is “I want this so much” as they plead for Tyler’s complicity in their quest to reach the next round in Hollywood and waste more people’s time? Barf. For serious. I swear if auditions were held for America’s next tightrope walking superstar, a bunch of fatties would show up with greased feet.

This week it seems that Tyler is the staff softie, the most easily touched, and the occasional scolder of an openly exasperated Jackson. But there’s an upside. In Milwaukee, where it’s equally difficult to find talent and decent exterior shots, Tyler displayed his ability to distinguish the genuine but oddballish who are deserving of a gentle, fair shake (like the 22-year old civil war re-enactor and the “big, goony” accountant) from those deserving of his unbridled scorn (the stunt contestants who represent the reality show equivalent of a streaker). Truly, Tyler is great at this job.

Only it’s unfortunate that part of his job this week was to rubber stamp every cute 15-year old contestant on the off-chance of unearthing a Bieber-sized success. Yeah right. Let’s see, ya think giga-stardom awaits the Colorado girl who drove 18 hours to brutally batter Cyndi Lauper’s “True Colors”? Or maybe it’s the Californian who flew to Milwaukee to capitalize on its much, much lower competition level, i.e. the same comparative appeal that enables nerds from Canada to get laid in Japan. Or maybe victory and ubiquity await either the opportunity-stealing Miss Teen USA or the Harvard alum/White House intern who, like all Ivy Leaguers, drops her alma mater with zero prompting. Ha it wouldn’t be a shock if judge Jennifer Lopez declares herself the 2011 American Idol on the merit of her already ceaseless attention-mongering campaign. Who knows? For now, we’ll heed Tyler’s maxim as stated to a 16-year old country yodeler: “Well, Hellfire, save matches, fuck a duck and see what hatches!” You heard the man.


Metal Sucks’ Idol Remains returns next week to sift through what hatches when Steven Tyler, Randy Jackson, and ‘Fer-‘Pez breach the walls of denial that insulate the tone deaf losebags of Austin and San Francisco.

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