Schoolyard Idol

Perhaps I am behind the times, never having watched "American Idol" much before, and then never during the early stages, when they apparently trot out the people who truly believe they have a great voice and depths of talent but in fact are freakishly lacking in both tune and clue. The producers search for (and clearly find) people who are either demented or lack some vital cortical structure that allows them to sense when a pitch is off. These are people who felt their voices ought to be heard, or who were encouraged to audition by cruel acquaintances.

I'm certain there are many people who show up to auditions and purposely sing badly in a quest to be on television -- but I think the producers discover them rather quickly and whisk them out the door. Fox wants no phonies -- they want people who truly believe they can be the next American Idol. The ones that come from Pleasant Fork, Utah and Salina, Kansas all the way to Seattle for the audition because they have a dream.

And then Simon Cowell crushes them. He exposes them to themselves. To see them melt when the message finally comes through: you are an AWFUL singer, one of the world's worst. Some immediately turn to denial and ask Simon what he thinks HE knows about music, that he should be judging them. Others rationalize, saying they were sick or were having an off day. Some plead, asking for second and third chances. Some just sing and continue to sing when told not to, sometimes until the bouncers escort them offstage.

Ultimately though, a few of the true believers come to understand the scale of their misunderstanding and are humiliated. While millions watch.

Imagine their journey through the world of "American Idol." 70,000 people auditioned for the most recent season. Paula, Randy and Simon saw only 1200 of them. The rest were filtered out by 12 preliminary judges. So you go into a room and you massacre a song and if you're really awful, so awful you might be funny or tragic, the judge might say, "That was amazing. Never heard anything like it. I want you to sing for Paula, Randy and Simon." You're excited -- you've made the first cut. They ask you to sing a song. What you don't know is they are asking all the tuneless and clueless to sing the same song so they can make a wacky medley of their immelodious brayings.

Then you get your big chance and you are told you are "useless at everything," "pathetic" and that "your future involves not singing." Some of them break down weeping on a parent's shoulder, sobs racking their bodies. "I could tell they hate me!"

It's like a cruel practical joke -- we'll find the delusional and the congenitally tone deaf and play into their fantasy that they can sing, until we convince them otherwise on national television.

Perhaps Simon and Randy and Paula are actually doing these people a favor, helping them wake up to reality. But the alarm they use to rouse these poor souls takes the form of some rather intense emotional convulsions. I don't know that I like it.