With last week’s save, the Top 8 on “American Idol” Wednesday were the same Top 8 from last week, when Sam Woolf was unaccountably saved by judges.
Nobody seemed more happy about this save last week than Ryan Seacrest, who jumped up and down. For his part, Sam this week thanked the judges “and America,” even though they’re the ones who put him in the bottom.
Having him stick around allowed him participate in ’80s Week, which meant not so much to any of the contestants since none of them were born yet. That way, they were all free to ignore the actual high points of the 80s — Prince, Madonna, U2, Springsteen, Talking Heads, Clash, R.E.M. — to concentrate on lesser artists, whom they were free to mess with, mostly by slowing down arrangements.
I would like to say that some ’80s icon was there to guide them, but instead there was David Cook, the seventh season winner who at least was born in 1982. He didn’t have much advice for anybody, thinking they didn’t really need it. He coached them all on looking at the camera though.
Jena Irene was first, beginning Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock ‘n Roll” as a mournful piano ballad, of all things, before breaking into the guitars for a version that still seemed to chop the energy of the classic. Her version had too many parts to it, she admitted. Judges said she had to loosen up next.
Next up was Dexter Roberts who was going to slam through the Georgia Satellites’ “Keep Your Hands to Yourself” like the bar singer he is. His main problem was pronouncing the lyrics. He was excited to play electric guitar for the song, but gave up most of the big soloing to the house band player. Judges seemed to love him but he’s absolutely nothing special. His backwards baseball cap wasn’t a nod to the 80s, it was a sartorial cliche he hadn’t grown out of.
In the first of four duets of the night, to pad out the two hours, Sam and Alex Preston did the “Thriller” track “The Girl is Mine” with Sam taking the Paul McCartney bits. It wasn’t so bad. Like all of the night’s duets, it was relaxed and enjoyable instead of fraught with nerves. That’s because they are not supposed to “count” in the voting, though to assume they don’t is silly. It’s like striking something from the record of a trial — “but not struck from the juror’s mind.”
Malaya Watson almost threatened to combust during Chaka Khan’s ballad “Through the Fire,” but as rangy as she was she hit the high note. Judges seemed to think she was thinking too much about the big note that it took away from the rest, but she said she wasn’t thinking that much about it at all. Still, Malaya is the kind of person you want to stick around, just so she can sing at the finale without the glasses and braces and blossom into a winner, the kind of thing the show used to encourage.
(Even so, she’s been in the bottom three twice so far).
Jena and Caleb Johnson joined forces on the Tina Turner/Bryan Adams duet “It’s Only Love,” which, like the earlier duet, was pretty fun.
Jessica Meuse was next among solo artists, doing Blondie’s “Call Me,” adding her country/bluesy thing to it in a solid performance. Every year there’s somebody who is perfectly fine, but who the judges are always picking at. Jessica is the one this year.
The judges are all about Sam Woolf, the only one remaining of the guys who looks like he could actually be a teen idol. With the save, they’re invested in him now. His version of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time,” solo and in the middle of fawning girls, was pretty good though — in part because you almost can’t wreck that song. Throughout the thing he kept batting his eyes at the camera and Harry Connick told him to look up Ricky Nelson videos to learn more about this approach.
Malaya and C.J. did the Aretha Franklin/George Michael duet “I Knew You Were Waiting (for Me),” a No. 1 song that had completely slipped my mind.
Alex Preston really looks like the kind of guy who never makes it this far — a kind of nerdy mouth-breather who thinks himself “indie” (in the sense that Jason Mraz is indie). Slowing down a song may not be new, but he did a good job on the Police stalking standard “Every Step You Take,” taking it acoustic and bending the notes to a jazzier realm. Connick gave him some guff about the difference between being a performer and being an entertainer and someday his “coffeehouse treatment will catch up to you.” Too many jitters maybe. Jennifer Lopez said he changed the song so much, it took the soul out of it, but I thought it did just the opposite — put soul back into something that had turned into a jingle or Diddy refrain.
If Malaya and C.J. were teamed as the last remaining R&B twosome, Jessica and Dexter were paired as the country contenders. For the final duet of the night they did the Kenny Rogers/Dolly Parton classic “Islands in the Stream,” which never quite jelled because their harmonies weren’t quite right.
C.J. Harris, who has been in the bottom three more than anybody, including the last two weeks, picked a song that seemed a commentary on “Idol” ratings this year: “Freefallin,” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. His approach — stop me if you’ve heard this before — was acoustic. Judges love this guy, but he could have used a little guidance.
The show ended with the Meat Loaf of the bunch, Caleb Johnson, who teed up Journey’s “Faithfully” in a manner true to classic rock radio. His plan: “I wanna go out there and make some old ladies cry.” (None were seen doing so). He hit most of Steve Perry’s notes, but not his nuance, and it was suitable for a rock karaoke night.
The odd thing about ending with Journey was the reminder that Randy Jackson used to be in that band. But he wasn’t called in for his opinion, and through the entire night he was never allowed to mentor anybody. If he was seen at all, it was in the shadows of the rehearsal footage. They should just let the guy go if they’re not going to use him at all (except make fun of the gold pants he used to wear).
There must have been some memo that went out about the judges being so boring this year. They are way beyond the cutting put downs Simon Cowell could be relied upon doing, the nuttiness of Steven Tyler and his jibber-jabber commentary, or the sniping between Nicki Minaj and Mariah Carey.
So Keith Urban came out with hair extensions that he kept in for all of a minute, and Harry Connick kept trying to be the center of attention by going into the audience to hear duets with them. It was disruptive and dumb, and when he put one reluctant girl on his shoulders, a little creepy. She didn’t look comfortable or particularly happy up there. Connick kept referring to his feat as if it were something noteworthy.
With their last required action out of their hands — the save — and their critiques so useless, they may as well be out with the audience instead of the desk from now on. Just try to keep the little girls off your shoulders.