But what to debate? Well, while tempting subjects include the show's potentially rigged nature, the necessity of President Bush via telecast on a pop reality show and the amusing paradox of declining post-Sanjaya ratings, definitive focus should remain on tonight's finale. Who is worthy of the Idol crown of season six? Blake Lewis, Washington state's favorite beatboxing son and new mascot of VoteForTheWorst.com? Or Jordin Sparks, the last female standing of the diva trio christened at this season's start?
"I want Jordin Sparks to win," David Jackson, Jr. '10, a season-long Melinda Doolittle fan, said. "She probably will win, too. It seems to me that the winner is usually a traditional singer with great vocal range ... America usually votes for the most talented singer to win the finale." Discounting Taylor Hicks, that is true. And speaking as someone who has watched this season unfold from its nascence, I am inclined to agree, despite personally resenting how Jordin's I'm-just-a-normal-high-school-girl-look-at-me-dominate-this-competition-tee-hee storyline was unpleasantly shoved down my gullet all season.
In truth, Jordin's talent is obvious, and her potential marketability is off the charts. She's cute, got swell pipes and boasts a name full of glittery goodness. Not to mention the fact she was extolled by the legendary Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees, who in week nine smiled with his new Sean Connery dentures to assure us that she would become "one of the greateshst recording ahtishsts of our time." No offense to Mr. Gibb -- whose opinion is certainly pertinent in any conversation about music -- but I am willing to make a couple of ventures here in contradiction to his hyperbolic prediction.
One, Jordin Sparks is not going to be the next Whitney, Celine or Mariah -- so just stop deluding the masses, of which this blasted annual show is the opiate. Since day one we have been pummeled by proclamations of Jordin's excellence. Yes, her voice is quite lovely, and I can see how it might even be prodigious for someone her age. But it's nowhere near mythic. When Jordin releases her eponymous album, the cover art of which will most likely feature a shooting star dotting the "i" in her name, it will sell well. But will she ever best Kelly Clarkson or Carrie Underwood, Idol's multi-platinum alumna? Let's just say Jordin's crowning achievement looks to be a lead role in some future reincarnation of the Disney Channel's High School Musical.
Two, if the Idol prize is to be awarded based on intangible merits, like creativity or balls-to-the-wall boldness, there is no question the one million-dollar record deal belongs to Blake Lewis. Yes, I do take issue with Blake's presence in the final two in the first place. But he has a strange appeal to which I must concede and will try to explain.
True, he's no Sanjaya in terms of entertainment value (funny how that is now a detriment), but if this finale is but a choice between poisons, then I go for the non-self-aggrandizing, Maroon 5-ish concoction that tries ultra-hard to send my system into shock in new and exciting ways. The human synthesizer is one of those rare, hip individuals who can pull off plaid and zippers and skunk hair all at once. Indeed, he made his beatboxing a novelty to distract us from his subpar vocal efforts, so much so that it "overshadows him," as Jackson said. But overall he sounds nice when covering obscure old-school bands, and is probably one of the classiest dark horses Idol has ever seen.
Case in point: last week, as the season's requisite and overdue "shocker" came in the form of Melinda Doolittle's ouster, Blake won quite a few people over with how he handled America's snubbing one of the most proficient singers in Idol history. His face a stunned deadpan of commiseration, he instantly deferred all his glory, including his top two bouquet, to Melinda during her send-off performance. Now, that sincere display did not make me a "Blaker girl," mostly because deep down I still hope Sanjaya was never actually voted off, but is instead part of an intricate twist that allows him to return at the end and win it all. But in that moment, I forgave Blake's rhythmic electro-pop transgressions. He had no agenda, no producer pimpage. He was just out there, as Simon noted, "having fun" -- which on a show founded on nauseating commercialism, is rather refreshing.
Still, I realize American Idol is no personality contest. But we all know by now that to win it, it takes more than great pipes. Just ask Mindy Doo and my fellow Marylander LaKisha Jones, whose absences I still mourn. Blake does have a certain je ne sais quoi. But Jordin has never even been in the bottom three -- much like Kelly Clarkson, the victor of season one. How will this all play out? Goodness knows, but if last year's Hicks-McPhee finale taught us anything, it's that a lovable guy with bizarre hair can beat the cutesy girl if the country only gives him a chance.
