American Idols are the Devil's Playthings

American Idol: Runners & Riders

It's that time of year again, when we get our first look at America's next hero, the person who'll appear on the five dollar bill from 2008-2010. On the other hand, there is some good news: the auditions stage is finally over. I've always loved the freaks-and-geeks stage of these reality shows in the past, but this year it went on too long and was just too excruciating. I assumed they were hiding all the talent so they could focus on this year's especially spine-gratingly awful weirdoes, but then we got to see who they were putting through to the live shows, and it turns out there just wasn't much talent this year. They used it all up the last few years.

Anyway, here's your cheat's guide to this year's contestants. Apologies to American readers, who already lived through all this a few days ago. We get all the shows in one dose on a Friday, which means five hours of Idol tonight. Pray for me. (By the way, even though we have five hours of show to suffer through, ITV still pads it out with lots of utterly pointless asides starring British presenter Cat Deeley. America, you are very lucky not to have to suffer through these bits. Though Cat is actually a lot better than Ryan Seacrest, who gets more odious, obsequious and self-loathingly homophobic every year.)

we start with the 12 boys:

Rudy Bagpacker: Smooth-skinned Italian-American boy singing... well, I have no idea. He sings like he's in cardiac arrest. Simon apparently has never liked him, and Rudy doesn't know why. Might I venture to suggest, Rudy, that it's because you're an atonal cacophanous disaster? Rudy is really very bad indeed. There's simply no good reason for him to be in this show. If he tried to join the Sharks in West Side Story they'd shiv him for wrecking their chorus line.

Brandon Backingsinger: I've quite liked Brandon in the past, because he had a quite appealing simmer to his style, and a nicely soulful voice. I don't know what happened to him tonight, but it was distinctly lacklustre. He's singing Rock With You, which is a good choice - if you're singing at your friend's wedding reception. Which is where you may see him soon.

Sunshine Head Welcomes Careful Drivers: There's a cliff near my home town that's famous for its suicides. It's called Beachy Head. Every time I see Sunshine Head and his monumental girth, I'm reminded of that notorious cliff. And every time I hear him sing, I'm reminded why it's notorious, because I find I want to kill myself. Sunshine horrendously caterwauls a Meat Loaf number. Actually, it probably isn't a Meat Loaf number at all, he just sings it like it's a Meat Loaf number. Or maybe he's just very fat, and it's confusing me.

Paul Token Asian: I may be forgetting a whole slew of people here, but I feel like Asian-Americans rarely get this far in Idol. Even thus guy may just be here to throw an entire demographic a bone, because he's utterly awful, and he's always been awful. I've never seen him be less than wallpaper-paste boring. Weirdly, he reminds me of Martin Sheen. Startlingly, this does not endear him to me at all.

Kevin Federline: I'm as surprised as you are to see him here, but you have to admit, it's a bold move. Your music career was stillborn. Your ex-wife is a crazy bald chick. No-one credits your claim to be Anna Nicole's babydaddy. What else can you do but try to regain the public's love with a stint on Idol? So here's Kevin Federline, sticking his head above the parapet of the witless protection programme, trying to recover the warm glow of the spotlight. People are erroneously claiming that he resembles Justin Timberlake, but that's only because they've forgotten who Kevin Federline is. For those who remember, the bad news is that he still can't sing. He has a weak, watery voice, he sounds like a stage school brat trying to sound urban, and he jiggers around like a paralysed man on a live rail. Terrible. Five guys in and we haven't heard a singer yet.

Boston Nick: He's singing Uptown Girl. No, I lie, he just looks like he should be singing Uptown Girl. Well, not singing; whistling it while he tunes up the engine on a beaten-up Ford Pinto. All right, let's be honest, I have no idea what he would be whistling. Obviously I'd never be seen dead in the sort of neighbourhood he must live in. But I don't have to go there, because he's right here on my TV, huskily whispering his way through Now and Forever, the Richard Marx song that's secretly Eric Clapton's Wonderful Tonight. He's not terribly good, but he shows more potential than anyone else we've seen, and he looks a bit like Robert Downey Jr, and we like that.

Beatbox Blake: I quite like Blake, which is strange, because he has the sort of terrible hair you'd expect to see on a hairdresser, and he beatboxes! Beatboxing is surely the lowest form of art. But he's very good at it, and sort of charming. Thankfully he's not relying entirely on the beatboxing, and he actually has quite a nice tone to his voice. His range is rather strained - by a Keane song, of all things - but he's decent. Possibly the best of the night so far, though he's bound to irritate me later. Do they even have Keane in the US, by the way? If so, I'm sorry about that.

Sanjaya Tattva Tattva Acintya Bheda Tattva: Looks like a cross between Michael Jackson and a toothbrush. And if the last couple of acts had you thinking that things were looking up, you're going to be disappointed. Sanjaya puts in a deeply tedious performance of a Stevie Wonder song. It's not that he can't sing, because I he very clearly can, it's just, why would you bother putting the effort in with a song like this? The only surprise here is that I didn't realise Stevie Wonder wrote any songs as boring as that. Or maybe it's a good song, and Sanjaya is just a charisma vacuum.

Chris Jackosbourneobviously: The early favourite, at least in my house, because he's genuinely quite funny and he seems to have an effortlessly good voice. He's like all of Barenaked Ladies squeezed into one pair of XXXL trousers. Unfortunately the live show doesn't see him at his best. Fortunately, a mediocre performance from him is all he needs to set him apart from this crowd of abysmal losers. Oh, but unfortunately he's just done a very stupid thing. He's tried to mock Simon Cowell with the tired old line about Simon making novelty records. Yes, Chris; that's why he's phenomenally rich and judging your sad sorry fat arse, kid. The thing to remember about Simon is that he's almost always right. This doesn't cease to be true just because he's criticising you, you witless goat.

Jared Squarejaw: I like Jared, because he's a rather handsome and strapping lad with good chunky eyebrows. I don't want him to disappoint me. Unfortunately he immediately does exactly that by singing a nasty syrupy R'n'B ballad, the Bryan McKnight one with all the stupid counting in it. He also doesn't sing it well, and the lighting seems designed to make him look like an orc. What happened to my strapping broad-shouldered singing superhero? Jared, if I'm losing interest, you're in trouble.

AJ in Your Pocket: A camp, oversexed Latino dwarf who got turned down for Idol the last four times. I think they let him through this time in the hope that, when the public send him home, he'll finally take the hint and give up. There can be no other rational explanation. Mind you, compared to most of the other contestants, he's does an admirable job of fighting his way through the song - in this case the easy party favourite Never Too Much by Luther Vandross.

Chris Fishface: I loathe Chris. I don't like his voice, I don't like his odious 'I'm a daddy' sympathy-baiting crap, and his skinny Uncle Fester look gives me the creeps. He's a sailor, so he should be hot, yet he makes me want to gargle cyanide. That's not right. He also looks like a member of the Scott-Lee family, which Americans (and many Britons) won't understand, but it's not a good thing. He sings a nasty skin-creeping ballad. I think the lyrics are 'As you sleep my cold and clammy hands will scurry up your shivering thigh and my wet finger will intrude into your musky sanctum'. I may be wrong. I hate him.

That's the boys, and even the kindest charity would probably suggest putting them all in a sack with a large brick and tossing them in a fast-moving river. Between all 12 of them they have a sum total of three passable voices and two personalities. I'm praying the girls are better. Let's find out together!

Stephanie Torchsinger: I like Stephanie, because she sang God Bless The Child at the audition and she didn't embarrass herself doing it. She isn't embarrassing herself here either. She has the attitude, tone and easy range to be a real, engaging performer. Raises the bar immediately. Great stuff.

Amy Plainjane: She's what we call 'fresh faced', which means she's funny looking and doesn't wear much make-up. She sings that she can't make me love her, which is true enough. I might will myself into tolerating her at best, if bribed. She's actually a serviceable singer with a pleasant enough voice, but she's completely unmemorable. I think Amy is here because they knew there had to be 12 girls, and there was a vacancy to fill.

Scary Leslie: Another one who freaks me out; a flame-haired girl with eyes like shining coals from the pits of hell. She's Ghost Rider. Imagine my surprise, then, when I find myself quite liking her rendition of Natural Woman. It's a bit New York jazz lounge, but I actually quite like that in a female singer - she's got brass. Terrible boots, and a dress like a potato sack, but she's forced me to change my mind about her, and that doesn't happen easily.

Sabrina Streisand-Keyes: A funny looking creature, very... Broadway. But a very good singer, if a little, yes, Broadway. Perhaps over-reliant on the warbling, but talented all the same. The women are evidently much, much better than the men by quite some margin. It makes it very tough to say scathing, bitchy things about them. I have to resort to catty remarks about their hair. This girl looks like she crimped hers in a George Foreman grill.

Antonella Bitchface: We're reminded in the show that the choice for the 12th girl was between Antonella and a girl who was much, much better than her, which seemed odd at the time, and it seems even odder that they'd remind us of it now. Perhaps they want to encourage the voters to send her home? They needn't have bothered, her tired, flat voice will accomplish that soon enough. She sings like I'd imagine Michelle Rodriguez might while she's drunkenly speeding her car into pedestrians along the cliffside roads of Hawaii.

Jordin Maneater: Well, she looks like she could manage half of one, anyway. I blame the blood-red lipstick smeared on with a trowel. She was too sweet in the auditions stage, Simon said. She's making up for it now with a big, hectoring blast of noise, and being on the receiving end of it is a little like how it must feel to see a bus bearing down on you. Jordin could probably use a little finesse, but I'm interested to see what else she can do, and I've found I've not thought that much in this competition.

Nicole Newjersey: I don't know if she's from New Jersey, but it must at least be her spiritual home. There's just something astonishly brash and classless about her. She can hit the notes, but her voice is deeply unattractive (as are the faces she pulls as she belts), and the performance feels like an intrusion. Suddenly I feel all three hours of the show so far pressing on my poor struggling brain, and I wonder how I'll cope with two more hours, especially when that includes the tedious recap/results show. I need more wine.

Haley Newjersey: The trashy New Jersey look with burnt hair and lipgloss all over the face is really in right now, apparently. She's singing a song that either was a Coke ad or should have been, but she's strictly Coke Zero. I'd call her pitchy, but I have no idea what that means any more, as Randy applies the word entirely inconsistently from week to week.

Melinda Cathedral: I love this girl. She seems much bigger than she is (she's tiny), she has a face that's huge and bright as the full moon, and her voice is just fabulously massive. She's a joy to listen to, and her performance is a delight to watch. She claims a lack of confidence is her big problem, but you absolutely wouldn't know it to look at her on stage. Gorgeous, fabulous and incredibly likeable. I hope she goes a long way in this competition.

Alaina Prettything: Another girl I like, because she seems sweet-natured and relatively smart. Unfortunately her sweetly husky voice isn't up to Brass in Pocket. She'd score very badly on Singstar with a performance like this. It's a shame, because I think she's capable of much better than this. Actually, I think even Sunshine Head is probably capable of much better than this, but I doubt it'll ever be proven.

Gina the High School Bruiser: Gina looks like the sort of girl who knows her way around a monkey wrench, and spent much of her schooldays smoking in the toilets. She's a very atypical Idol girl - she's neither a dainty little creature, nor is she black and loud. There have been girls like her in the competition before, but they've lasted all of about a week and been quickly forgotten, so I don't hold out much hope for Gina. It's a shame, as she has a good voice, and she can do a lot more with it than most of the other girls. You'd better vote for her, or she'll take your pocket money. I like her.

LaKisha Izzadelicious: Say it with me now; it's time for the obligatory big black girl who learned how to sing in church. Sometimes these girls are genuinely extraordinary, and sometimes people just assume they're extraordinary because they're big black girls who learned how to sing in church. LaKisha sings that song from Dreamgirls. You know, the only halfway decent one. Not the one Beyonce released as a single; the one that may win Jennifer Hudson an Oscar. The good news is, she's genuinely extraordinary. I don't think she's quite up to the level of Jennifer Hudson, but Hudson's had a lot of chance to polish. Unfortunately there was something unruly and unpleasant about LaKisha's stage performance, but the vocals were impressive.

That's the show. Ryan asks Randy how many boys would he put through if he could choose the final 12 without restrictions. He says four. That's generous. I'd only want to put two through - Blake and Chris. The only problem then would be finding ten girls to join them. I can count seven that I rate. Stephanie and LaKisha are stand-out singers, but Melinda is my favourite.

To get the results, I had to sit through a ghastly school play rendition of Seeds of Love from the 'top 24', but you dear reader are considerably more fortunate, as I'm giving you the results right here, without asking for a slice of your soul.

The boys sent home are Paul the boring Asian kid and Rudy the incomprehensible Italian-American, both deserving losers, though with this bunch the voters would have been hard pushed to get it wrong. The girls sent home are bland and boring Amy and intrusive, unappealing Nicole, and that's a solid
result too. We now have several more weeks of winnowing to endure, but lord knows what we'll end up with at the end of it. The show just doesn't have a lot of plausible contenders this year.