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Last week: Everybody sucked, except Theresa. Shane's warranty expired.

Kalan_4_Eva: Hi! We're frum Mrs. Kravitz' class, and...

Me: Oh, yeah. Congratulations on your, uh, successful mission. The Dread Lord Clive must be handing out the celebratory lipglosses as we speak, eh?

Kalan_4_Eva: KALAN ROX!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Check. Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a recap to write, so...

Kalan_4_Eva: Hang on! we have 2 ask u sumthin. wut's 'Big Band'? we need to no there name.

Me: Ah. Well, see, a long, long time ago - back before there needed to be room for the dancers and snakes and all those other reasons your parents won't let you watch the SuperBowl halftime show anymore - singers used to have these bands onstage with them instead. And they were really big.

Kalan_4_Eva: no snakes? How'd they no wen 2 set of the fireworks than?

Me: Generally, somebody would announce the liberation of a small European country. Otherwise the bands would just play, except when things got really exciting and they'd swing their shiny trumpets around. Oh, and there was usually one guy snapping his fingers, because bras weren't nearly as accessible back then.

Kalan_4_Eva: Kalan wud look sooooooo totally adorable snapping his fingers!!!!! hehe. so the 'standards' wud b like wut the judges said, rite?

Me: No judges, either. Unless you count the Daughters of the American Revolution. Don't ask. Anyhow, the songs are called standards because they express universal concepts, so everybody loves to hear them over and over; also fun, so singers can put lots of personality in them.

Kalan_4_Eva: Ohhhhhh! Like the Thong Song?

Me: No! I mean, not exact...OK, look, you remember that episode of AI last year where Grandpa finally shut up about those Brits not knowing what real singing is, because he was too busy giggling with Gramma about 'Those daquiri mixes at the Grove' instead? Like that.

Kalan_4_Eva: But...Fantasia sang Queen on that epi. I no cuz Grampa was mad. hehe.

Me: OK, that's it, it's past your bedtime.

Kalan_4_Eva: So Kalan sings like classic rock and stuff so he shud no how 2 sing this stuff, rite?

Me: [sigh] We're about to find out...

Yes, folks, it's Big Band/Standards/Rat Pack night here on Canadian Idol, depending on which press release you read. I might as well come out and admit it: I love the concept of a Big Band theme. The Rat Pack was a very exclusive club, kids; loudmouthed judges notwithstanding, this is as close as Idol will ever get to truly 'keepin' it real'. Herein we learn once and for all who's an artist and who's a famewhore; who's cool, and who's pretending; who knows how to use their voice, and who...just has a voice. Plus, the chapter in the club manual on "How to Deal With Big Burly Goons in Cheap Suits Who Want Money" always comes in handy round contract-signing time.

And, yes, there's the Canadian Idol Orchestra, all twenty of 'em, horns a-gleam. Led by the ubiquitous Orrin Isaacs, who to my eye is looking forward to this a wee bit more than a bonafide bandleader should be. Then again, maybe CTV told him to either get happy or they'd have him share a dressing-room with Mike Bullard again. ("Nooooo! Don't make me shave his back!! NOOOOOOO!!!....")

Shoemom - the rabid Bobby Darin and Nat 'King' Cole fan, also the sister of a woman who owns every single Frank Sinatra recording ever released plus some bootlegs I think - looks dubious. Very. "Hey, if it doesn't pan out I know a guy who knows a guy who's seen that Mob Planet episode of Star Trek at least fifty times," I reassure her cheerily. "You were adopted," she replies.

So anyhow...heeeeeere's Benny. In a white cabana jacket over a white silk shirt. He's evidently going for Timelessly Elegant Man About Town, and is achieving Rookie Busboy at the Copacabana. You can just imagine Dean or Sammy flipping him a nice shiny quarter. "Here, kid, buy yourself a real tan."

Shoemom: "Is Ben wearing earrings?"

Me: "God, I hope not. Why?"

Shoemom: "I dunno...there's just something...hanging behind his ears, there."

Me: "Oh. No, that's his hair. The shiny stuff is Brylcreem. It's his idea of looking all slick and cool and Young Turk-y."

Shoemom (resignedly): "This is going to be a long night, isn't it?"

Our mini-Carson declares his new in-house band the 'coolest thing [he's] ever seen'. Primarily because he's a tool who's reading off a Teleprompter. Also, OK, during the results show he reveals that this is his 'favourite type of music', which - always assuming he's not just smooching celebrity butt yet again - makes tonight sad on a couple whole new levels.

Yada yada Shane left and he's probably about to throw himself off a bridge right now so don't you feel horrible for not voting-cakes. There is something so very Canadian about Benedict's little weekly speech. In America, straight for the jugular, beat 'em over the head with the flag if you have to. Here, passive-aggressive guilt. "It's not nice not to vote for these sweet young people! They're trying so hard!"

"Our very own Rat Pack!" Hm. So you're saying Kalan's Chairman of the Board?

Before I can finish truly appreciating that mental image, the Idols spill out onstage. Yay, costume party! I love this stuff. Yes, it's excruciatingly juvenile of me. Yes, you young people deserve to show off your individuality unfettered by outmoded fashions of a bygone era. And if any of you show up in capris, chains and/or a peek-a-boo bra...I'm calling in Star Trek Guy. I'm not kidding! He can do a perfect Spock-doing a-gangster accent. For hours on end. Without taking a breath.

"The Lady is a Champ!" Benedict crows. He's so proud of this stupid writing. Never mind, however, for here we are at Theresa's golden shining Moment; the one she's no doubt been replaying in her imagination since she could first heft an accordion. And it involves...more floaty green stuff, demure sundress division; the now-ubiquitous straight hair; and shimmery-eyes that would make even Paris and Nicole go "Tack-y!" (Evidently somebody at the L'Oreal counter is a wee bit bored and restless, now that Elena's goned.) Yes, Theresa's imagination has developed a terminal case of Karen Carpenter, folks. Which leaves my imagination to cope with the unsettling spectre of an old jazz black lady with a 70's fashion sense. Frankly, it gives up pretty shortly and takes refuge in a pleasantly campy vision of Manoah, Zack, Zack's birthday, and a certain flesh-coloured evening gown...

"Young Blue Eyes"...oh, lord, we're all doomed...Kalan trots out in his best church suit, and a matching expression that suggests he gave his ears an extra scrub so can he have a cooky now, please? Then he waves politely to all the screaming scary girls. I bet every single kid in his congregation hated this guy from about age three through twelve, just because their moms were always "Ooh, look at adorable little Kalan over there. Those curls! I just bet he picks up all his toys for Mommy whenever she asks him to."

'Chairman of the Rock' - and presumably Labrador - Jason is exhibiting the posture-pedic levels of a guy who has not worn a suit since high school graduation, where he tore the jacket off in the rush to get to the keg. A quiet grey cloth model, this, very period Sinatra. I glance over at Shoemom, and get the Misty-Eyed Reminiscent Smile of Approval. Urgh. I will concede however that it does neatly set off the whole 'man-among-boys' vibe that it is high time he started working properly. "Maxim? Do I look like I have trouble with the dollies, pally? Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta call from Capone."

...well, OK, maybe not. But hey, at least the cat's out of the bag, as Lawford used to say to the cocktail waitresses after the twelfth martini. (Club manual chapter 3, subsection 5: "Picking Up Chicks: Incoherence Is Your Friend!.")

"Jake the Knife" - short pause while we all play "Does Ben know what he just said?" for the 45687th time this season - in black pinstriped shirt, white suspenders and matching poofy satin bowtie. He's just the cutest little vicious hitman going, yes he is! Only problem is the lip ring, which in real life would've gotten him booted out of the Rat Pack right on his quarter-dropping butt. ("Rock'n'roll is phoney and false and sung...for the most part by cretinous goons." -F. Sinatra, c.1955.) But hey, when have inappropriate bodily protrusions ever bothered our Mr. Hoggard? Forget Jacob adjusting to the theme; once again, the theme's going to be adjusted to Jacob. Do not adjust your set.

Intro bio, ie. one of those "You know these people, right? Good. Next!" series of still clips beloved of Biography. Even Shoemom, who laughs heartily at every single Oscar joke, has now noticed the Ben-teleprompter-tool thing.

Judges. Are all here. This is where we learn that Ben's writers have seen Bugsy. Plus maybe a couple A&E (motto: "Entertaining America, One Violent Sociopath at a Time!") docudramas.

Zack 'Bugsy Siegel' Werner - boy, good thing they have a black-haired judge who looks kinda sorta maybe like Warren Beatty if it's dark and you're drunk and really desperate, eh? - will the music present any special challenges for our kids tonight?

Ehhh. Music, schmusic. What's important right now is that we all admire how Zack is doing his bit for the environment through recycling. Really. C'mon, you know how hard it is getting that tight a seam on all-weather plastic? The Man from Glad is totally backstage slapping his forehead and going 'Why didn't I think of that? Look how it shines! Killer!"

(We also need to stop and take note of the incredibly realistic Canadian Idol Audience Member mannequin somebody's placed in the seat behind Zack's. Look at the thing, it blinks, it claps, everything...waitaminute...Oh, now, that's just strange.)

'Our very own' Sass 'Ma Barker' Jordan...again with the desire to take remorseless killers into his household. Or maybe Ben just has some maternal issues we'd all really be better off not speculating on. Luckily Sass is apparently all wound up in self-appreciation of this week's little black cocktail straps...uh...dress...whatever...and is at any rate blissfully unaware she's just been tagged as an elderly, dumpy, mean-white-trash hoodlum.

Anyhow, Ma, do you think the Idols will have to make many vocal adjustments tonight? Why, no, Ben, I think they'll have to just focus on making the song their own, 'cause that's why we love 'em. Yes, folks, you know the Idol season is winding to a close when Sass' brain cells start shutting down for the winter.

In Kaleb's absence Farley 'Chocolate Love, a.k.a Give Us a Break, The Only Black Criminal We Were Able to Come Up With Was OJ' Flex is the single luckiest guy onstage, inasmuch as he gets to wear tangerine silk under wide brown pinstripes and a snap-brim fedora and call it his cultural heritage. Very Cotton Club. Mmmmm. I'm imagining him as the club owner at my little birthday celebration. The guy who's always coming up to stand behind the Stars with arms crossed and a quietly suave expression. "These gentlemen bothering you, Miz Horne?"...

Hm? Wha...oh, yeah. Chocolate, what's more important, skill or endurance? Because they have skills, Farley explains with great patience, they have developed endurance. Because they have endurance, they will now have a chance to show their skills. Tune in next week, Grasshopper, and we'll unravel that pesky chicken/egg thing. Now, focus once more on the glowing box with words.

Jake "Meyer Lansky" Gold - boy, good thing they have a Jewish judge, eh? Otherwise, this could get complicated. Or clever, or funny, or something. At any rate, although I can picture him in the requisite lapels and carnation, Jake does not play dress-up. Ever. Jake is the type of person who, if Ben had the wit to ask him why he's not up for the occasion, would be all 'What? The tie isn't enough?" (Shoemom: "He always looks like they just told him he's being audited.")

So, Jake in the blue polka-dot neckwear, what are you looking for that you haven't seen so far? Jake also blows Ben off in favour of cracking wise about how Zack's suit is so shiny he can see himself in the arms. Hardy har har. Right, I forgot: Sass' brain cells shut down and Jake's sense of humor gets overripe.

Zack - has anybody heard him complaining about extra camera time once this season? - deftly bats it back over the net: "Did Ben actually just say 'Chocolate Love'?" The judges settle in comfily for the debate. Benedict demonstrates how good he's gotten, via long, long practice, at hurriedly throwing to the next scene.

Theresa, Paper Moon. Oh, now, this is just a brilliant song choice. Absolutely freaking brilliant. The woman with the vulnerable-sincerity vibe is so obviously in her comfort zone with it she could miss every note - which she emphatically isn't, and I'm not even mentioning the gorgeous scatting - and it would still be fascinating to watch. "I'm a little girl all alone here in my make-believe world...why don't y'all come on over and teach me what real love's all about?" In a sundress, people. Suddenly it all makes sense. Do I have to even add that afterward she immediately thanks the planet, then the band, then the planet again? Geez.

I throw the Smile of Perfect Multi-Generational Understanding over to Shoemom...and discover her frowning at the screen in intense concentration. "Problem? Uh...Mom?"

Silence.

"Yo, Earth to parental unit! What's wrong? You aren't impressed?"

(not looking up) "...Boy, does she ever have thick calves."

Jake: You must've been so hoping to get to this night. We all believe in you, now. Translation: Well, hell, it's standards night and Theresa nailed a standard, what do you want, Ruskin?

Farley: When that right shoulder starts bouncing, I know it's all over. I'd hit him, except coming from Farley, that makes total sense as a critique.

Sass: Custom-made. Beautiful. I hate it when Sass is the most succinct and thoughtful one on the panel. It's like the planets get all out of whack, or something.

Zack (must...ignore...demonic...mannequin...): Pitch, smitch. That was cool. Translation: Did I not call this waaaaay back at your audition? Huh? Tell me.

Benedict: So...this is as comfy as it gets for you, eh Theresa? Does he even watch his own show?

Kalan. Moon River. As I stoically resign myself to 'Kalan's Huckleberry Friends' appearing in forum signatures well within the next 24hr, Benedict makes a point of announcing that he's singing the Sinatra cover. Which does the kid no favours, because as it turns out he thinks he's doing the Audrey Hepburn original, with a side order of Andy Williams syrup. Very soft, very stylised (or, if you're immune to angelic-ness, tight-throated), very liable to get drowned out by a band he's likely practiced with for all of about forty-five minutes...check and check.

But if you listen close, it gets better. If you listen really close - and have it on tape, and, um, have to use the rewind button a lot anyway - he only thing he's truly not able to give it is beyond his power anyhow, at eighteen. (First you have the tumultuous life, then you get to muse wistfully about whether it was all worth it.) Not one of his best in the here-and-now, but as a glimpse of future promise...schwing. Also, natch, SCREAM!

Shoemom (and her newly discovered shallow streak): "I dunno what you're talking about, I think he looks cute in that suit. Listen to those girls. He's just like a teen idol from that era."

Me: "You hate teen idols from that era. Remember? 'Oh, they couldn't sing. I don't know what we were thinking....'"

Shoemom: "Oh, hush."

Farley: My favourite song, Mom used to sing it to me, so, y'know, awesome. Has any Idol contestant ever enjoyed the streak Kalan's on with this man?

Sass: What a soft and...soft and...syrupy and dreamy treat. Translation: Can I just ask...Mary Kay LeTourneau, pro or con?

Zack: Anyone who doesn't appreciate you is too jaded to deserve to watch you, so there. Translation: Somebody with a British accent recently 'reminded' me that immaturity sells a lot of CDs.

Jake: I've long felt you have this core of strength, that we haven't really tapped into what you can do until tonight. Which is really a fairly graceful way of weaseling out of the 'karaoke' cracks from last week, also probably one last desperate attempt to stop the hate mail.

Benedict: Yada yada if no-one ever heard that song before, they'd think it was yours-cakes. Hilariously, Kalan's interview segments tonight are very obviously designed so that he doesn't actually have to talk, or anything.

Jason. I Won't Dance. "Oh, now that's just sadistic." Instantly, Shoemom flashes me the Glance Of Don't You Start, I'm Having Fun. Then her eyes swivel to the screen and stay there.

Of course you realise, this means war.

"OK, look, he can't sing. Ok, yes, he can sing, but compared to Kalan and Theresa? C'mon."

Shoemom smiles.

"So, whoopee, he can do all the hand gestures. Big hairy deal. He's smiling, OK? He's still smiling! I bet any minute now - yes! There it is! The point! I bet Frank never pointed at people, right?"

Shoemom chuckles a little.

"Oh, c'mon...you remember when we went to Disney World, they had that animatronic Abraham Lincoln? Well, if they ever open a Rat Pack World, this is your Stepford Sinatra, right here. All the right moves, none of the soul."

Shoemom glances my way for an instant, then turns back and giggles, rather foolishly. OK, I didn't want to do have to do this...desperate times and all that. "Look. Imagine Bobby Darin singing that, what he could do with it."

Long pause.

Then a rueful grin. "Yes, I know. But c'mon...he's just a kid, a party boy. You gotta give him the grace."

"Uh-huh. I want details of the parties you went to at age 27, and I want them now."

Sass: Oh my gawd...that was amazing. Incredible. Awesome. Is she talking about right now, or last night?

Zack: Laughing at Sass, quite possibly at himself, at the situation in general. Jason understands. "Hey, Zack, how's it going?" "Nice job, bro, nice job." All my Zack-lurve comes back in a rush. A bit of Jason-like, too.

Jake: For the longest time we were trying to figure out what kind of singer you are. Now we know! Translation: Thank god, we finally figured out who's voting for you! It was beginning to keep us awake nights! (Seriously, that's the tone he's using.)

Farley: Considering that Vegas is 'diametrically opposed' from Newfoundland, I am sooo impressed...ah, but Farley, cheeze is spoken everywhere. It's maybe the one true universal language...You totally captured that ("Yeah, with his built-in digital camera." "Oh, hush.") and I tip my hat to you. Jason says he loves the hat. Shut up before you spoil the moment, Bar Boi.

Benedict: Can't dance, or won't? Jason: Can't, 'cause Farley said not to. Damn, Chocolate, you need to speak up more often. And keep the hat, too.

Jacob bustles out from behind the bandstand, looking relaxed, happy, and just a bit off his medication schedule. Y'know, the usual. Contact with the Holy Grail of Hipness has obviously done wonders.

He proceeds through a deft, relaxed, etc. take on Straighten Up and Fly Right, no vocal problems whatsoever, all the right funky moves and then some. About halfway through he even expertly throws it to the band and does a little relaxed, etc soft-shoe. The Rat Pack takes another vote and agrees to let him back in. "Dean's been kind of at loose ends ever since Jerry left, anyway, so..."

This, folks, is entertainment. So why am I not quite being entertained? He's not engaging me in the slightest, which of course is normal, but this is the first time I've felt so strongly that I should be enjoying myself (I get this with Jon Stewart a lot, too). I mean, it's not like I'm not receptive. I wanna get into the Big Band mood, and he's not letting me. I would be OK with a funky rock cover, but he's not doing that, either, exactly. I suppose, in the truest and most fundamental sense of the word, I just don't get Jacob. Then again, neither does Shoemom, so it's possibly a genetic thing.

Zack: Transcends everyone and everything, including quite possibly gravity. Have I mentioned you're my favourite yet? You are. This time next week OK for your tonguebath, dude?

Jake: Shut up, Jacob's mom. Your son's going to be a movie star some day, just like Frank. Hmmm...let's just peruse Ol'Blue Eyes' resume on the IMDb, here. Why yes, Jacob, I'd say you're overqualified for a guest shot on Cannonball Run II!

Farley: Entertainer extraordinare. Translation: What he said.

Sass: Drool drool droooooooool. Translation: Just for fun, why don't you call me Mrs. Robinson and see how it goes, 'kay?

Benedict: Yet another genre has been Jacob-ized. Then he checks out the back view for no reason at all...other than from the look on his face, yay! A new bum joke! Benedict, if there is ever (god forbid) a Canadian Juniors, you are so not hosting. Jacob spends awhile revelling in the fact that he now has Ben completely paranoid. Which, come to think of it, may be one of the reasons Zack loves Jacob so much.

End of round one, and if we haven't quite hit Cool - or even Koo-Koo - yet, at least we've done some Lawford-worthy flirting. Bring on Round Two!

Theresa, in a lovely rose not-quite-prom-gown. Now, see, that wasn't so hard, was it? All we need to do now is kick the accessory-o-rama instincts from last week back into high gear, and we're all set. A nice upswept hairdo, maybe. Couple strings of pearls. A feather boa?...

...Dream a Little Dream of Me? Uh, no. Somebody's reach is exceeding their grasp again. She's supposed to be slyly insinuating that dreaming of her would be even better than, say, making that great catch to win the Series. If you get my drift. Theresa, on the other hand, is of course way more like 'Hey, great! Can I watch? Here, lemme get you a beer first. Who's playing?"

She's a lot closer than she was on Rock night, though, because - like a certain bespectacled contestant on Motown night last year - she knows everything there is to know about the style. This is more in the nature of an excruciatingly close near-miss. (Except the scatting, that's a biggie. It's supposed to grow organically out of how into the music you are, how much you're feeling it. Using it to impress just feels sorta...well, sorta like you're a kid in a pink prom dress trying to convince people you know jazz.)

Jake: The orchestra is great. Really. I'd just like to stop right here and genuinely, sincerely, with deep feeling, thank the orchestra for allowing me time to figure out another mildly clever one-liner. Thanks, Orrin, everybody. Oh, Theresa, you're still there. Well, thank you too.

Farley: Five simple words: Can I have this dance? Again with the absolutely appropriate inappropriateness. I think I truly do lurve Farley.

Sass: Somebody slipped her a tab of acid during the song, and now she's hallucinating that Theresa's a dessert menu. This is really rather sad, all told, and I'd just like to move on now...

Zack: I don't want to spoil the mood (please, Zack, the mood is now coated in whipped cream for godsakes) but you really do need a serious vocal coach to get you up to what you could be. Hmmm. I don't think he meant 'vocal coach', exactly...

Benedict: Bleah on him. You're beaut...I mean, it was beautiful.

As soon as Kalan's next song is announced, people start shrieking madly. Whoa, the sound quality's sure improved in the last...Oh. Ladies and gentlemen, Shoemom the superannuated fangirl. "He's doing my favourite song! That's my favourite song in the whole entire world! The Way You Look Tonight! I can't believe he's singing my favourite song!!"

Yes. Yes, he is. It would not be an understatement to say he's kickin' it out of the ballpark, baby. In his own quiet way - damn, would somebody give those sound guys their raises already? - he's swingin' (well, not physically), he's jivin' (again, not so much...), he's - oh, look, it's easier to sound like this with a pool table in the background. He's feeling the song, plain and simple. He's using his uncanny vocal gifts to make it sound simple, just like the great ones do, enhancing it in ways that suggest he's somehow got Theresa's little black jazz lady on loan...and it's altogether far more marvellous than I expected, watching Hobbit Boi collide with Hip. Shoemom? Just sits back with this hugely satisfied smile on her face. And later, from the other room, I hear this performance being rewound. Repeatedly.

Farley: How do you get that chest into that suit? Translation: It was much, much louder in the theatre. Kalan is getting to be so comfortable with (grateful to?) Farley he actually says 'thank you', audibly, into the mic.

Sass: It's like...[head tips to one side]...it's like you were taken over by the soul of this 50's matinee idol...fabulous, just fabulous... Meanwhile, Kalan is doing this absolutely hysterical reverse-shuffle. Who says he can't dance? "OK, just smile at the nice lady, keep smiling, eventually she'll go away..."

Zack: Yeah, you borrowed Daddy's suit and Daddy has Farley's taste in shirts....[mmmmm...Farley in tangerine...eh? Oh, yes.] It was smooth, dude, good job, it was smooth. And apparently it really really was, because for once Zack is using his Grown-Up Judge Voice for Kalan. Including the Chest Thumps of Seriousness and everything.

Jake: I kinda like the suit, myself. Yeah, it's got that same go-away-I'm-doing-it-already quality, only in checks instead of polka-dots. As for your performance...well, hey, you've reduced Sass to a quivering blob of jelly, so...He's wearing an expression of mild distaste here that I can't quite tell what it applies to.

Ben: Nothin' I can say - why don't we all applaud again! SCREAM!! Whoops, looky that, we drowned you out there! Bye, Kalan!

L'Oreal pimpmercial. Highlights week! Montage of how the Idols' hair product use is an extension of their personalities - look, just go with it - including Jacob's faux-hawk and Kalan's 'dirty blonde' experiment on Rock night, which I'd always just assumed he'd paid somebody to burn the negatives of, but there you are. Neither boy looks at all convinced by any of this. Jason, on the other hand, is very into hair. He does his himself, in fact. Tell me again, how this plays so well on George Street? Theresa giggles a lot...

BWAAAAAAAPPPPPPP

"Hey Frank," the second trumpet calls over...at least in my imagination..."we got your cretinous goon right here, boss. Name of Dore. You want Vinny should have a little talk with him?"

Back in the [wince] real world, Ben is talking, and Zany is blasting away on sax. I'm not doing a play-by-play. Eggplants could figure out what's coming next. Mentally-handicapped eggplants. Miss Cleo, for god's sake. This has got to be the world's oldest gag. It's written on a cave wall somewhere, along with - say! - the ancient tribal retribution for the perpetrator. Quick, somebody, bring me the thighbone of a thesaurus!

Mercifully for the TV screen chez Shoe, we get back to the music PDQ...

Jason Does Vegas II: It Had to Be You. No, it doesn't, go away. Sorry, reflex...He's evidently been much emboldened by his success in Round One. Sadly, he hasn't yet reached his inner Frank, merely his inner Engelbert Humperdink. Even Shoemom is unconvinced on this one. ("That's supposed to make me melt?" "Wellll...I bet it goes over better at the bar..." "Yeah, I can see it all now. He's drunk, he starts singing, I slap him. Sexy." "Oh, hush.") Plus it's aways off in several spots - in all fairness, a rarity for Jason - and kinda bizarrely breathy with it, like he's trying for the right notes but can't quite make it.

Sass: You took awhile to get into it, but then you started swooping and...aw, hell, Sass is criticizing Jason. Dead man walking here, folks.

Zack: Vocal problems, might have been pitched too high for you(yeah, that works). You look good and all, but...the others are my favourites and you're not. Um, I mean, the others are Stars, and you're not. Uh, wait, I mean...

Jake: Not great. But then again, you're kinda out of your element here, so we know you're doing the best that you can [beatific smile]. Wow...either Jake has truly lousy short-term memory or that was a zing! on a scale that Simon himself can only dream of. By Jason's expression, he's going for option [b], himself. But he's still smiling. My like grows a wee bit more. I can't say that it's not uncomplicated by my sure and serene knowledge he's leaving tomorrow, but hey, it's real and it's there.

Farley: You always do your best, man. Etc. Translation: As soon as we saw this song on your list, we drew straws to see who would be the designated Nice Judge, and I'm it.

Benedict: Don't worry, man, it looked good on television. Oh, god. Even Jason doesn't deserve this. Diana DeGarmo is calling to commiserate.

Jacob...whoa, hey, it's Bogie from Casablanca, only really really goofy-looking! Seriously, that may be the World's Greatest Idol Outfit Ever. Dude looks so massively fab (Shoemom: "He just has the most beautiful eyes!") that we both would have cheerfully spent three minutes watching him just stand there, wearing an ivory dinner jacket, white shirt and black tie.

In fact, I devoutly wish he had just stood there, this whole performance would've been much more fun overall. 'Cause I don't care how good you look, and/or how much Star wattage you have...there are certain songs a musician just. doesn't. mess. with. Ever. Unforgettable is one of them. Shoemom: "Oh, that's just awful. He's trying to be something he's not. Awful."

Yeah, pretty much. Even discounting the 'what the hell was he thinking?' factor in re: picking a song that absolutely requires him to show off his nonexistent range...geez, what the hell was he thinking? It doesn't fit his style, his tone, his nothing. He's so busy trying to figure out how to sing it he barely has room to do anything else with it.

Zack: This land is your land/this land is my land/aren't we all thrilled we picked out four such unique diverse singers/cause it sure wouldn't have happened on American land. And if Canada can't see that it is what it is...well, the hell with them anyhow. Translation: Other than "[bleep] you, Cowell," I have no idea. Truly. Get Zany and his mind-reader act back in here, maybe.

Jake: Lookin' good, there, Bond-boy. (Freudian slip alert: I initially typed that as 'bong-boy'.) That was fantastic, you caught the sentiment of the song. Yeah, as only a punk-rocker can. About this whole 'Idol needs to sing everything' dealy-bobber, Gold...?

Farley: This era was all about the showmanship, and you've got it. Uninhibited, comfortable no matter what the genre. Oh, sure, he's comfortable. What about me? Huh? What'd I ever do to deserve that?

Sass [husky]: Unforgettable. And that gleam in her eye says she isn't kidding. Woman is ready to nail her some Jacob, with Kalan for dessert, whenever either says the word. Amusingly, Jacob the 'uninhibited' is now doing an overt variation of Kalan's reverse-shuffle. For all of you hoping that the two boys would find a common bond...

Performance recap. Everybody is a Star, except Jason isn't so much. HaHave we all got that? Good. Yada yada yada votecakes. Clapclapclapclapclapclapclap. Shoemom, laughing: "Oh, look at Kalan, he's getting right in there with the clapping. He's so cute!"