The funniest hour of free TV: American Idol

I recently read that the theater critic for the New York Times is blaming the sad state of singing on the TV show American Idol.

First, craptacular, over emotive singing can be traced at least as far back as the monster Broadway created, the creature known as Barbara Streisand. Has there ever been as cloying a performer.

Next, in the 1970s, schmaltz like Barry Manilow ruled the middle of the road airwaves and I’m sure that bled into Broadway like a bad infection.

The late 80s and 90s, the pop charts contained toxic divas such as witless Whitney Houston and moronic Mariah Carey, egotistical singers whose motto was and is “Why be subtle, when you can show off? Why sing one note, when you can stretch it out into a display of vocal prowess?”

That’s to say nothing of ham-fisted shit like the works of Andrew Lloyd Weber which are filled with hyperbolic numbers; bad attempts at rock musicals like Rent and Tommy which neither rock nor are musical; or pabulum pop stars like Elton John and Billy Joel having their music make the Great White Way.

See the young adults (hell some of ‘em are pushing 30 this year) aren’t the trendsetters. For the most part, they don’t seem bright enough for that, but are only aping back some sort of vision of what they think the public wants in a pop star.

Which is what makes the show the damn funniest thing on free TV. (It doesn’t hurt that there are some fine looking women on the show -- but that’s another story. I’m guessing they’ll all be booted anyway, because, what straight guy is going to vote on such a show, which favors teen heartthrobs)

Take tonight as an example, in which the theme for the singers was “pick a song from the year you were born” -- which is how I learned a couple of them are pushing 30.

It started off with this beautiful black woman named Natalie, apparently just out of bed in her sexy red nightie -- actually it started with some lame banter by the cloying pretty boy host Ray Seacrest but I digress.

Natalie sand some obscure Mac Davis-penned tune that Crystal Gayle once crooned. Who knew black people listened to such boring country music? But to give her credit, she took a chance on a not-so-familiar tune and sang blandly but subtly.

Which, of course, had the judges all over her for not picking better material. Except Paula Abdul, who has got to be on some sort of mood altering medication, because for the ex-Laker Girl just about everything and everybody is super-fantastic.

Next came the one of the cheesiest of the finalists, a dude named Bo, a real Velveeta-case who is billed as a “rocker.” His idea of rock, though, is one with appeal to people in their 50s. And on this night he sang one of the most hackneyed, overdone numbers, the Stairway to Heaven of Southern rock, Freebird.

I hate Freebird. If it ever did have any value, the song has been ruined by hearing in 12,347 times and hearing an equal number of morons request it, trying to be funny, at many a concert.

In other words, it was a perfect song for old Bo, who is stuck in the 70s with you, America.

Next up, was this wuss named Anwar who sang a freaking Dionne Warwick hit that Barry fucking Manilow wrote. For that alone he should be voted off the show.

Judge Randy Johnson told him he sounded great and Prozac-popping Paula just loved his way -- and he does have a nice, smooth voice.

But Simon Cowell nailed it when he called Anwar a warm blanket. The audience hates Simon. Simon has the Brit accent, so it is ok not to like him, even if his snarky comments are usually on the money -- though he is not exactly a proponent of good music either.

None none of the panelists ever seem to offer tips that will actually help make anyone a better singer.

And the audience, like Paula Abdul, is overly supportive and packed with people with homemade signs for their favorite wannabe. This is how Hollywood sees middle America, proud but tone-deaf, supporting our singers on key or off, just like our troops. Don’t mess with them. they are all superstars in our hearts. Rubes with cardboard and poster paint, being sold a lousy bill of goods.

(Ever seen Live at the Apollo? That’s cheese too, but at least the audience boos shit off the stage.)

Speaking of immigrants, next up was the Russian-born Antony, who covered a Paul Young number written by Hall from Hall and Oates. The slick duo was in the audience, dressed pretty much the same way they have for the last 30 years and with plastic surgery to preserve the look.

Antony sings in that all too eager to please way Euro-pop stars who barely know English have about them. Think ABBA, that daffy kind of brainlessness. Or Steve Martin as a wild and crazy guy.

Next up was Vonzel, an attractive black woman who sang Let’s Hear It For The Boy, from the ridiculous 80s movie Footloose -- you remember, the flick about the town in Iowa where dancing was banned -- until Kevin Bacon cut a rug and changed everybody’s mind. (Boy has Sean Penn’s brother Chris gotten fat since then.) Boy they sure used a lot of keyboard riffs in 80s music.

Then ballsy fat-ass Scott attemted a Hall and Oates song, mumbling then shouting his was through She’s Gone. If America is lucky, he gone. But we love arrogant fat guys - just not fat girls.

Carrie, the cute blonde chick followed. Carrie usually sings a purty country tune, but she tried to rock tonight -- to a Pat Benatar song, Love Is A Battlefield. Pat Benatar was a queen of overdoing it. This was her attempt at “new wave.” Carrie looked hot, like someone you would see at a karaoke bar in Tampa.

Finally, the show closed with the cheesiest of the fake fromage, the aerosol cheese product that is named Constantine. He trotted out Queen’s bombastic Bohemian Rhapsody, a song like Cheetos, that leaves a yellow stain on your hands.

Connie loves to pout, so this was his song. He was in the touring company of Rent, and his emoting never lets you forget that.

I almost wet myself laughing at this perfect finish to a celebration of mediocrity, a Wayne’s World moment, without any intended irony. Or if he did, more power to him.

Either way it was funny. Way funnier than Everybody Loves Raymond.