Last week, on Canadian Idol: Canadian music rocks!...at least in montages. Emily’s glass slippers broke.

This week… Dread Lord Clive: Ah, these innocent northeners…how fiercely they cling to their delusions of relevance. If I had a heart, it would be slightly above room temperature by now. Booking minions! Bring me the list of lackeys! I would reward my children with true Idol soul!

Lackey (running finger down the column headed ‘Souls, Sold’): Er…seems they’re all booked solid, Chief…except maybe Donna Summer, but she’s still got that nasty follicle thing going on. There might be a few partials you can...say, Stevie Wonder’s still alive? Cool.

Dread Lord Clive: Of course! The very thing!...but tell them to skip Ma Cherie Amour, OK? There’s only so much one Lord of Darkness can take.

Yep folks, it’s Stevie Wonderful night here at the Apollo…oops, sorry, wishful thinking dialling in there for a sec. What it actually is, of course, is It’s Gonna Be a Long, Long Night night here on Canadian Idol. While they’re nice kids and all nothing I’ve seen thus far has convinced me that to them a Soul Train isn’t those subway cars painted with IPod ads. And yes, I’m aware that the majority aren’t even from Toronto to begin with.

Ben comes flying out all eager to begin his evening as adored object of thousands, and let me tell you, he looks so snappy at least ten of ‘em may not even be blindly obeying the ‘Applause’ sign. New upscale shade of orange, hair neatly trimmed, navy sport jacket and slacks over a white dress shirt…flirtatious little 'yep, that's me pretty much' asides to the audience. Uh-huh. Benedict, the only thing scarier than you trying to pull a Seacrest is you failing. Out, already.

“These kids live together, they play together…” – yeah, I’m pretty sure Ashley brought her Barbie collection – “…but when they get out on this stage, it’s every singer for themselves, because there can be only one!” Kind of like a Highlander episode where immortality turns out to have a really crappy soundtrack. Also the mental images of Rex wearing blue paint, the ballcap and not much else, screaming 'FREEEEDOOOMMM!'as he streaks across the stage, isn’t nearly implausible enough for comfort.

Anyhoo, enough with the spine-tingling suspense…oh, wait [removes cat toy from couch seat, resettles spine]…ahh, much better. Time to meet our ‘four-pack of judging talent’…and since exactly when has Benedict been taking the Miss Cleo correspondence course?

Zack in a black sequined Glen Campbell number that ironically enough is fairly tasteful by his standards, at this point is it about the talent or the preferences? Zack goes all Eeevilly wide-eyed. “Did you just say ‘talent’, Ben?” But Ben isn’t buying. In fact, Ben appears just a little scornful. I think that may be the power suit from The Tuxedo he’s got on there.

Anyway. “I’m just tryin’ to be fair to Nova…ScotiaBrunswickPEINewfoundland…” Oh, that’s just ducky, that is. Leave it to Zack to zero in on the one way the entire East Coast could be ticked into a full-bore reenactment of Cowell-vs-Hawai[tinypause]i. You want grim determination in the face of utter irrelevance? These are people who've staged Anne of Green Gables: The Musical for upwards of thirty straight years now. Sure, it's all sweetness and light 'till Casey boots Rex out of the Top 2.

Poor Farley. Not only did they lose his luggage and the housekeeper had to whip together a sport coat out of the Holiday Inn bedsheets, it’s his week to play pet-the-hand-that-feeds. What’s the word in the street re: this year’s group? Dude, if you have to ask that question, you’ve already got the answer. Farley is so convincingly enthused – “They really love our choices! Great to be validated!” – that it’s pretty obvious electroshock therapy was involved somehow.

Dread Lord Clive [miffed]: Nothing so plebian. The torture minions merely enquired how he’d like his vocabulary forcibly reduced to ‘Yo, dawg!’

Sass in black with ruffles that were evidently sewed on by Farley’s housekeeper after Derek laid down the ultimatum, do the contestants really have a chance to grow during the competition? Sass Hallmark-cards that a performer grows every time he steps in front of an audience. Plus on this show they have the bonus of learning that it doesn’t really matter anyway, ‘cause your fate as a musician will be decided by deep meaningful factors like how good a prop you make for the cranky judge’s ego. Then they can get all bitter and antisocial, which I suppose never hurt the Sex Pistols, but there of course you have to factor in the whole stabbing-the-girlfriend thing. So we should probably just get back to telling them not to suck now.

Jake in fairly classy pink silk shirt open over narrow black lapels – tell us, why does Stevie matter? Heh. Tragically Hip turned you down flat again, huh, TPTB?
Jake obligingly launches into what sounds like a Teleprompter-encouraged appreciation re: how ‘timeless’ Stevie’s music is, how he was among the first singers – at Motown, anyway – to also write play and arrange his own stuff, and did those INXS guys ever do that? Huh? Did they? “If there wasn’t a Stevie Wonder, there would’ve been no Prince.” And being Jake he manages to sound genuinely perturbed at the thought of a world without Under the Cherry Moon.

OK, so it now being totally obvious that Idol is the coolest show on earth with the possible exception of the Ice Capades (more on that later), time to meet the people who’re gonna prove it. Ahem.

It doesn't help that somebody’s evidently taken the ESL writing class out on a field trip, with guidebooks donated by Toronto Unlimited. [/shameless regional gag]

Rex, ‘the kid who rocks the Rock’ - ys, that's what the man said - strolls out to respectable SCREAMS! Bewildered males, rejoice: Changing into clean clothes turns out not to be a huge perquisite for hotttness after all. Amber is ‘a blizzard of talent with a ‘Fleury’ of awesome’, which I think is what happens to 'cool' when you've spent too much time alone with your blog. Amber has on a sort of funkier variant on her usual blouse-and-slacks look, inasmuch as parts of it are dark red, and her hair is fluffed elaborately around her face. If you’re getting a mental picture of ‘Cool babysitter who let the kids make her over at the sleepover’, well, bingo.

Darryl trots out in Dockers and lime green jacket and is ‘the Little Prince of Sudbury’. Ah, that’d explain the Prince Charles ears…what? You’re gonna have to insert your own cousin-marriage jokes here, folks, because death by crazed glitter-tube-wielding fangirls isn’t my thing. Casey is ‘the girl you wished lived next door’ – no I don’t, I get enough Greenpeace flyers shoved under my door as it is thank you - in a standard-teenager-issue tee and jeans, oversized hemp choker and some sort of weird…braiding…thing happening to her front hair. I get the feeling that the L’Oreal crew have a lot of fun with Casey. “All the cool singers look as though they just got back from a cheap Cuban vacation! You’ll be the hit of the clubs!”

Melissa is ‘Alberta’s free spirit of the West’…except she’s clearly dressed for Poetry Slam night at the local malt shop, charcoal jacket, brown velour newsboy cap and all. Which I guess is fairly daring, out there in ten-gallon country. Aaron is a ‘musical force of nature’ in sky-blue...hey, total Non Sequitur Theatre here, but did you know St. Thomas was where Jumbo the Elephant died? Really, hit by a train. Big statue and everything.

He’s…[something]…the cool…[something]…from Saskatchewan – honestly, after eight tries on various media players I can’t make it out – he’s Josh the Idol Hippie. Denim bell-bottoms, pinkish tee, indefinable facial hair...loyal Great Dane with speech impediment...We're all doomed, we really are.‘BC’s soul sister’ is Ashley Letaio, aka Exhibit 'B' in a pink slip.

‘Take the ‘n’ off her name, and she’s Suzi…’ …the WWF hostess. Or maybe the Vegas novelty act….or maybe the winning Idol. That none of this seems to have occurred to Ms. Raw herself – as evidenced by the cheery smile’n’wave, instead of the desperate flight for the stage door – kills off a good chunk more of my confidence in the whole ‘rocker-chick’ schtick.

Standard-issue vid-bio, in which sincere appreciation of 70’s icon as talented, creative etc keeps getting severely undercut by their sincere appreciation for sequins. It is however nice to have the reminder that the man did after all pretty much co-invent modern pop/R&B. It’s not his fault that in the process he created music so simoultaneously ubiquitous and totally individualistic that there now exist entire TV audiences which if they hear Overjoyed one more time are going to develop a sudden merciless urge to experiment with sharp objects….then again, that clip of Part-Time Lover might rate at least questioning as an accessory.

“Hi Mom!” Oh, so that’s why the Grown-Up Idol Host Who Never, Ever Drops His Trousers on National Television suit. Mom still doesn’t look all that sanguine. Actually, she mostly looks like she’s wondering why her son isn’t wearing that nice tie she picked out for him. Trudeau’s kids would be wearing ties.

Casey. Shoemom is suprisingly sympathetic, considering the hair and choker combined: “That was nice, I liked that.”
Yeah, it was nice. Unfortunately, ‘nice’ doesn’t quite cover Heaven Help Us All. The only righteous rage I felt against anything after this performance was the Idol age limit. Not that the tools aren’t there – a nice husky tone, instinctively elegant phrasing. Girl can sing a song just fine. But the whole just can’t be happening at age seventeen…and in Casey’s case, I’m not sure it ever will. The teenage version of the singer she thinks she is should be filled with angst and righteousness and possibly random yowls, anything to be taken seriously; meanwhile, Casey’s up there with this increasingly bewildered glaze in her eyes like, “What? I have most of Live8 on tape! Also a Joni Mitchell CD!”

Jake: Much better than last week, but you just gotta come out of your shell. Translation: Look, if we're gonna have to live with you for the next six weeks, could you at least keep us awake?

Farley: Yeah, it needs more fortitude. Translation: I dunno, maybe if you threw in the Joan Baez CD next time.

Sass: Agreed, but the best I’ve seen so far…plus you’re really helpful and eager to learn, and it’s been great having you in the class. Bye.

Zack: Well, you’re absolutely the best singer we have from Nackamickle…fine, Werner, you can have your fun, but you also have underwear. And these people have live lobsters. I’m just tellin’ you now. Anyway, it’ll get you through to next week, but if you wanna win, you gotta figure it out, y’know?

“I want to!” Casey shoots back.

“Well, then, FIGURE IT OUT!!” Zack howls with the absolute, utter disgust of a judge who hasn't felt validated since circa, oh, David Mongar or so. In fact, it sounds a lot like he’s decided to use this ep as some free therapy. Yo, cool. You and me, man, we'll get through this together.

Benedict: Hey, if you came out of your shell all at once, it’d be too much to take! Slow and steady, right? Right. All the best jokes take time to build. “Uh…sure,’ replies Casey, who is clearly preoccupied with the dawning realisation that she’s not in Nackamickle anymore, Toto.

Josh, That Girl. “Ewwwww! He’s so creepy-looking!” Etc, etc, ad nauseum every time he shows up onscreen and louder for the closeups. “Right, I get it, but does he look authentic?” “EwwwWWWW!!” Make of it what you will.

Or, y’know, just concede that Josh is a Cool Artiste and go get get a beer or a sandwich or something. Because you’ve just grasped the entire point of this whole performance. The vocal is irrelevant, thin, flat, and totally uninspired; what’s left is pure karaoke. Note-perfect karaoke, mind you - exactly like those generics in the polyester bell-bottoms on the Time-Life 'Soul' CD infomercials, in fact. First lesson of soul: When you’re sincere, you can get away with a lot of polyester. If you’re not…well, you’re still more entertaining than most of your fellow competitors…you're not giving us poor unenlightened schmucks in the audience much of a reason to care. The chance to subsidize your guitar collection just ain’t doing it.

Farley: Looks like you had a lot of fun with that…you take whatever you sing and make it Josh. Yeah, well, given that at least part of his audience is still making suck-lemon faces every time the camera cuts back to Josh’s big knowing grin, I’d call that a two-edged sword at best.

Sass: Great job, considering that Stevie’s alien territory for you…hey! Was that an incredibly subtly funny reference to his Top 32 perform…Naaahh, Although I really wouldn’t have pegged him as her type, what with the facial hair and all. Maybe she's having flashbacks to her high school yearbook.

Zack is on the same page – to their mutual loud self-satisfaction – as Shoemom: To be honest, that was unappealing. Kinda icky. Josh, still in character: “I’m just bein’ me, man…” Zack, irritated: “Then you’re icky!” “Oh, sure," Josh replies sweetly, "this comin’ from the cowboy shirt over there.” Snerk! OK, Josh, you can stay for now, but given the shelf-life of Idol humour I'd advise you to start actually singing again PDQ.

“Do not go there, man,” Zack warns – we are so gonna be reading a detailed wardrobe defense in his next blog – but it is way, way too late. The audience bursts into delighted giggles and Jake immediately turns and starts making those ‘c’mon c’mon, let’s hear it’ gestures, at least one of whom is probably a producer throwing him a biscuit.

“Nothin’ I can add to that!” No, please don't.

Ben: Nothin’ I can add to that either. Although I’m pretty sure after the show he plans on falling at Josh’s feet and kissing them fervently.

Amber. Zzzzzzz…wha? Hm? Recap?…oh, right. She’s singing Lately. Bad news, guys, it's official: Apparently only one truly interesting thing has ever happened to Amber in her entire life, and she blew it on the Top 32 performance.

I mean, seriously…if you’re trying to sell yourself as a Star on voice alone, you better be able to communicate something other than ‘Yeah, I’m ordinary, and I’m vaguely sad about it.” The vocals are always and ever gorgeous, the potential is rock-solid, but…I feel like I’m being entertained on roughly the level of the office Christmas party. “Wow, Amber,” we would exclaim afterward, over the President’s Choice canapes. “You’re so good! No, really, totally professional. You should try out for one of those Idol shows.” Then we’d all, including Amber, have a good laugh and go back to our filing.

Sass: Your voice is an instrument…[incoherence]…when you hit those high notes, it’s just…[incoherence]…the lower stuff not so much. Wow, so she can snap out of it at will now?

Zack: Cuts himself off mid-Midnight Cowboy impersonation, to my intense disappointment. Hey, the chirrun already had their fun. However…OK, so Amber, you didn’t devour that like you should have. You’ve got to show us that you want to win! Uh-huh. Keep up with the food-themed cracks, Werner, and she won’t have to worry. Next week: the return of the ‘big, beautiful monster’ from season one.

Jake: Yeah, lose the ballads, show us some up-tempo. Translation: Zzzzzzzzzz… “I will! I'll step it up!” Amber promises. [sigh] Right up until then, I still thought she might be able to.

Farley: You can’t sing Stevie without at least trying to be soulful. Coulda tried some gutteral in there, something to make it real. Yep. One of the reasons I’m not making with the drunk-judges jokes tonight is because under the clowning, they’re scary lucid. This is merely their brains on Idol, kids. Still not totally authorised by the Surgeon General, but you’ll respect yourself a lot more in the morning.

Ben: Nyahh on Zack, and of course his shirt. Anyone with a ‘holy voice’ has a chance to win every night. Amber thanks him for all the world as though he’d just given her a nice coffee mug with ‘World’s Best Employee’ written on it.

L’Oreal pimpmercial. Personal style week! [sigh] Last season, this actually would’ve been fascinating. This year, we get extended sleepover giggles over ‘smokey eyes’ and ‘beautiful cheekbones’. Followed by ‘great lashes’ and an extended clip of Amber the Inadvertent Trailer Park Queen last week that's just kind of sad. OK, so we also get this hilariously backlit shot of Emily that suggests she's really really happy in Lipgloss Heaven right now, but still. Rex and Josh turn out to idolise Springsteen and Morrison respectively, to exactly nobody’s shock and/or dismay, and get some nice grown-up threads out of the deal. Then they put Casey in a goofy spangled prom dress, apparently just for the heck of it. “Oh, sure! All the cool singers wear tulle these days!”

Darryl. Superstitious. Heh. Kid’s got spunk. I would appreciate this more if he also still wasn’t a whispy ingratiating compendium of every teen angst known to Seventeen magazine (plus a few they don’t cover on account of not wanting to spook the readership)…but hey, not having to worry about an immediate public upchucking is always a bonus. Yes, watching Idol contestants grow truly is a wonderful thing.
On the other hand, in order to fully grow into this-here song selection Darryl would probably require some special vitamins from the wrestling coach, if you get my drift. Not so much technically - the arrangement is clearly designed to show off the vocal, and given that having a light, flexible, femme-y tone never hurt the guest of honour any, either, that’s a fine idea.
Then again, the guest of honour also had, y’know, credibility and stuff. Second lesson of soul: the gyrations should not have to have been rehearsed beforehand. At their height Shoemom and I were forced to get seriously creative. "If the Mousketeers had a Motown night!" "No - no, wait - if Lawrence Welk decided to do a tribute to the handicapped night!" "Yes! But he'd have to lose the jeans."

Judges: “You’re fine,” Zack tells him. Firmly. Several times. “You were fine.” Heh. Shirt snarkage is one thing, but for sheer uncontrollable male discomfort give me a kid's tears every time. OK, so the arrangement was a‘Stevie Blunder', but you were fine! and (although he was fine, just fine! Really!) he’d probably be better off at the Ice Capades. Ooh, missed that one, thanks.

Jake: Yeah, really bland, not feeling it. Translation: Not on my watch, kid. I already brought down one cute blond guy this year, and he had dimples.

Farley: I gotta say it: when I saw your name on the list I thought it was gonna be Stevie WonderBread. But you managed to get a little wholewheat in there. OK, so I snickered a little. Sue me.

Sass on the other hand is literally helpless with mirth. “It’s like a comedy club in here tonight!” Riiiiight. Y'know, they do say that suffering fuels humour but it's not often you get to watch the process in living Technicolour.Imagine what would’ve happened had they gone for the trifecta and referenced Wonder Woman…on second thought, don’t. Anyhow, eventually she tells Darryl that his performance was ‘Great!” Maternal instincts and all, y’know. Whereupon a grateful Darryl looks very much as though he’d like to climb into her lap.

Ashley, “She’s wearing a slip.” “Well, that’s the style, Mom.” “It’s a slip. And she’s trying way too hard.”
Mm. And the hell of it is, she didn’t really have to try at all. I guarantee you, TPTB were so wetting themselves with excitement thinking about her winning, or even signing a contract. It gets to the point where evaluating her performances becomes difficult because you keep speculating about the CD cover art. The only way she could possibly scupper her smooth rise to glory is if she got all ambitious and...
Sir Duke . Whoopsie. Now, I’m not a huge proponent of the ‘you have to live it to sing it’ theory, but Ashley? Ellington? Please. At least Darryl had the decency not to whoop happily at his own non-funkiness. It’s like she’s already seeing herself at the mall. Atthat it’s not at all a bad performance technically, although there are a few odd hitches when she tries to change key too quickly. The audience responded warmly in the moment. But she couldn’t have exposed herself more thoroughly unless she’d worn a slip – er...

Jake: You came out, you sang the song well, got a little bit of soul in there…Translation: Um, my self-respect and I are just gonna go over here and have a little talk now, OK?

Farley: Yeah, you looked like you were having fun with it, and I hope the audience had fun too. Translation: I'm sulking. Go away.

Sass: In that mood she gets into when the pretty contestant’s showing off more convincingly than she is. “You’re…the star of the casino revue!” Ashley thanks her. I cringe. Look out, folks, she's on a roll.

Zack, clearly determined to shoot the works: Uh, that wasn’t a ‘thank you’ kinda thing….Ashley looks miffed…The outfit is an atrocity…Ashley shoots him a "What Josh said, so there!" glare…There’s just nothing cool happening here…Ashley looks like she’d like to take it out on a part of his anatomy not quite covered by the shirt, if you get my drift. No, no, dear, this is where you’re supposed to burst into tears, remember?

Dread Lord Clive: Yes…[dark sigh]…I hate it when they do that. We spend all that time finding waterproof cheekbone enhancers, and this is the thanks we get?

Had a little difficulty explaining Rex to the Sinatra generation over on the opposite couch. "So, let me get this straight...you're saying they think the hat is cute?" "Well...he's from Newfoundland." "Ahhhh..."

Past Time Paradise. Well, I’ll be. I did not know that a)Coolio sampled a Wonder song (although it does explain quite a lot about his subsequent career) or b)that this would be something that would ever occur to Rex. On the other hand, I can see him schmoozing up the song-clearance guys. I hope he promised them free tune-ups on the Porsches for a year at least, because they so deserve it.
So…he dodges the vocal bullet for another week. Look, there’s no denying the kid has a true rocker's soul. The passion is as uncomplicated, raw and down-to-earth as he is, and communicates to his audiences just as effortlessly; I connected to the first half of the performance as though I’d been listening to his CDs for years. Thing is, though, without the voice he just has no way to back it up. When he tried to kick it into maximum overdrive at the end, make it something that would resonate as uniquely authentic instead of merely an Idol performance, the whole thing just sputtered and died.

Farley: Now, that’s how the soul is supposed to be done! You sing a song, you understand the lyrics, you emote the lyrics…please, people! Translation: I’m in hell, aren’t I? No, really, I just realised. I'm wearing a bedsheet in hell.

Sass: Yeah, good on ya, Rexy…man, I just can’t get into that. ‘Rexy’. It gives me these weird mental images of Professor Higgins standing over the kid going "Boy!" "Bye!" Boooooy!" "Right, byeeeeee!”

Zack: I know the hard rock scene…” Well, yes. I’m wondering why a man who once opened for Pearl Jam feels the need to thus validate himself. They must really pick on him at the band reunions. Anyway, “…and all I heard was atonal pap.” “Nice shirt, Zack,” Rex responds amiably. Translation: “Look, man, I got an entire province ready to dial their fingers off if I’d stood here and farted ‘Ode to Joy’, so whatever…”

“…You sang it with soul, and that’s all that matters.’ Right, Jake. If nothing else, have you listened to the end products of your little star search recently? What’s gonna matter most to HatBoi here is the voice-correction software.

Anyway, over to Ben. “Gonna go far, my friend!” For some reason Rex takes this as his cue to pull out a pair of coke-bottle lenses and grin like an idiot. Then he turns eagerly to catch Ben's eye. Awwww, he even famewhores cute. Although somebody may want to gently explain the pitfalls of the ‘I’m such a loveable hick I’m practically retarded!” strategy before he hurts himself and/or ends up in Sass' dressing room. More tellingly, this incident started not one hysterical forum thread complaining about his horrible insensitivity to Stevie, the blind and/or disadvantaged mankind in general. This thing's officially his to lose.

Melissa, Living With the City. Um, going by the visual? Not unless it's located near the Franklin Mint, she isn't. ("Introducing Melissa, the Soul Princess doll! She's chic, she's sassy, and she's ready to steal your heart away!")
Hell of it is, though, she very nearly pulls it off anyway. The vocal is suprisingly classy; her rich tone lends natural authority, and her CD collection is clearly way more interesting than Casey's. This is the mature, capable version of Melissa that first caught my interest, the one who pulled off Concrete Angel. Unfortunately, tonight is all about being funky, not fervent, so, y'know, flagged at the last lap...but by now I am just so profoundly grateful that she tried I don’t care. For as long as I was able to remember it - maybe fifteen minutes or so - I lurved every second.

Sass: Is totally sistahs-gotta-stick-together all of a sudden. “Thanks for getting yo’ ass into it, girl!”. Translation: Sure, I’m in hell with Farley, but I'm much better at the denial.

Zack: The first verse was awesome, but the second, I dunno, my dog must’ve eaten the arrangement...I dunno, it's just...Farley suddenly grabs his chair and dumps him on the floor. Yo, TPTB? Validate this. Melissa surveys the entire thing with a bemused ‘is this where I mention the shirt?’ expression.

(Shoemom, meanwhile, is looking at me with the wide-eyed expression of a woman who's just realised she's on the same wavelength as the Idol judge on the floor. “Y’know, I know what he means! I heard that too, something happened with the second verse…”)

Jake: Hey, that's one way to stop Zack! Gold, has it ever occurred to you who's next in line for this whole 'cranky judge' slot? Ask not for whom the bell tolls, and all that.

Aaron: Ain’t Done Nothing. Right. It's 1975, the Watergate hearings are playing on the bar TV, and playing the role of the Average Angry Blue-Collar Schmoe will be a guy whom I suspect identifies with the part pretty strongly to begin with.
At any rate, his performance feels so unexpectedly unpretentious and confident I can practically see the Coors in his hand. In fact, I hereby volunteer to buy next time. He looks great, he moves with a nice easy grace for a big man, and the vocal is unbelievably butter-smooth soul. That last yelp in particular? Awesome. Rex might be cuter, but if Aaron can hold it together there's absolutely nothing preventing him from making Top Three at least. Including Shoemom. “He’s good,” she announces in the Tone of Quiet Contentment With Life she usually reserves for finding the right blend at the Second Cup.“And he’s a nice guy. I want him to win.”

Zack (after Sass visibly prods him into position): Best performance of the night, maybe the last two nights. Yeah, maybe since last season, actually. Aaron accepts this with the great and sublime graciousness of a man who is internally going "Yeah, and my shirt's nicer, too. Nyahh, nyah, nyah-nyah-nyah..."

Jake: Congratulates him on losing the theatrics. Ooh, in about ten seconds, this is gonna become really, really rich.

Farley: Yeah, all that soul and your feet weren't even on the ground! Imagine what you could've done in sneakers! Beautiful! Aaron chuckles politely, as one does when one is humouring the guy who's suddenly obsessing randomly about people being off the ground.

Sass: Hi, Aaron...Zack snuggles down onto her shoulder...it’s me, the old witch…Farley settles in on the other side...”It’s because he’s not cute, isn't it?” Shoemom mutters, sounding genuinely peeved...Jake peeks over..."For me, "You ain't done nothin!" And her Idolshop quartet goes wild. Which is completely unfair to Aaron, of course, but he doesn't protest, primarily because by now only a Dread Lord would have the heart.

Dread Lord Clive:On the contrary, I make no protest. On the whole I feel...curiously at home.

Over to Ben. You wanna do the honours, Aaron? Aaron obligingly rips off his phone info in his best 'movie trailer voice'. Oops, he's gettin' excited again.

Suzi: Higher Ground. OK, so that was a great music-video-esque performance, authoritative, energetic, she lit up the stage…and I did not buy one single second of it. (You know something's wonky rock-wise when you're up there theoretically baring it all and Shoemom is sniffing 'Oh, she's trying to be Avril Lavigne...')
For one thing, the vocal was again harsh - not raw, just seriously ordinary. And that's the major problem I'm having with Suzi herself. I don't think she's a poseur, exactly...she does seem to be honestly, passionately invested in the drama of it all....then again, so is every teenage girl who's ever watched MTV. I, personally, developed some Joan Jett moves that'd knock your socks off. Thing is, Suzi is supposed to be so totally sneering at my posing right now, or at least rolling her eyes. Instead it's as if she's playing the role of Raw Rocker Chick in some fuzzy-edged Family Channel TV movie...the one where Darryl's the cute-but-nerdy hero, Melissa's his practical best friend, and Ashley's the spoiled beauty he's trying to impress with two tickets to Suzi's concert.

ZacK: All I gotta say is 'Boom!" Yes, Zack, we know, we know...and oh, by the way, nice shirt, man. Really. Not a patch on your red faux-lizard jacket, but still.

Jake: Boy, and aren't you lucky that the Chili Peppers got there first! Not if anybody is suddenly inspired to go look at their video, she's not.

Farley: You're so totally memorable...the seductive look on your face...hmmm, so after we work through denial, anger, acceptance etc, we get to Nirvana, and all they play there is the Black-Eyed Peas? Neat.

Sass: You really had the cameraman workin', that's how we know it was great. No, Sassy, that's how we know he's doing his job. We know you're doing your job when you call foul on that performance as surely as you did Ashley's.

Ben: You are a STAR! Yeah, now, see, Benedict, I bet in high school, this line routinely got your cafeteria spaghetti dumped in your lap, yes? And here's Suzi looks all thrilled just to be sitting beside you. Call me hopelessly shallow, but there's something way wrong with this picture.

Subway recap, the sequel: Bland and Blander. Except Rex has a hat, and Aaron has shoes. And next week it's on to the '80's. Will someone sing All By Myself? Will Zack's head actually explode? Will Jake chuckle? Tune in to find out!