Fauxthenticity

I've been trying to put my finger on what's bugging me about this season, and I'm figuring it out: The frontrunners -- those whose performances everyone was anticipating, at least as of two weeks ago -- all exude varying degrees of I'm Too Good For This-itis.

There's an undercurrent of artistic slumming going on with Casey James (who is both I Don't Even Own A TV Guy and My Other Persona Is Busy Playing At Antone's Guy), Crystal Bowersox (whom I like, but who looks deeply embarrassed not to be rocking out on Library Mall in Madison, the way REAL artists do), Todrick Hall (who CAN'T BELIEVE your mind isn't already blown by the arrangements he's throwing down), Lee Dewyze (who's already rehearsing the extent to which he's gonna totally distance himself from all this when it's over), and twee, insufferable poseur Lilly Scott (who couldn't be more ill-served by the judges' clueless slobbering over her bullshit affectations). Even Andrew Garcia, who at least doesn't seem to be appearing on American Idol against his will, has an I'm Here To Break The Mold vibe about him.

Strangely enough, it reminds me of when Dennis Miller was added to the Monday Night Football lineup. My pal Rob Siegel, who once picked Amy Krebs in this very pool, was completely appalled with the idea from the second Miller was announced. His rationale was that viewers may enjoy holding football at arm's length and spouting wisecracks at the TV, but the fun of that comes from watching something that takes itself utterly life-and-death seriously. His complaint boiled down to, "I can supply my own sarcastic comments, thanks."

That's also true of American Idol: You can't be above American Idol, pumpkin, because you auditioned to be there. I'm getting a kick out of watching Crystal and Casey wish they could burst into flames during group sing-alongs of "I've Got A Feeling," but I'd enjoy the show so much more if so many people weren't trying to have it both ways. It should matter to the participants, you know? I want tears! I want high stakes! I want meltdowns, dashed dreams, shattered egos, and broken hearts!

In short: GO, AARON KELLY! And not just because you're my only hope in this godforsaken pool.