Who among us can claim to have sung more than one Neil Diamond song on the same evening?
Perhaps some are old or melancholy enough to have actually been to a Neil Diamond concert.
Perhaps others had one glass too many of Asti Spumante and ended up on stage with the band at their unpleasant sister-in-law’s second wedding.
Yet this order, one so tall that it is likely to end up looking like the Tower of Pisa, is the one that befalls the five remaining pretenders on American Idol.
Yesterday, I risked my life and reputation and sneaked you into their first performances.
Today, my soul is up for grabs as I offer you their pieces de resistance.
Which is French for “Please, God, let the children and dying people who watch this show let me stay here for another week because beer and wine are free and the burgers are delivered on silver platters.”
Jason Castro, not content with taking the 45 of “Sweet Caroline” and slowing it to a 19, has decided to play to his main constituency, women who want to make love to a stoner, and dedicate his second song to Rosie.
The Rosie who is Crackling.
As Lord Lloyd Webber might have opined: “Well, it could work on stage. So might Joan Rivers one day.”
Jason is increasingly resembling those strange youths who stand behind TV reporters going live at the scene of a crime, a game or a vote and make silly faces behind their backs.
There are fears that his Rosie will crackle rather less than she will swim in grease before being given to Petey the Pekinese.
Brooke White, whose version of “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling’ will undoubtedly stun, has opted for more safe haven with her second selection.
What else could the Music Medicine Man have prescribed other than “Song Sung Blue.”
For all Brooke’s attempts at joy and laughter, she appears to be one tear away from a tsunami. If she begins the song in a mournful frame of mind, things can only get slightly worse.
Syesha Mercado, who has been busy practicing her lack of floral arrangements, has decided to go for broke with the finale. She has been in the bottom two more often than the Miami Dolphins of late, so why should she care what anyone thinks of her?
We should therefore all stand and applaud that she will be taking on “God Only Knows,” a song immortalized by the Beach Boys and karaoked by Mr. Diamond.
Syesha feels that she has covered off a positive view of the Lord Almighty together with a tune that every old lady in possession of a phone, a computer and a mentis still compos will know.
What more could we expect of her? She has been a shining delight over a cesspit of dirty-sneakered venality.
Now to Little David and Big David. In last week’s Results Show, we could have all been forgiven for thinking, as the two of them walked out together to learn their fate, that this was an older brother taking his naive sibling to his first NC-17 movie.
David Archuleta has decided to open on Tuesday with “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother”. There has been much pressure from certain factions that he attempt “Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon”, a heartfelt song about a macho man who is standing ready for a girl to come of age.
David’s winged handlers are too clever for such wayward talk.
He will therefore be closing with “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.”
Perhaps I could offer you one of the key phrases of this very large composition: “Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies and everyone goes.”
David’s attempt at simultaneous Idol victory and salvation for the hard-working masses should be a veritable Cistine Chapel for the ears. With the risk of a cystitis for the heart.
David Cook is beginning to rise very gently above what remains of the fray. Perhaps you too espied him clapping very half-heartedly as Carly Smithson belted out her swanyell to Jesus last Wednesday night.
As his hands slapped rather than clapped, his eyes were fixed at some exalted height somewhere stage right.
Perhaps these were the words wafting through his innards at the time: “You are the sun, I am the moon. You are the words, I am the tune. Play Me.”
These are the words, perfected, no doubt, over several years, with which David intends to close his personal Neil Diamond journey.
Of course, there are those who suspect that David would like to substitute the word ‘play’ with the word ‘bite’.
However, he knows that he must wade through this Deliverance-like swamp for another month at the most, avoiding unwanted penetration into his, um, integrity, before going off to be manicured and manufactured as America’s next multi-platinum product.
On the other hand, perhaps he will decide to give it all up and go and live in an ashram somewhere just outside Goa. With “Hello” and “OK” vying to pay $5 million for the exclusive pictures.
That’s the fun part about people. You just never know.
As the prepubescents, old ladies, neurotic teenies and aficionados of VoteForTheWorst.com will no doubt zealously try to prove again this week.
The Pond thanks diongillard for his exposition of a diamond in the rough.