Idol Worship

Fear and loathing at the American Idol tryouts.

by A.D. Amorosi

SING OUT, SISTER: "I'm not sad," said Dottie Thompson, 21, of Sharon Hill, after not making the cut at the Wachovia Center on Monday. Photo By: Michael T. Regan (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

The one thing a good media overlord looks forward to is the opportunity to observe the culture at its worst, its messiest, its neediest, its most cloyingly clawing.

So for American Idol and its insta-freak-show tryouts to finally get to Philadelphia after so long of not getting our shot? And have it be the last round of seven cities on 2007's audition tour? And make it the sole blowout in the Northeast, meaning it'd be the East Coast tryout hub and the final repository for those who botched six previous attempts?

Priceless.

Every asshole morning-zoo radio show, Podunk television station and radar-blip blogger'd be out in full Don Polec-mode, trolling the Wachovia Center parking lot (reporters were not allowed inside the auditions). Snarky newsprint provocateurs would take their usual snipe to another level. I wanted none of it.

Certainly Sunday, which saw "hopefuls" lining up and registering for the Monday event in the moist humidity, would make even the dearest scribe from The Christian Science Monitor hate singing and children. The opposite edge of Wachovia Center's Section C where so many congregated was like the island of Dr. Moreau with its inhabitants at full freak flower. You couldn't help but seek out bad voices on worse people whose inappropriate hopes and indecent dreams were simply repellent.

But then there was Monday and its balmy beautiful winds, its chorus of voices that swarmed your skull when exiting a cab. Even if you weren't a singer, you were gonna sing. One felt like the Grinch descending on Whoville.

There's no reason to be nasty — not even when Cyndi Lauper's sprouting 'do has been spotted; or the Danny Zuko-wannabe, with the pink suit, Acura belt buckle and gold teeth, shimmies around; or the hawkish dude with the Dutch Boy haircut, sunglasses that make him look like Peter Sellers in What's New, Pussycat?, guitar, cape and cat-killing howl shows up.

How can you hate when the first story you hear is of Philly's unexpected kindness? "I can't tell you how much we appreciated your sisterly love when after having no money for a hotel and sleeping in our car, we stopped in Kildare's and they let my daughter use their sink to wash up and their blow-dryer to fix her hair," says Barbara. The blond Washington, D.C., native won't give her last name, but she proudly talks up her 19-year-old, Chelsea Charles, who's going to belt out Beyoncé's "Listen," even after having lost and regained her voice, auditioned in Vegas and slept in a white Escalade with three dogs and her mum.

At the Wachovia Center, there are more people nodding off than at an Elton John concert. This time, they're on the outside; parents and pals camped out close to the glass/metal-encased building. Some kids are figuratively on the outside.

Take Michael. I heard his singing voice. He sounded sweet. But the cute kid with the cornrows from Cincinnati won't talk to me. He's begging his sister not to talk to me, either. Even with ticket, wristband and badge, he had been disqualified right when the line started moving into the arena. Michael won't get the opportunity to sing before the black-curtain-encased dozen-plus tables on the Wachovia Center floor. That's where two judges to a table — some even with British accents, we hear — listen to four singers, lined up next to each other in shooting-gallery fashion. And he won't say why. "I didn't do the right thing. And I want to do the right thing so I can qualify next year. And if we talk, they'll know. And I won't get my shot."

Pink American Idol patch No. 92 Jillian Kekligian, from Rhode Island by way of Brooklyn, is getting a shot even though she knows she isn't really. Not at age 39. Entering late on crutches, her brown hair flecked with gray, she's pragmatic before entering the door. "It's more or less for exposure — maybe getting on the reel," she smiles. She riffs out a few bars of "Oh, Darling" by The Beatles. Good lilting voice — a real countryish trill. Strong. "I was going to do Lisa Lisa's 'All Cried Out' but it was too depressing."

"How long is this going to take? What show is this?" asks Gavonte Bell, 13, whose mom (a 49-year-old Long Island native) brought him here only to find she couldn't get him in. While a family friend watches Bell, season four American Idol contestant Constantine Maroulis holds court and laughs about how grateful he is to the audition process. "It prepared me for everything — including the whoring around I've had to do lately," says Maroulis regarding his own record label (6th Place Records) and selling his eponymous debut album. "It's the biggest job interview on television."

How long this was going to take was also on the minds of the 10 people wearing T-shirts that read "Our American Idol — DEVIN." That's Port Elizabeth, N.J.'s Marie Riley's granddaughter, winner of a FOX 29 Fast Pass contest that allowed her front-of-line access.

"She's a belter," says her best friend, Staci Smith. "Doing this since the age of 3."

"We need to be in Tennessee," smiles Riley, of where Devin's big country croon and choice of song (Martina McBride's "Anyway") would be best appreciated. Two hours later, that song slices through the air just before Devin Riley emerges, one of the first to be turned down. There she was. Singing for all to hear. Her voice is monster big. What happened?

"They said my voice wasn't strong enough," says Devin. "I think it was down to luck — what judges you got. The two I had — I tried to shake their hands. They weren't having it."

The grandmother looks at me: "I told you — Nashville."

The losers — at first — seem happily pragmatic. Like they'd been through a war and came out whole. Dottie Thompson, 21, a pretty girl from Sharon Hill with a low-cut brown dress whose eyes flutter when her smoky voice hits an emotional quaver, says, "I'm not sad," before offering to pose for our camera. Her pal "Timmyra" is pissed for Thompson. "He was pretentious, that judge; that British ... or Australian accent. He didn't even sound like he was from the States. Who is he to judge?"

Texas' Corey Teague — a slight-voiced crooner who trills through "Desperado" — made it through the Idol tryouts to the Hollywood portion of the show in season three. "I don't know what they wanted this time," she says. But as time passes, some get angry. Lots of "fuck"s and "they're going to know about me"s are heard. One squeaky-voiced girl in a wedding dress and tiara, Courtney Jay, 17, from Indiana, sounds at peace. "American Idol is not for me. It's not how I'm going to make it in the world."

And the losers ultimately may be better off than the winners; at least their souls won't be stolen. Teresa Anello — 19, from South Philly, whose mom, Patty Maiellano, talked up her single-mom status while standing close by her daughter — seemed pleased. Even if Steve Schirripa — the ex-Sopranos actor doing schleppy interviews for The Tonight Show — could be heard in a stage whisper saying what everyone in the media pit was thinking. "She's going to be a handful," he says of mom's Dina Lohan potential.

West Philly's Jamal Smith is quiet and humble before being attacked by TV Guide Channel types. He seems in shock. All the winners do. Even Alisha Dixon, 18, from Manahawkin, N.J., who won by coughing out "Sweet Child O' Mine" and "Behind These Hazel Eyes" rocker-style.

"I was quivering the whole time," says Dixon. "I auditioned last year and when they made me sing a second song, that's when they stopped me. I just wanted to be me. And I did. And all I want to do now is go to the bathroom really bad."

(a_amorosi@citypaper.net)