posted by Chad on 8/12/03
The entire world has jumped on the “_________ Idol” bandwagon, with every nation wanting in on the telephone voting action for the next pop supast*r. It’s a great vehicle for the recording industry to sell albums and build name recognition before even signing the pretty face that’ll be on the cover. For us at home, we get to watch the rise from oblivion to fame of one very special individual, and laugh at all the others that try and fail. I mean what a great pool of talent THESE GUYS R SOOOOOOOOO GOOD!!! But before we get to the so-called talent, viewers of the show and readers of this very piece will have to suffer through introductions of all the other onscreen flakes.
You may recognize host Ben Mulroney’s last name and big potato head… his daddy used to be the big boss man of Canada for eight years in the 80’s. Supposedly, our beloved host is a well educated man with a couple of university degrees, but as a man that’s been through the university thing, let me leave it at “WHOOPIE DOO.” Ben fuels the rumours that he only got the hosting gig because of his father’s notoriety simply by tripping over every sentence that stumbles out of his mouth. Ryan Seacrest’s stale humour and fag flakes used to annoy me to no end, but now I wish he’d come and host one, just one, of this idol incarnation.
To back Ben up, because it’s quite apparent that he needs all the help he can get, we’re also infected with two correspondents, Jon Dore and Tanya Kim. The only time Tanya ever makes an appearance is when she’s shilling L’Oreal, which has taken Coke’s role as the sponsor rammed down our throat so much that you can’t even see their company’s symbol without immediately vomiting. Jon is the comedy relief for the show, because we all know that shoving cheezies up your nose is a comedy goldmine. Of cheese.
The panel of hosts have some depth… cause, like, there’s four of them, you know? The fat black guy, Farley Flex, surprisingly hasn’t starred in any porn movies despite his name. But he’s still a black Canadian, so we all know that means he’s streetz, yo. His bio reflects his dedication to bringing urban music to Canadian radio, so Farley, thanks for lending your hand in turning a bunch of bored cornbread Canadian kids into middle class gangsters. Icy Hot Stuntaz Represent, Straight Ballin.
Jake Gold, the fat judge that’s white, is on this panel simply because he manages The Tragically Hip, and is just as boring as the band. No, I’m just kidding… he manages The Watchmen too. His contribution to the show is holding one arm out, rocking his hand like he has Parkinson’s Disease, and saying “yeah I’m feeling it” as if he has an ounce of rhythm in his lard ridden body.
Rounding out the male crew is Zack Werner, who gets to be the bitchy judge on this show. When a fat contestant Faith came on and blew everybody away with her voice, he commented that she was “a great monster,” “a massive talent,” and had “huuuuge potential.” Berating when necessary and long winded regardless of the circumstance, his previous resume is filled from being in an 80’s hairband to being a lawyer. He “represents and showcases” a variety of Canadian artists and may be directly responsible for many of their failures, including the only female Canadian Idol judge, Sass Jordan.
Sass Jordan is a name most Canadian’s will recognize, and the rest of the world will be glad it can’t. Most media in Canada is heavily mooched from our rich brothers just south of us but the CRTC forces 35% percent of all airplay to be “Canadian Content.” This is intended “to ensure pride of place for Canadian artists” so they won’t be lost in the mass American market, but really, it just forces a lot of Canuck radio listeners to take pens and repeatedly jam them into their ears every third song played. Sass was one of those that lived merely out of this federal pity. She’s lasted long enough to have a greatest hit’s CD coming out soon (which in Canada happens once you’ve made two albums), but my single memory of her music career was the plague single known as “Ugly.”
“You’re the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen
and I think I love you!”
I’m guessing she was supposed to be raw or punk or a masculine female figure, growling into the microphone and all, but really, she just flat-out sucked. Not in a punk “I suck because the system sucks” critical way, but more in a “the system has to play a lot of Canadians, so here’s my only real hit that doesn’t measure up to par in any way, listen to it four times a day for the next three years.” Hating American overexposure is passé, so blame Canada. ‘Cause SouthPark references have never been done before.
Sass seems to be suffering from the same affliction that intoxicated Paula Abdul… the illusion of status. Paula didn’t look awful for her age, but by the end of the second American Idol, she tried to push the fashion envelope and simply couldn’t deliver. Her granny boobs that normally would have sunken deeper than the Titanic were duct taped up so high that you could have wrapped the loose skin from her chest around her neck and tied a bowtie. I worry for Sass’s inflating head because she somehow weaseled her way onto the Toronto SARS Relief concert that featured The Rolling Stones, AC/DC, The Guess Who, and even Justin Timberlake, whom the crowd booed and bottled. Miss Jordan played a big three songs, where she tired every trick in her whorey book to get the crowd to react to her performance, or even notice it. There was a temporary shot that showed her waving her arms side-to-side in front of the massive crowd, and the crowd just kinda starred blankly into space, like they were mentally blocking every perception to minimize the emotional scarring.
And now, Canada and web-world… here… are… yourrrrr Canaaaaaaadian I-dulls!!!
Audrey de Montigny
If the “de” in her name didn’t give it away, Audrey is les francais, and makes every male say “oui oui oui.” Or at least play with their, oh how do you say, le dick? Take a look at that picture… look at what care she caresses that penis-shaped microphone. We can all attest to the sexual appeal of a foreign accent, and I don’t care if she is Canadian, French is still pretty foreign to me. Even the fourteen girls that compose the majority of the viewing audience must find Audrey to be all the voom voom zes vant, because she was the highest vote getter out of her group. Not that I really need to say this, but keep an eye on this bonbon, as she should be around for us to
stare at listen to for a good bit yet.
Balding Billy is a personal favourite of mine… not because of his talent, but because of his performances. Just before he lays into a big chorus, he starts rocking rapidly back and forth on his feet with nervous energy and flapping his hands like a bird with broken wings. He tightens his eyes right up like they’ll explode if he opens them, and then, just before he let’s his voice pour out, he rushes forward. If he is ever forced to sing a song that doesn’t allow the opportunity for a power chorus, he’d be more fucked than a cripple in a stair climbing contest. He can’t vary his performance whatsoever nor has he heard of Rogain, so I don’t expect to be blinded by the glare off his skull for much longer.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a picture of Candida that really showed how hideous this girl looks. Her nose has more bends in it than a video game race track. Candida’s favourite “artist” is Celine Dion, and there are some strong similarities. Mainly, they both have big voices and I want to drop cinder blocks on each of them repeatedly. Week after week, she came out singing different Whitney Houston songs, but the horror of her horsy face was enough to get her voted off.
Gary’s got a big brassy voice and a lot of soul. The only problem is that it clashes with every musical instrument known to mankind. This genetic hybrid of Busta Rhymes and Ludacris should have his voice box ripped out. He sang “At This Moment,” which asks, “What did you think / I would say at this moment? / When I'm faced with the knowledge / That you just don't love me?” We should all find out the answer pretty damn soon.
You could describe Jenny’s style as either unconventional, or as a dog trying to get the peanut butter out of its teeth by twisting its neck and chewing at the air. One really wonders if she’s in the middle of a seizure while her pig face oinks out a song. Very rarely does she actually sing, instead treating her pieces more like nursery rhymes. Jenny’s refreshing because she’s unique, but I’m not sure how much longer she can run with her silly spoken song thing.
I chose this blurry picture for Karen-Lee, as it exemplifies her Idol experience. More or less, she’s lost amongst the rest. This girl could sing the blues, but judge Zack really nailed it when he said, “You’re just another blues-rock singer. So what?” She’s strong, but not super, so it was no surprise she was one of the causalities when the Top 11 was trimmed to eight.
Mikey is the biggest fucking flake on this show, which means he’s the favourite to win. His angle, which he told to the judges, was to break the asian barrier in the music industry. He strives to achieve this dream by wearing blue contact lenses and crying every time he gets voted through to the next round. Not a couple tears of joy mind you, but a full mental breakdown spaz out, falling to his knees, gasping for air, and weeping like somebody just stole all of his boy band CD’s. This guy could have sold a zillion albums four years ago, but the bubble gum boat is taking too much water now to float this wafer.
Richie Wilcox is truly Smiley McGee. He never stops beaming. Never. He could really give Barney a run for his purple suit in a song-and-smile competition. You could break Richie’s nose and that smile would gladly collect all the blood. It really makes me want to break his nose. He even grinned through the tears when Canada sent him back to the singing telegram company.
Ryan’s always on the verge of getting voted off, but manages to stay by the weight of his voice. He’s comparable to Clay from American Idol 2 in the way that he really, really doesn’t look the roll at all. Looking over the pictures again, you’d think half of Canadian males under 24 are going bald. Ryan sometimes sounds like he’s doing a parody lounge version of the song he’s singing, and I’m sure he’ll end up in some dingy hotel bar soon.
Recently divorced from King Kong, Toya shakes buildings to the foundation by jumping on the roof and allowing a strange sound to emanate from her mouth. She too has just scraped through by the cellulite on her thighs thus far, but lately has swung the momentum in her favour and raised the bar. Her voice should break the glass ceiling and leave her perched on top when all is said and done, with only those pesky helicopters left to deal with.
Tyler Hamilton looks older than the rest of the competitors, but the truth is he hasn’t aged a day in the last 60 years. In the ‘50’s, he went under the name of Elvis and sold 50 million albums by quivering his knees and shaking his ass. After establishing that name and trade marking it, he handed the reigns over to a fatter man and went on to star in Grease and Saturday Night Fever as John Travolta. Sadly, scientologists abducted him and brainwashed Tyler into starring in Knight Rider under the alias David Hasseloff. One day, after KITT had spent years with the guilt of knowing Tyler’s true identity, KITT finally broke down and told Tyler the truth. Shattered, Tyler spent the 90’s in a tail spin of heroin looking for who he really was. But he’s on the comeback trail here in the new millennium, and hopes to use Canadian Idol as the springboard to take him back to the top. Unfortunately, he’s become one of those dumb fucks that likes to do a country spin on every song he sings, and all the rodeo retards in Canada can’t save this hick from getting bucked off.
There is a good variety in this group of idols, but I really wish I went to the auditions so I could add some zany to this group. I was stuck behind a desk when Canadian Idol auditions took place, so that’s my excuse for not going. But I had an idea. Another one that wasn’t all that practical, but an idea none the less. Show up in full fouff gear – trench coat, warped old hat, and of course, riding a big smoky grin on in, covering the pie eyes with the biggest brownest navigator glasses possible. After all, you’ve got to be authentic. I’d take the obvious route and start singing the Canadian national anthem, which would be a horrible burden to bear as I can’t sing a note whatsoever. My sour voice would be offset by the sheer entertainment value of me riding an invisible horse around the set, the judges and so forth. Trot him slowly, race him around, smack his ass and hold on tight for those big bucks! Yeeeeeee haaaaaaaaaa!! And then, for the grand finale, which comes when I’m reaching either the end of the song or their patience, in comes the next contestant behind me wearing some wrestler’s t-shirt carrying OH NO HE’S GOT A STEEL CHAIR OH MY GAWD DON’T DO IT *crack* over my head, blade job, and I’m laid out cold, mouth open drooling into my own puddle of blood, while he’s off running to his limo, escaping until I get my revenge THIS SUNDAY, SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY, LIVE ON PAY PER VIEW!!!
-Chad / fouff
PPS: Special thanks to the Canadian Idol website, which provided most of the pictures for this post, from the contestants above to the local girl below that went to auditions, but sadly, never made it to our television.