The World According to Tom Hayden

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No matter how pundits on either side of the political fence debate or deny it, the fact remains that our planet has seen better days. The politicos frame it according to their own agendas, but even the most delusional among them—left, right or centrist—know in their heart of hearts that we’ve been cheating on nature for too many years. After turning a blind eye to our dalliances with our own egos all this time, nature is ready to kick us to the curb.

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We’ve reached a point globally wherein it’s screamingly obvious that humankind has to take some responsibility for the climatic upheavals that are occurring all over the globe. We can no longer shrug it all off as natural weather cycles that happen once or twice a millennium. In fact, it’s impossible at this juncture to even say what’s “natural.” The imprint we’ve left on this planet has indelibly altered our environment.
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In his book The Lost Gospel of the Earth, Tom Hayden makes a compelling case for linking spiritual tenets to environmental activism. In his view, much of our environmental crisis can be traced back to our lack of regard for the most fundamentally spiritual aspects of Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, Islam, Native American traditions and our disconnect with our ancestral roots. According to Hayden, we can break down our relationship to the Earth into three distinct philosophies. We can see ourselves as “Lords of the Universe,” and conclude we have a divine right to dominate and subdue our surroundings, since humans were placed here to hold dominion over all else on the planet. In the second scenario, humans are the “Stewards of Nature,” a gentler, but no less utilitarian approach to the environment, in which nature is molded to the ingenuity of man for multiple benefits, taking care not to destroy the environs in the process. Finally, the third way of thinking espouses a “Kinship with Nature.” In that line of thought, we recognize that we coexist with all life on the planet, and that we share a common bond with the creative process of Earth, and thus are codependent with all life here.
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While he sometimes sees contemporary religious doctrines and their adherence to mankind as holding dominion over the planet, Hayden doesn’t indict any sect as responsible for our environmental woes. Rather, he looks at how ancient texts have been corrupted through by political expedience. He makes an eloquent argument for a return to ancient spiritual philosophies as one tool on which to build a cohesive, logical plan for preserving Life As We Know It.
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It would be a simple matter to dismiss Hayden’s views as leftwing rhetoric, were it not for the exhaustive research he’s done on the subject. True, the neoconservatives here are pilloried as puppets for corporate interests, but the interests in China and India are held equally culpable. Hayden’s main interest here is a worldwide awakening of our spiritual bonds with Earth as an evolving organism. While some of his arguments may be flawed, his passion for the environment cannot be denied.
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Given the state of our planet in 2007, Hayden’s book is a worthwhile read. In fact, it may—maybe, just maybe—give us pause to consider what we’ve wrought in our 250 some odd years as a nation obsessed with more is better. As Hayden closes his manifesto: ”No state is greater than the state of nature. The nature of the state must reflect the state of nature, not the other way around.”

Bluegrass By Way of the Bronx

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Even though he’s been a major force in American music for well over thirty years, very few people are familiar with Hungarian-born producer Tomas Erdelyi. He’s produced albums for the Replacements and Talking Heads, among others, but he’s probably best known for his work with punk icons the Ramones. It was here that his alter ego, Tommy Ramone, emerged as the original drummer of the original punk band, and it’s a legacy that stands on its own. He was not only their drummer, but their manager, producer and the main composer of “Blitzkrieg Bop.”
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We haven’t heard a lot from Tommy Ramone over the past few years. As the last surviving member of the original Ramones lineup, he could have easily pimped the name and done the roadshow circuit. Thankfully, he’s put the Ramones to rest as a band, if not in spirit. His latest effort, in collaboration with former Simplistics guitarist Claudia Tienan is Uncle Monk. Whatever you might have been expecting from a Ramones alumnus, this album will surprise you. The duo that is Uncle Monk are neither punk nor bluegrass nor a pseudo-hip hybrid of the two.
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The core aesthetic of punk, once it’s stripped of sociopolitical pretense, is its devotion to the foundation of the three chord progression upon which rock was built, and which the Ramones epitomized. Punk sneered at the bloated beast rock had become and rightly returned it to its garage band roots. On their eponymously titled debut, Uncle Monk have rooted out those roots, and delved more deeply into the music that is the foundation of rock. What emerges is an album that pays homage to the bluegrass and folk origins of rock, yet manages to sound unique in its own right.
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This is music devoid of any pretension—no electrics, no guest musicians, not even any drums. The duo of Ramone (vocals, mandolin, banjo, dobro, fiddle, guitar) and Tienan (vocals, guitar, bass) provide all the textures here, and deliver a surprisingly full sound (thanks in no small part to Ramone’s—err, Erdelyi’s—production). It’s by no means a rock album, but it can’t really be called a bluegrass album, either. What they’ve managed to do here is take the basics of bluegrass and folk, and update them in a way that’s relevant to our current social state. Psychologically, we’re not that not far removed from the Depression woes of Woodie Guthrie—it’s only the face of the stress that’s changed.
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But Uncle Monk aren’t overtly concerned with making a sociopolitical statement any more than the Ramones were. They’re dealing more with the rigors of day to life, and if they make a statement in the process, it’s more a matter of happenstance. A hapless office worker plotting his fantasy revenge on his tyrannical boss, in “Mr. Endicott” speaks volumes to the Everyman, and “Need A Life” strikes a common chord with anyone caught in the maelstrom of urban life. By and large, though, Uncle Monk offer slices of modern life seen through the lens of simple dreams.

Uncle Monk the album requires at least a couple of listens to appreciate. It’s jarring by virtue of its simplicity. But when all is said and done, it’s nice to know that a mandolin and a guitar are all you really need to make a contemporary album.

The Continuing Journey of Traveler

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Admittedly, summer is not the optimal season for television viewing. It’s the time of year when our attention turns to outdoor sports, barbecues, swimming pools, tanning and, in general, playing chicken with skin cancer. It’s always been sort of an unspoken rule that TV sleeps through the May sweeps, not to be awakened ‘til the ballyhoo of the fall season.

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Those rules are changing. Partly because cable has altered the landscape of programming, and partly (and perhaps more importantly) because the Internet has made traditional scheduling much more fluid, the networks are venturing into summer programming that would have been unthinkable even a few years ago. Granted, most summer fare consists of mindless game shows and third-tier reality series, but now and again a series like Traveler comes along that makes you realize summer isn’t all fun and games.

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For Jay Burchell (Matthew Bomer) and Tyler Fogg (Logan Marshall-Green), it’s a summer they certainly weren’t expecting. I wrote about it here when the series had its sneak peek premiere 10 May. Three grad-school buddies embark on what is supposed to be a cross-country last-hurrah road trip before entering into their workaday futures. But when one of the trio, Will Traveler, convinces Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog to rollerblade through an iconic art museum in New York City, the first leg of the road trip takes a very twisted turn. An explosion rocks the museum, and Jay and Tyler suddenly find themselves prime suspects in an act of domestic terrorism. Worse, they gradually realize that their friend Will Traveler set them up to cover up his own involvement in the bombing.

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I’m not going to recap every scene in the two hour premiere that debuted 30 May — you can see all two hours of it at ABC.com. But I will tell you this: Traveler is the most frenetic series you’ll see on prime time this summer. The more the plot unwinds, the more twisted it becomes. What begins as a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time morphs into something much more insidious, in which nothing is as it seems on the surface. All we know for certain is Burchell and Fog are the only innocents in what is a shadowy conspiracy involving the top levels of government. We only get pieces of information in tiny fragments, and even those are not to be trusted. In fact, we can’t even be certain that Fog or Burchell are the innocents they appear to be.

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The last moments of the premiere tell us that Homeland Security is involved in some way in that plot, but we still have no idea what exactly the plot is, or why Burchell and Fog were set up to take the fall for it. As convoluted as it is,Traveler moves at such a frenzied pace that it’s impossible to be bored with it. It taps into our collective paranoia in a wildly entertaining way, and only gives us time to think about plot holes days after viewing the episode. Even when we do consider such inconsistencies, we’re inclined to think they’re just another trick of the conspiracy.

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Traveler is the most provocative series of the network summer fare. Period. Originally scheduled to have a 13 episode run, ABC pared it back to an eight-episode run. True, it doesn’t have the best time slot (10 PM EST, Wednesdays), but it’s a series that deserves a chance. Watch it, or be a part of the Conspiracy.

Creature Comforts Looks At Our Neuroses

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On the surface, Creature Comforts (premiering tonight on CBS, 8PM EST) comes across as just another summer replacement series. The premise is simple: reduce some man on the street interviews to sound bites, and reproduce them with animal cartoon faces. Fortunately, the premise must have been pitched to CBS a little better than that.

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Creature Comforts is, in fact, one of the brightest spots in a summer season dominated by wannabe “reality” pirates, wannabe filmmaker competitions and, yes, even bingo as a televised sport. Based on the British TV series of the same name, Creature Comforts is a welcome departure from the tried and true formulaic series to which we’ve grown accustomed. There is no plot here — there aren’t even vignettes, although there are some recurring characters. Instead, we get little snippets of conversations, the kind you hear every day, and barely notice. For instance, we hear a woman telling a man how he’ll never get close to her romantically, not particularly amusing until you realize these are pandas conversing. There are bees suffering from allergies, sharks talking about the power of a winning smile, various hypochondriacs and neurotics all in animal and insect guise, all forcing us to look at ourselves in a pointed, if somewhat skewed style.

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Produced by Aardman Animations, the same team that produced the theatrical films Wallace and Gromit and Chicken Run, Creature Comforts masterfully utilizes stop motion animation to create a world that may appear fanciful, but strikes close to the urban heart. I don’t want to run through all the skits here — words wouldn’t do them justice. Take my word for it. If you want a welcome diversion from from the tripe that is standard summer TV fare, you’d be hard pressed to find something as charming and insightful as Creature Comforts.

Rockers in the Kitchen

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You can relate to this.

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The night went by in a blur. The music was loud, the dancing pumped you, and the drinks just kept you moving. But after that last call for alcohol, and you were informed you didn’t have to go home, but you couldn’t stay there, it dawned on you that you were hungry. Any respectable restaurant had closed hours ago, but Denny’s or IHOP served breakfast 24 hours, and coffee sounded like a good idea at this point.

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For bar bands, rock journalists, and serious clubbers in general, those forays into the food stops that never close were an essential component of survival. Every once in a great while, though, you’d run into somebody who wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet, and an impromptu dinner party of sorts would happen at someone’s apartment. The snacks would be, well, interesting, but they beat the hell out of the obligatory 4AM pancake breakfast. Of course, they were on the fly recipes, lost forever once the sun was high in the sky.

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All of this brings me to I Like Food, Food Tastes Good: In the Kitchen with Your Favorite Bands, perhaps one of the most essential cookbooks ever written. Okay, that may be stretching a point just a bit, but it’s far and away the most entertaining cookbook ever written. You’re not going to find nutritional information or calorie counts here — you’re usually not going to find precise measurements for ingredients (as if anybody follows them anyway). What it may lack in precision, I Like Food more than makes up for in verve, though.

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What author (and music/food/travel journalist) Kara Zuaro has accomplished here is really quite amazing, given that her contributors are all indie-rock musicians — over 100, in fact — bound together by their common fondness for food. We’re talking base instinct fondness for food here — these guys are on the road much of the time, and there’s only so much fast food the palate can tolerate before the brain gets creative. And as this book demonstrates, hungry musicians can be dangerous when they get creative in the kitchen.

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Actually, there are some good recipes here, ranging from the purely survivalist to the surprisingly epicurean. The breakfast section, for example, admonishes the reader to first ask, ”How drunk am I?” before taking on some of the more involved menus. Matt Cherry’s southern cheese grits are a safe bet. Silkworm’s cheesy sleazy also is a good bit to forestall an impending hangover, and it doesn’t require precision, calling as it does, for “an onion, some red or green peppers ... and sausage and some other stuff to throw in there, if you’ve got it.”At the other end of the spectrum, Violent Femmes offer up a wild boar ragu, and Rahim’s drummer Phil Sutton shares a recipe for sauerbraten that he inherited from his dad. For more pedestrian tastes, Aloha shares a quick and simple fried chicken with biscuits and gravy. There’s also a section devoted to vegans, with such offerings as Vicki Pilato’s baked barbecue tofu and a very good eggplant parmesan, courtesy Houston McCoy.

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There are sections devoted to sandwiches, soups, desserts, and, of course, drinks. And while the majority of these are no-brainers, there are a few jewels. I never knew that sake and root beer complement each other, or that Tang serves as a perfect mixer for either Absolut or Jack Daniels. I seriously doubt I’ll try Death Cab for Cutie’s veggie sausage and peanut butter sandwich, though — at least not without having consumed one or two of those Tang highballs.

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In all seriousness, I Like Food, Food Tastes Good is an interesting compendium of recipes not likely to be recommended by the Food Channel or Martha Stewart. That’s not really the point of this book. It does give you an idea what humans can come up with in desperate road conditions, when money’s tight and Burger King just isn’t going to cut it. All the recipes are written by the band contributors themselves, and appear unedited. Some of them are actually quite tasty, while others I’ll leave to braver souls than myself.

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If nothing else, I Like Food, Food Tastes Good finally explains why rock and roll will never die. It may get a hangover, it may get indigestion, it may even pack on a few pounds here and there. But as long as it maintains its unruliness in the kitchen the same way it does on stage, it will outlast anything that dares challenge it. In the kitchen, as on the stage, the first rule is there are no rules.

The Circuitous Journey of Circle of Iron

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Let’s begin with what the newly remastered, two-disc “kick ass” edition of 1978’s Circle of Iron is not. Despite the promo blurb, there is very little “kick ass” about this film. It has its moments, but if you’re expecting nonstop martial arts action, you’ll be sorely disappointed. If, on the other hand, you think this film might give you some insight into Taoism, you’ll end up with a few kernels of SoCal pop Zen that might leave you amused, but hardly enlightened.

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Once those two minor issues are dismissed, Circle of Iron (aka The Silent Flute) is an enjoyable, if simplistic parable, best regarded as a guilty pleasure. The protagonist of the film, Cord the Seeker (Jeff Cooper), is a headstrong, undisciplined fighter on an unsanctioned quest to find the Book of All Knowledge, guarded by the wizard Zetan (Christopher Lee). As is usually the case with quests, Cord’s journey to enlightenment is fraught with challenges and perils, all borne, in one form or another, of the trappings of his own ego. It’s sort of Siddhartha meets TV’s Kung Fu.

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Despite its shortcomings, Circle of Iron offers some interesting performances, most notably those by David Carradine, who shines in four separate roles. As Blind Man, he’s an extension of his Caine role, older, perhaps more jaded, but even more predisposed to fortune-cookie bits of wisdom. His portrayal of Changsha, chieftain of a nomadic tribe (who apparently got their clothes from whatever happened to be available in the costuming department), is equal parts greasy biker and crown jester. He’s unrecognizable as Monkey Man, leader of a half-simian, half-human race who are the first line of defense against those who would take the Book of All Knowledge. Here, as in his brief appearance as Death the Panther, his performance relies more on his background in dance than in martial arts.

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Jeff Cooper, who would go on to a stellar, if short-lived career as a Dallas bit player, doesn’t fare so well as Cord. Looking like a cross between a surfer dude and Beastmaster, he romps through his quest with a “whatever, dude” emotional range. Even when he finds his lover from the night before (Erica Creer) crucified the next morning, he can only muster a grim expression before sallying forth on his search for the damn Book.

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Shot in some gorgeous, remote locations in Israel, Circle of Iron manages to evoke an otherwordly atmosphere befitting the nature of the story. Cameo performances by Eli Wallach, Roddy McDowell, and Christopher Lee also save the movie from complete mediocrity.What’s most fascinating about Circle of Iron, though, is the circuitous journey it made from concept to “product.” It was originally penned by the then relatively unknown Bruce Lee, along with James Coburn and Stirling Silliphant, back in the late sixties. Lee at the time was known to American audiences as the Green Hornet’s sidekick, Kato, and he desperately wanted to break into mainstream films. He had an idea for a film, which he called “The Silent Flute,” that he thought might not only propel him to stardom, but would also promote his own vision of Zen and Martial Arts. James Coburn and Sterling Silliphant, both Hollywood names and both students of Lee, helped him flesh out his idea into a script — well, actually, more a treatment, since it was only seventy pages long.

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To make a very long story short, the project stalled for years. Lee was passed over for the lead role (which went to David Carradine) in the Kung Fu TV series because he was too Asian, and departed to Hong Kong, where he became the ultimate action star. Perhaps embittered when he returned to the States, he was no longer interested in the project. He died under still mysterious circumstances in 1973, and in death, he achieved superstar status. Suddenly, his forgotten project was a hot commodity. Five years later, The Silent Flute, now titled the focus group-approved Circle of Iron was released.

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All of this is detailed in this two-disc edition via interviews and commentary with and by the principals. Most informative of these is the interview with Carradine, who considers it his best work, but sidesteps the irony of how he took a role intended for Lee not once, but twice. Besides the interviews, obligatory theatrical trailers and assorted miscellany, this edition also includes the original treatment by Lee and cohorts, reproduced in DVD-ROM, down to the typewritten page. The audio and video reproduction on this widescreen edition are nothing short of superb.

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Circle of Iron, for all its flaws, remains a cult classic. This is a set that is worthy addition to any student of film history. It’s a so-so action film, but the extras provide a glimpse into the machinations of moviemaking, and how compromise rules in Hollywood.

Sandinista Rides Again

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It’s not like the world really needs another tribute album. There are already hundreds out there, running the gamut from the obvious (like the Beatles or Hank Williams) to the asinine (like string quartet renditions of Evanescence.) Still, the idea of an album recreating the Clash’s Sandinista! is outrageous enough to pique a perverse curiosity. It certainly wasn’t their most cohesive effort, rambling as it did through a myriad of musical styles. What it may have lacked in focus, however, Sandinista! stands alone as the Clash’s most audacious album.

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It makes sense, then, that The Sandinista Project would be equally audacious in its attempt to recreate the original work’s 36 tracks, using almost that many artists, interpreting them in often unexpected styles. Certainly not an album for Clash purists, TSP often draws its inspiration more from Appalachia than Kingston, and at least as much from the honky-tonk as the disco. What rock journalist turned producer Jimmy Guteman and the diverse assemblage of musicians represented here have done is taken the original album’s material and placed it in a present-day context.

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Think of it as a renovation project of sorts.The world is a much different place (at least, superficially) now than when the Clash released Sandinista! in the dying days of 1980, but the themes they expressed on the album are as relevant now — if not more so — as they were when 1984 loomed on the horizon of uncertainty. It’s only the context that’s changed. So when Jason Ringenberg and Kristi Rose take “Ivan Meets GI Joe” out of a frenetic London disco and have them face off in an East Texas honky-tonk, it’s not only amusing, but somehow more relevant - we get two over-the-hill adversaries in a beer-soaked bar fight. Likewise, Ruby on the Vine’s rendition of “Rebel Waltz” conjures up images of American warriors fighting grimly against hopeless odds, just as the Coal Porters’ version of “Something About England” brings it home to the mines of Kentucky, rendered in a purely bluegrass idiom.

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While TSP often transports the original album from reggae and dub to acoustic bluegrass and country, it explores other translations as well, with somewhat mixed results. The new version of “One More Time/One More Dub,” featuring swirling guitar runs by Voidoid alumnus Ivan Julian and spectral vocals by Iranian-born Halle, is a haunting soundscape of Middle Eastern beats melded to psychedelic trappings. Ethan Allen brings a sleazy back alley feel to “Corner Soul,” evoking a B-movie noir feel to the material. On the other hand, the Lothars’ theramin-inspired rendering of “The Call Up” merely sounds cold and robotic. The least said about Stew’s “Broadway” cover, the better - it would have been a bad disco song in 1977, and it certainly doesn’t fare well in 2007.

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Even though much of TSP consists of radical rethinkings of the source material, there are some nearly spot-on covers here. ”The Magnificent Seven,” as performed by Joe Grushecky and the Houserockers, opens the album, and more or less evokes the spirit of the original’s white boy rap. Sadly, Camper Van Beethoven could have called in their version of “Kingston Advice.” Willie Nile’s scorching cover of “Police On My Back,” however, reminds you why the Clash were the “only band that matters,” at least in 1980.

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The Sandinista Project has its flaws, just as its namesake did. Labors of love are like that. Where Guteman and the various artists succeeded here is in their passion for the project. In many ways, it’s as experimental as its source material, and in that regard, they’ve done the Clash proud.

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(I should note here profits from the album’s sales are split between two charities - Amnesty International, and the Joe Strummer Memorial Forest, which is a division of Future Forests, an organization fighting global warming.)

Questions of Life and Death

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Cynthia Tello is a Los Angeles-based artist whose work is not defined by boundaries. There’s a sort of dark whimsy about her art, especially in her current collection, “Life and Death.” In it, she juxtaposes X-ray images of the human skeletal form with imagery of insects, birds, and plant life, essentially creating a stark yet moving tableau that comments on the universal cycles of life.
What makes it even more remarkable is that these pieces are presented on what Tello calls “movable canvases”. Working with French fashion designers Philipe Naouri and Alex Caugant, best known for their Antik Denim clothing line, she has created an exhibition of “wearable art” with the Life and Death line of clothing. It’s been embraced by rock and rap celebrities alike, and is available at upscale stores like Neiman-Marcus and Saks Fifth Avenue. We recently spoke with Ms. Tello about the Life and Death collection, her approach to her work and her plans for the future.

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How does the collaboration between you, and Philipe Naori and Alexander Caugant work? Are the pieces geared to your design, or vice versa? Or does your art work independently of the clothes?

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When we create a collection we always come up with a theme first, so that we feed off each other when choosing the color palettes, the fabrics, and our silhouettes. The artwork then enhances the original concept, almost like a symphony performed by different instruments to create a harmony. The L&D designs seem to me very organic in the way they fuse various elements of biology and botany into a cohesive whole. Is there a conscious effort on your part to make a social or environmental statement with these designs? Absolutely. As an artist it is almost inpossible not to react to our environment. I've always tried to evoke emotions from my work; with L&D, I got the freedom to explore the evolution of life and contrast it with the dark concepts that are associated with death. It is hard not to react to the social problems around us. We are very passionate about the ideas we put out there — we even want to incorporate environmentally friendly concepts into our upcoming collections. We feel it is our responsibility to raise awareness of our tendency as human beings to unconsciously destroy ourselves.

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Your mother worked as a Disney illustrator. Now while there is an eerie element to your art, it also has a sense of whimsy about it. How did growing up around animation influence your own sense of wonder?

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The influence comes in the quality of my linework. The way I sketch and layer my drawings stems from the early principles of animation passed down to me by my mother. Perspective, positive and negative, composition were second nature to me by the time I went to art school. My need to tell a story with each line also comes from these principles, almost like a dark fairytale, with a beginning, a middle, and an end.

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There's no denying that fashion, film, and music share a symbioticrelationship in the fabric of pop culture. From your perspective, at what point do they intersect, and how does that play into how we view ourselves as a society overall?

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There is no doubt about it. Society has the need to be constantly surrounded by beauty and entertainment. It is only the mixture of all three that can satisfy our very demanding needs. I like to remain an outsider, observing its transitions and absorbing what I can to inspire me. I like things that are unique and sometimes bizarre, dark, and almost ugly, which is not considered very popular. I find comfort in that.

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Right now the L&D line is available in upscale chains like Saks and Bloomingdales. But you're also expanding into online venues. In what ways do you see online marketing altering the accessibility of fashion design?

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I am a product of the Internet generation. I like the idea of making the line available to a variety of customers. It's important to give people the chance to see, learn more about the line so they can identify with it.

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I understand you see L&D as more of a lifestyle brand than a fashion line. Could you elaborate on how that will evolve and what that ultimately means?

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Our first step will be to make a sports line. It's something I've always wanted to do. We will start with the clothing and hopefully progress into sports gear like skateboards and snowboards. We all have different passions we would like to explore with Life and Death. Alex loves the idea of making home furnishings to give costumers an edgy and dark option to decorating interiors. We are also in the process of starting our accessory line, which i would like to expand into fragrance and beauty products and incorporate unusual colors and scents.

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Beyond L&D, what themes do you want to explore with your art in the future?

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I try to give a new approach to the artwork with every collection by exploring different types of media. Right now I am experimenting with photography for our holliday collection, and we have talked about perhaps doing limited hand-painted items for stores like Maxfield and h. Lorenzo, which used to sell my hand-painted vintage jackets from the Great China Wall. Eventually I would like to try to do costume design for a motion picture, to see my creations have life on the screen.

And the New American Idol Is. . .

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For two hours tonight, time will stand still. There will be no random crime, no political debates, no chaotic weather. The planets will realign in perfect harmony. Even that giant killer asteroid hurtling towards Earth will momentarily alter its course.Only one event could have that sort of global impact. Tonight we hold our collective breath as the fate of Blake and Jordin is revealed, and the reign of the new American Idol begins.

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I realize some of you may be previously committed to pressing engagements, and I know how heavily this must weigh on your shoulders. It’s okay, really. I feel your pain. They set you up for disappointment last night, pitting the “better performer” (Blake) against the “better singer” (Jordin), as if the two were mutually exclusive terms. They billed it as a showdown, and presented it as a singing version of a WWE spectacle. And then, as if we hadn’t been battered enough, they had to offer proof that all AI contestants are winners. To prove it, they paraded the ultimate poseur, Daughtry, on stage. (I’m unclear if that’s what he calls his ~ahem~ band, or if he just got too cool to use his first name.)

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It was at that moment that my damn epiphany swept over me. For all its posturings, American Idol was never about fulfilling dreams. It’s about crushing them. Even worse, it makes us gleefully watch as the no-talents, the lesser talents, and even the really good talents are cut down like chaff. Seeing them fall makes us feel better about our own shortcomings. And when our favorites make it through the ranks, thanks to the “power” of our votes, we feel like we actually call the shots in where our world is headed.

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What it gets us is a prefab version of pop culture, where “performer” and “singer” are mutually exclusive terms, and where “rockers” are transformed into manufactured charlatans, replete with choreographed guitarists and perfect eighties-era leather pants.Once I got over my epiphany, I focused on tonight’s momentous occasion, and my mission to save would-be viewers from mass suicide.

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Here’s who will win. Jourdin will take it, and this is why.

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As I’ve said before, I believe the voting block consists primarily of teenage girls, mainly because teenage guys don’t have that much of an attention span, and adults have more pressing matters to attend to than voting on singing competitions. The reason Blake and Jordin are the only ones left standing has less to do with their talents (as good as both of them are), and more to do with how they resonate with that block. Both performers have personalities that teenyboppers think are — well, way cool.

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But it’s down to the wire now, and with the attendant publicity surrounding the finale, the voting block has shifted and expanded. That effectively seals Blake’s fate. His performances last night proved him to be a one trick pony. The beatbox vocals are cool, up to a limit, but they certainly are not enough to make a career. His Maroon Five impression is nothing more than that, and he doesn’t have the range to pull off a ballad. He’ll have a chart-topping album out of it, and then he’ll be quickly forgotten.

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Jordin, on the other hand, has what the labels want. She’s young, but she sings well beyond her years. She has a well-scrubbed look, the sort that can evolve over a career (hopefully more Joss Stone than Whitney Houston), and, dammit, the girl’s got chops! She’s taken everything they’ve thrown at her, and she’s never failed to deliver a performance.In the end, the voters will identify more with Jordin than Blake — she’s the fairytale ending they want. With all that in mind, the American Idol title this season goes to Jordin. I just hope she wears it well.

American Idol: Why So Surprised?

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It’s down to Jordin and Blake now, and America appears to be collectively aghast about Melinda going home. I’m hardly aghast, but I am a bit surprised so few people saw it coming. There was no way Melinda Dolittle was going to be the next American Idol. Sure, she can sing, but as much as Simon likes to refer to the show as a “singing competition”, it’s hardly that cut and dried.

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Video killed the radio star over 25 years ago, and from a visual standpoint, Melinda was... well, mundane. No matter how she belted out the vocals, she was never able to project a visual presence. Had she thrown her shoulders back a bit and ditched that “I’m not worthy” facial expression, she might have had a chance. But I doubt it. AI is all about the youth factor, and at 29, she was, sadly, too old for the 18-24 demographic.It’s that demographic, coupled with my sneaking suspicion that the voting audience is largely female, that made it obvious to me that Melinda would be leaving.

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Chicks dig Blake. His beatbox style resonates with teenyboppers. He has that bad boy aura, but he’s a guy they could take home to mom. The problem is, a ‘hood ‘tude quickly wears thin without something to back it up. Suburban white boys rarely have it. On the other hand, Sir Mix-A-Lot has given Blake his blessing. And when a one hit wonder from the early nineties endorses you, that has to be a good sign, right?

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Not necessarily. Seventeen-year-old Jordin has a certain post-adolescent gawkiness that’s endearing to the audience, and especially endearing to that teenage voting block I mentioned earlier. Plus, she can actually sing. Despite Simon’s occasional admonitions that she’s choosing songs “too old” for her age, the fact remains she pulls them off by virtue of her phrasings and the sheer power of her voice. More importantly, she knows how to emanate a presence. Add to that equation the fact that she’s young enough to be molded into whatever persona the labels desire at any given whim, and she has to be the odds on favorite.

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That said, it’s still anybody’s guess. No matter how it goes down, nobody really loses on American Idol — except perhaps the viewers who thought they held the future course of pop culture in their hands by virtue of their vote. It will all be forgotten by the time next season rolls around. Ask Taylor Hicks.The truth is, American Idol has always been a sleight of hand con game. Melinda, Jordin, and Blake will all have their moment in the sun. So will the almost-rans. They’ll all have a nice little run on VH1 (aka the American Idols Rejects channel), but they’ll add nothing of substance to the fabric of pop culture. It doesn’t matter. We’ll be back next season for another round of bread and circuses. So will Simon, Randy, and Paula, all looking even more disinterested than they did this season. And once more, the viewing audience will choose yet another American Idol.

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God help us all.