A transparent piano filled with pink bubbles. Maybe that's what Paula was talking about a few weeks ago when she struggled to define what Scott needs onstage. Lady GaGa was...dynamic. David Cook remains a mensch. And one more Idol is sent packing, which I'll talk about after the jump.
So Vote for the Worst has limited power. Millions of aching eardrums prevailed. And "Idol" will no longer broadcast the sound of a goat submerged in a kiddie pool, since Megan is going home. She was awfully confident on the way out, reprising her "Rockin' Robin" caw-caw sound (with arm flaps) and telling Simon she didn't care about his criticism -- to which he later growled, "Nor do we." And so the woman the judges once promoted feverishly as a "current," "relevant," "quirky," "original" "package artist" wasn't even offered the illusion that she could save herself by singing. Three weeks ago, the judges might have used their veto on her behalf. But I knew they wouldn't do it tonight. Even before she insulted Simon.
Still, she seemed content and pleased with herself, partly because she's happy to be returning to her son, and partly because she's just happy to be Megan. She makes me think of a recent "30 Rock" episode, "The Bubble," in which Jon Hamm plays a man so handsome that no one ever criticizes him, even when he serves salmon marinated in Gatorade. Maybe Megan, too, lives in the bubble. Maybe before Simon and the gang came along, no one told her she couldn't really sing. Ah, well. She can do county fairs in Utah when the "Idol" tour is done.
And so it goes. Next week, "Idol" does its best to make the rest of America feel old with its annual "sing a song from the year you were born" week. Guesses for Adam Lambert? 1982 or 1983, by my calculations...