Carrie Underwood is the new American Idol

CARRIE UNDERWOOD

(Copyright © 2005 by Reuters/Chris Pizzello)

Another woman has won the American Idol title, and I couldn’t be more pleased. Much as I like Bo Bice, I had little doubt that Carrie Underwood would win. She looked like a goddess with her permed hair and Grecian-like outfit, even when she sang “Inside Your Heaven,” that less-than-heavenly song, at the end. Too bad that’s going to be her first single.

Today’s show, though a little underwhelming, was much better than yesterday’s. It’s a treat to see the finalists together again, performing and having a great time. Lindsey Cardinale looked hot. Mikalah Gordon was a hoot at the red carpet. Nice to see Constantine Maroulis, Jessica Sierra and Nadia Turner strutting their stuff. And how Vonzell Solomon sparkled! It’s worth noting that she’s the only finalist, except for Bo and Carrie, who has a guest musical artist all to herself. She’ll definitely go far.

It’s also nice to see LaToya London and Matt Rogers again. LaToya is normally a class act, but how come she seemed drunk when Simon Cowell and Ryan Seacrest checked in on her in one segment? And Matt may not be a great singer, but he sure has a great personality. He and Mikalah should hook up and host a showbiz program. Their banter would be priceless.

The best thing about the finale, though, is that it captures what American Idol is actually all about. It’s a show that aims, not only to search for the next singing sensation, but also to entertain, even at its own expense. It never takes itself too seriously. Look at the host and the judges poking fun at themselves via a mock-exposé. Some of those who didn’t even made the first cut were good sports while everyone else in the audience were laughing at their audition clips. That would be cruel in another context. And everything felt so calculated to a considerable extent, but no one seems to care. All these are reflected in the finale.

Much as I’m happy that Carrie won, I seriously don’t see myself buying her CD, especially if it’s going to be dominated by country-music tracks. I’ll probably reconsider if it has her versions of “Alone” and “Crying.” As for Bo, his runner-up status practically assures him of his own CD, and I hope it contains his covers of “Time in a Bottle” and “For the Love of Money.” But strangely, I’m more excited at the prospect of Vonzell having her own CD.

As long as they keep on improving themselves and are managed the right way, Carrie, Bo and Vonzell should enjoy fulfilling—and lasting—singing careers. And as for American Idol, I’m sure I’ll be glued in front of the TV again once it comes back next year, most probably in January.

American Idol 4: The Final Showdown

I may watch TV regularly, but there are only three shows that I watch with a passion, and all of them coincidentally start with the letter “A.” American Idol is one of them, and I had just finished watching the final showdown between the two re­maining finalists, Bo Bice and Carrie Underwood. They really deserve to be there at the Kodak Theater: both have impressive vocals and a standout presence.

Ever since the latest season of American Idol entered its semi-final (or Top 24) phase, it’s quite obvious that both Bo and Carrie--her rendition of Tiffany’s “Could’ve Been” during this phase was very good--would go far in the competition. And they have. The last several weeks saw some fantastic, even memorable performances, and not just from the two. There’s Vonzell Solomon’s “I Have Nothing” and “I’ll Never Love This Way Again,” Constantine Maroulis’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” and even Nikko Smith’s “Incomplete.” As for Bo, I really like his rendition of “Time in a Bottle” and, more especially, “For the Love of Money”; and Carrie, her take on “Crying” and “Alone.” In fact, her “Alone” is so good, it’s my favorite vocal performance of the season.

And of course, there’s also the not-so-fantastic ones: Lindsey Cardinale’s “Knock on Wood”; Mikalah Gordon’s “Son of a Preacher Man” and “Love Will Lead You Back”; Anwar Robinson’s “I Believe I Can Fly” and anything by Scott Savol. And since I already started on Scott, I’m appalled that he lasted in the competition for as long as he did. Sure, he has a fine voice, but man, he should’ve been booted out much earlier. The guy has no charisma, no sense of performance at all. He’s perfect for cartoons.

As for the showdown, I felt it didn’t do justice to Bo and Carrie’s talent--and for the show’s fans. True, Ryan Seacrest provided early comic relief when he made a coin-toss snafu in a video clip, but that doesn’t truly count. I suspect the unfamiliar songs that the two sang have something to do with it. “The Long, Long Road”? “Inside Your Heaven”? “Angels Brought Me Here”? Awful titles. These pop songs that never really pop suck so much, I first felt that a bad Diane Warren clone must have penned them--and, save for "How Do I Live," I really dislike the songwriter's work. But to Bo and Carrie’s credit they managed to make the best of it.

Bo and Carrie have excellent chances of winning, and I’ll be satisfied if either one clinches the title tomorrow. But frankly, I'm very partial to Carrie. If Tom Cruise had Renée Zellweger at “hello” in Jerry Maguire, Carrie had me at “Alone.” She may be a country songbird, but she has proven that she can rock! I would be very happy if she wins. In any case, I’ll know for sure tomorrow.

Stay tuned.

Workshop in Batangas

Now this is worth blogging: I returned to Manila late afternoon last Sunday from Batangas, where I conducted a playwriting workshop for selected high school students of schools owned by the Oblates of Saint Joseph. I’m thankful that Grace, a friend and fellow Writers Bloc member, picked me for the job—and only after she had tried (and apparently failed) to get in touch with Rene Villanueva last month. I’m also grateful for the fee, just enough for thrifty me to last a month, at least. But that’s not the only one I got out of the workshop: a still-hoarse voice; memories of cheerful nuns, a senile but creepy French octogenarian priest, and a dead bird in the room I had stayed in; and several new friends.

The workshop—at least, my workshop—lasted for five looooong days. God knows it wasn’t smooth sailing, but on the whole it went well—or I’d like to believe it did. I also like to believe that I did a good job, but of course I could always be better. Rene’s unplanned presence last Saturday was definitely memorable. He really played his role as critic to the hilt, trashing the unsurprisingly amateurish short plays that we read that day and eventually assigning them to write new ones. I remember telling Grace then, half-jokingly: “Let the bloodletting begin.” Both of us are used to his sharp tongue, but I rather felt sorry for the kids when they experienced his tongue-lashing firsthand. I’m very relieved that no one cried. I don’t resent his presence, though. If nothing else, the participants’ second output, though still flawed, were much better. He even shared with me an incident in last month’s UP workshop, about one fellow who had a breakdown because two of his poems earlier received some flak from the panelists on the first week. He even sobbed right after his first poem got dissed. How pathetic.

Before the workshop, Grace told me that the accomodations and food will be taken care of. And man, she wasn’t kidding. Sure, they’re not fancy, but no one’s complaining. I stayed at the OSJ retreat house at the back of the school—Holy Family Academy—where the workshop took place. The nuns were very hospitable, and they truly looked out for me once I was in their premises. But Rev. Elias, the only priest living there, really unnerved me. It’s not his fault, really. Thanks to his senility, he acted like a child again: refusing to take his medicine, calling for his mother. If that’s not enough, there’s something about his eyes—piercing blue, and set too near to his nose—that made me (and later, my companions) uncomfortable. At breakfast, he would sit at one end of the table and I at the other and he would try to talk to me or comment about me to the other nuns. Their patience with him is not only admirable, but also incredible.

I slept in one of the large bedrooms on the second floor. It felt rather odd to sleep in a room with several unoccupied beds, with one ceiling fan looking as though ready to drop and a dead bird lying so close to the blades on the other. And the religious pictures hanging in almost every wall, with each one looking as if they were watching me, didn’t exactly make me feel at ease. With nothing else in the retreat house to entertain me, I just slept earlier than usual, and alone, during the first few days, only to wake up several times during the night, and it wasn’t because of the heat.

No doubt the best part of the entire workshop, for me, were the people I befriended. There’s Dough and RH, cool cats and quite fun to be with. There’s also Rey, whose life is so full of drama it could inspire several plays. And there’s also Joel and Naya. We spent the last two nights of our stay hanging out in my and Joel’s room, discussing and reading good poetry (theirs and other poets we know), dissing bad ones, and of course, playing "Name That Movie" and especially "Twenty Questions", which kept us busy well past midnight. We even played another round of it on the way home.

I remember feeling a little nervous about the workshop while I was on my way to Batangas; I never really faciliated a playwriting workshop or handled teens before. I guess I shouldn't have worried.