I got out my ABBA Gold, this morning - yes, I own a copy - and I tried to imagine tonight's Idol Abba night. And I laughed. I laughed, heartily, because, quite frankly, that's all anyone has left, when watching Idol deal with the reality that it just doesn't have the talent to pool, anymore. Well, I say "anyone", ignoring the contrast of the kind of Idol bogans who sit in a TV studio, waving a cardboard sign they've put a disturbing amount of time into making, their glitter pens exalting; "WESard of OZ!"  (complete with glued-on pictures of Wes wearing drawn-on wizard hats). They smile with genuine enthrall; we smile with sadistic irony. In the end, we're all smiling, I suppose. And, truth be told, I was as excited as the bogans were - I raced home from the Newtown Thai I ate for the tenth time this week, obsessively checking my watch, unable to comprehend any potential there was for me to miss even a second of Idol Does Abba. Truth be told, I bet you were kinda excited, too, right? A good ambulance chaser knows what streets will have the best accidents, after all - this seemed like a sure-fire catastrophe. And I did get home in time, yes. But an hour and a half later, instead of being exhausted by the chaos of that car accident, I was the tediously unrelieving little boy, whining at his parents from the backseat of the car; "Are we there yet?" I was bored out of my mind. The show - try as it might - failed to convince me otherwise.

 

Idol is now the strange paradox of a show that can't afford to give the critics anything else to attack its credibility with, yet decides to make its little lambs sing ABBA covers. But it's now really only assuming various poses of Credibility™, simply to warn off the negative press and the cultural mocking that all takes place outside the actual demographic it now squarely targets. In the year of Bobby Flynn, Idol seriously attempted to retain the more cultured demographics; but gone are the days. It isn't prepared to waste any more time being Credible™, because it's left to concede that its previous attempts failed miserably and that, more importantly, it's pretty hard to convince people this lot are worthwhile artistes. They're not. Might as well make the poor little things sing ABBA, then. That's what those bogans love.

One of the differences between Big Brother and Idol has always been Big Brother's approach to devise a unified vision to be carefully sold, through all content and members of its staff. That vision may have had the function of appeasing different demographics, sure; but BB essentially always stuck to its story. Idol does no such thing. Within a single episode, Idol can try to cover so many bases, we are expected to ignore that it has contradicted itself, eight or nine times over. Following an episode of Idol in a linear, fluid manner is impossible, and tonight's pressure to sell the success of such an embarrassing slice of entertainment meant that no logic would be considered in making sure those bases were covered. Hines, as any Idol watcher knows, is the queen of hypocrisy (followed closely by Sandilands), and she was in full swing for tonight's fiasco. At first, we were told that the performers should all be treating the show with the mockery ABBA deserved; later, she scorned performer's for not respecting the craft of this great band with the seriousness it deserved. Some were told they were doing well by making the performance as light and fun as possible; others were criticised for underselling the raw emotion. It makes absolutely no sense. Any of it.  The only thing linear is that underlying - increasingly desperate - function: that we don't, for a second, think the show is anything less than on top of its game, and that all our problems are, in fact, agreed with by the show itself. But it didn't matter how hard the show tried to convince me - I suppose, for me, I was the target of the dialogue designed to assure me that they think an ABBA covers night is as tacky as I think it is - it was what anyone with a brain knew it would be: bad. But, by God, I expected it to be so bad, it was a scream. It was nothing more than a groan.

The groans started, straight off the bat, with Chrysalyn and her awkward performance of Mamma Mia! One of the problems of these Idols (increasingly apparent) is the level of talent, in regards to delivering a diverse range of performances. Basically, they can't. Chrysalyn, as I continuously point out, should not be the ultimate victim of such criticism (she's just a kid, after all), but we all know very well that she's going to walk out on that stage, every week, and do the exact same diva-come-drag performance, alternating between the only three flip-of-the-hand maneuvers she seems to know. Tell it to the hand, sister - etc, groan, etc. She also has obvious pitch problems; although, they nearly all do, this year, and I've realised it's best to become desensitised to this aspect. And it's true that I've always been one to remind Idol fans that performance is about more than perfect pitch, anyway. It's just that with the same stomp around with the three hand flips, every week, there's not much else there, around the technicalities, for Chrysalyn (the same could be said about most of them, however). Next.

Second off the ABBA rank was the only performer I now have any bias towards. Sophie Patterson is the only one I actually look forward to, each week. Yes, yes, I know it's because she represents the misunderstood underdog, and she's the only one using an adult sexuality, mixed with being the only one to convey genuine melancholy as a performer. I know it's because her inclination to re-interpret makes her as close to "art" as you can possibly get from Idol. Perhaps, she's not really that great, and it's all a matter of comparison. But, regardless, I can't help but dig her, and I genuinely hope she continues, and does so whilst staying true to what she wants to do. I did like that she chose to portray Gimme Gimme Gimme as a melancholic song; it is, if you listen to the lyrics - it's about a woman throwing herself into self-destructive sexual hedonism to fill her emotional emptiness. It didn't rock my boat; but it felt, at very least, more akin to the previous seasons that had something - anything - worth watching.

Tahn is the kind of guy I feel guilty for disliking, so much - but, I do. Sorry. He's rubbish. But he's perfect for where the show is, these days - if anyone can be as fickle, confusing and opportunistic as the actual show, this is the guy. Every week, he pleads his case to cameras; spewing out the delusions - with such commitment, I'm quite certain this guy has actually convinced himself. Every week, he clutches his heart and assures us he's just doing what he loves, and what he feels he does best, and what he can emotionally connect to in the very bottom of his heart and soul, etc, bla, etc. And it's all so blatantly, painfully, contrived. Tahn is the kind of guy who learnt, somewhere, somehow, that so long as you can dazzle everyone into a sense of endearment - one based off sympathy, to some extent - than any problem can be averted. I despise Tahn's introduction packages, because, in them, he always tries to make me feel, in advance, that I have to love what I'm about to see, or else I'm a complete bastard. And I never love what I see. I didn't love his rendition of Winner Takes It All, because as it was, Anthony Callea was about 8 points higher than I can handle on the cheesometer. Tahn discovers heights of cheese, so great, he makes the Hallmark channel look like Ovation, in comparison. He makes Anthony Callea look like Bob Dylan. And that's no small feat.

Wes is, as Tom noted in recent press, very much the Winner™ of Idol 2008. It has been decided, and it doesn't take a genius to see it. Not that Wes is an awful performer - I don't have the connection to him that I have fostered for Sophie (in fact, I have no connection to him, at all), but he does deliver his end of the bargain, when all is said and done. But - just in case - they're going to make sure we fall in love with him, anyhow, because, come Christmas, they're hoping we're sending his compilation of covers to the top of the charts. After questioning others for having the audacity to re-interpret such perfect music, Wes was applauded for his reinvention of the classic, Fernando - rather odd, considering he didn't actually change it, at all. I suspect that the reason I dislike him is because he is the golden boy of The Machine™ - and, perhaps, that's unfair - but it's how I feel, and if you're going to go on I dol and be the bitch of The Machine™, then, quite frankly, I'm under no obligation to applaud it.

Mark Spano, like Chrysalyn, is a tiresome one trick pony. If he does his bending over thing, one more time, well.... well.... oh, what am I saying? There's a chance he could go, tomorrow night - Aussies do not appreciate lambs who rebel or, heaven forbid, don't take the themes and expert advice seriously - but, as long as his fans vote harder because of his public flogging, we're going to be seeing him bend over, many more times, yet. Still, aside from this, props to him for maintaining the smirk, throughout the theatrics of everyone's favourite celebrity alcoholic, Dicko. What a panzy, letting ABBA get the better of him! I mean, really. Idol will not tolerate such disobedience - it's far too big a risk factor for PR - and I imagine Spano will continue to be slaughtered, until the public comply and throw him out. Can't say I'll miss him; but good on him, while he's there, sticking it up The Machine™. Compare his approach to Wes', and I rest my case on why there's no need to comply and support the Winner™ they're crafting in the WESard of Oz. Spano, however, is to be crafted as a Loser™. But, that's the way so many resistant Idols crumble, and we all know it.

Roshani was awful. I actually loved the idea of embracing the burlesque - except, that she executed it, so poorly. She couldn't sing it (and she knew it, judging from the intro package), and she failed to commit to the theatrics and really emanate the kind of charisma needed to make burlesque compelling. However, since she wasn't threatening the publicity of the show, she was showered with praise, because, no, no, this rubbish is actually really wonderful! Isn't it, bogan audience?!

Madam Parker didn't do much better. Well, actually, I think it was worse. I wanted to like Madam - I remember cheering for Emily Williams, whenever that was, and lamenting the early exit of her older sibling, Lavina, and I was hoping Madam would play a similar sista vibe that I could enjoy watching. Sadly, this hasn't been the case - something that, judging from many of the forums I've read, many fans agree with me on. I suppose we presumed that the meek thing was the endearing insecurity of an overwhelmed underdog, that it was an understandable stance from someone being given the shot at their Z-grade dreams. In the beginning. But, then, the stance stayed. By now, four weeks into the real comp, it's still exactly the same. Madam Parker may have a fabulous, feisty name, but books are best judged not on their jackets. Another one trick pony, I'm afraid - and it's not even a very good trick. Her rendition of Dancing Queen was lifeless, repressed and mono-emotive. And she's probably a really nice girl and all (if we're to ignore that there's a great deal to be said of a mother who leaves a small child, to pursue a career as a popstar), but she's joyless to watch perform.

By the end of the show, I must confess that I was not only overcome with boredom, but with a distinct sensation of resistance to just how contrived this show has become. Mixed with a bit of good old pity. I can't help but feel sorry for those kids, because they mostly have no idea how the narrative they're experiencing is just so deceptive. It has very little to do with their raw talent and abilities. With the exit of Tom - who began as an obvious choice for the teeny-bopper Heart-Throb™ vote, but quickly proved problematic for the show's image -  the show was missing an Idol to send the tweeny hearts a flutter. Teale is the epitome of mediocrity, and he'd been pretty much slaughtered, in the beginning of the competition - he was clearly lined up to fill the initial elimination shows. But what a difference the loss of a Heart-Throb™ makes! Unfortunately, the one problem with their golden boy, Wes, is that he's not very hot. And so, if we are to believe the judges who, only a fortnight ago, happily crucified this Rick Price fan (that's how dull this boy is), Teale has suddenly transformed into a "true contender", getting stronger and stronger, each week. "I think you're a brilliant vocalist, hands down," vomited Sandilands, after a dreadful rendition of Thankyou For The Music (an awful ABBA song - I agree with Dicko) - even though, he had dismissed Teale as being one of the weakest performers, just three weeks ago. The others agreed, both assuring him he was blossoming into one of the Stars™ of the show. And I felt sorry for Teale, because his face lit up - like you'd expect of someone hearing such affirmation from the people in the power seats who had ripped him to pieces. They don't get it, of course. Teale had no idea that this praise was a marketing decision, based not on his growing vocal brilliance, but his market positioning as the eliminations changed the show's chemistry. You wouldn't have the heart to tell him, mind you.

But, it goes without saying, that if any contender on this year's Idol is a marketing gimmick, it's The Shearer™, who is no longer even referred to by his actual name. No, he's just The Shearer™. Can't sing for shit. But, when you ask him how he's going to fare, he answers; "Well, I'll 'ave a crack at  it, ay." That's all he needs to do, really. And - somewhat disturbingly - it does appear to be working: Luke has yet felt the axe dangle above his head as part of the bottom three. When the show dismissed his inabilities due to imaginary illness, his fanbase rallied behind him, and he was in no danger. They'll probably rally behind him, again - despite that the best (and, by that, I mean worst) really was saved for last, with his closing rendition of Knowing Me Knowing You. By this stage, it was pretty hard to get a laugh out of me - it was noted by my partner, instead, that I managed to sustain the same expression of absolute horror for the entire three minutes of his routine. This time, as was to be expected, there was the disclaimer that this was, after all, a Shearer™ singing an ABBA love ballad, but, even so, they gave it mostly praise. If you're reading these blogs without actually watching the shows, I'll try to embed the video for you to see it. If you want to grasp, even for a moment, just how bad this show has become, watching The Shearer™ stand, with his hand in his pocket, growling the (wrong) lines, "Growing up is never easy, I know",  oughta do it.

It was bad. Not funny. Just bad. Maybe they should do a Barry Manilow show, next week, and have a second shot at humour? Because something has to give. Idol 2008 has settled into its unfortunate reality: mediocrity coated in caster sugar. My, my, Idol, how can I resist ya? Unfortunately, with increasing ease.