CANDICE GLOVER // ORDINARY PEOPLE

Every artist has a moment - that magical second they connect with an audience. From there, people just start to get it, whatever it is the artist is creating.

I have to admit I had my doubts about Candice Glover's chances when hype started to build around her at the Idol auditions this year. The American entertainment industry is littered with the bones of millions of big, black girls who can sing. Some become back-up singers for life. Others become vocal coaches. Precious few, like Aretha and Chaka, become stars. Jennifer Hudson doesn't count; Idol rejected her back when she was big and therefore seen as unmarketable. She fought her way back into the public eye with Dreamgirls, but even that rode on Beyonce's star power and the universal appeal of her power ballad, Listen. J.Hud is now skinny and is more successful than ever.

Candice Glover had a moment with Ordinary People. This girl has star appeal, I thought. She's comfortable on stage. She is an amazing story teller. She has a great sense of a song's beginning, middle, and end. She can colour phrases. She has range and power. And she is always in perfect control of a performance. This differentiated her from Amber Holcomb, who seemed like a scared colt most of the time. Candice is everything we expect a big, black diva to be. Still, I kept my hopes of a Candice victory in check because Idol has produced some pretty awful "winners" over the years. How the hell do you justify Taylor Hicks?!

This year Candice had some pretty formidable opponents, too. Never mind that it was a clear set-up for a girl to win, Devin Velez could sing his face off for days. Meanwhile, Angie Miller and Amber Holcomb were a music producers' wet dream: youth, beauty, talent, legs! And Kree Harrison is just a powerhouse country vocalist in a competition where country music does so well.

Which then brings me to my next point. A moment is worthless if you haven't got the right timing. Once that moment hits, you gotta be ready.

And Candice was. She delivered crazy-good renditions of I (Who Have Nothing), When You Believe, Emotion, Love Song, Somewhere. She proved she was ready, today.

Brava, America, for figuring out something we gays knew all along. Anybody can sing but only a big black girl can truly sang. We wish Candice luck on her career! May she enjoy success so we then can enjoy many more years of gorgeous music from her.

And keep the curves, girl, coz you're gorgeous just the way you are!

The Diva Video Of The Day™ Amber Holcomb / What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life

Idol's Top 5 performance show couldn't have been better for if Hypeactive hadn't himself selected the theme - Songs from the year you were born (meh.) and Divas (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! x 1,000,000).

Amber Holcomb sometimes makes funny song choices, but when she gets it right, she is perfection.

What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life is hard to sing. The melody's just so particular (I can't even think of another word to describe it), the phrases are extraordinarily long, and the song is easily a snoozer in the hands of a lesser singer. That's all of us, except Barbra. 

A Streisand aria is the musical equivalent of a Shakespearean soliloquy.

Amber was stellar. 

What are you doing the rest of your life? 

North and South and East and West of your life 

I have only one request of your life 

That you spend it all with me...

I'D BE SPENDING MY DAYS WITH YOU.

  // KOH SAMUI . 2009 //

The Diva Video Of The Day™ Christina Perri / Jar Of Hearts

This song has been done to death on American Idol, it's now officially a cliche.

This morning, I was feeling yucky from looking at Chris' packed boxes whilst I was having breakfast. It made me pull this song up. I was somewhere in between depressed and angry. Angry that Chris and I can't just be together, forever. Why the fuck do we have to do the long distance thing? Totally selfish thing to say, but this totally throws off my balance.

"At least you have something to do here," Chris pointed out. "I'll hardly have anything to do in Canberra and its 300,000 people."

Good point.

Chris always knows how to put things in perspective.

I miss him already.

Damn those boxes.

 // THE HYPERACTIVE GAY BOY™ //

RYAN SEACREST'S PENIS REARS ITS EHRM... HEAD.

THIS IS AMERICAN PENIS!

On Episode 13, American Idol host Ryan Seacrest's microphone was on full display. And it's clearly not just the one he's wrapping his fingers around on prime time, shown above.

For the first time, I was having fun with more than just his orange make-up, and the juxtaposition of a his immobile, Botoxed forehead against a Hyperactive, over-articulating mouth.

I had to pause, play, pause, play just to make sure my myopic eyes weren't deceiving me.

They weren't.

The diminutive host dresses to the right.

THIS is American Idol, and THIS is Seacrest's penis!

The Diva Video Of The Day™ Dionne Warwick / I'll Never Love This Way Again

I'll Never Love This Way Again is probably one of the most popular power ballads in singing competitions. It has been done by erstwhile American Idol contestants Jasmine Trias, Vonzell Solomon, Katharine McPhee... even by vocal coach Debra Byrd on Canadian Idol.

The easy rhythm, broad melody, soaring chorus, dramatic key change, and irresistible hook - it's a singalong crowd pleaser. It's fuck-up proof. You'll never fall off the beat, sing a bad note or forget entire stanzas because the entire song has, like, four lines of lyrics.

It was released in 1979 and won a 1980 Grammy Award for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance for Dionne Warwick. It was produced by Barry Manilow. Aha.

From one drama queen to another, keep holdin' on before the good is gone!

ANTIPOLO

 

The Diva Video Of The Day™ Amber Holcomb / My Funny Valentine

Every once in a while an American Idol performance makes me sit up and stop stuffing my face with noodles.

This is one such time.

This song has been interpreted brilliantly by so many spectacularly gifted vocalists, among them Chaka Khan, Chet Baker and likable Idol alumna Melinda Doolittle. The song demands a textured, freely cadenced, deeply soulful and sensual interpretation. Yet it is exactly Amber Holcomb's beguiling innocence which differentiates her performance.

With her pretty face, perfect figure and spectacular legs, I'm reminded of a young Whitney Houston.

Amber has Diva aura.

KIMBRA - SETTLE DOWN (LIVE AT SING SING STUDIOS)

PERFORMING IN CLIVE BAR / AUSTIN

This song was first released in 2010 as the lead single in the debut studio album "Vows" by New Zealand-born artist Kimbra. It was re-released in November 2011 and then proceeded to peak at number 37 on the New Zealand Singles Chart.

I first encountered this song a few days ago, when 16 year old student Jesaiah Baer sang it for her American Idol audition in Long Beach, Califiornia. I couldn't get on YouTube fast enough to look up the original artist.

Kimbra looks like a 40s pinup girl. She's got the hair, the bright red lip and the dress down pat. But instead of a saccharine demeanor, you're instead hit with crazy eyes, hyperactive hands (ha!) and vocals that are at once powerful, passionate and eerily enchanting.

I was transfixed by this live performance because, if she fell behind the beat, she's fucked. Everything is syncopated, it's breathtaking. The harmonies are so close together, I'm having eargasms with every phrase. 

What a stunning, delicious, finely orchestrated piece of contemporary genius.

The Diva Video of the Day™ Jennifer Hudson / Weekend In New England (LIVE American Idol)

//

And, tell me

When will our eyes meet

When can I touch you

When will this strong yearning end

And when will I hold you again

//

// CATICLAN . Philippines //

My Favourite American Idol Performances

Hello, Friends!

I love American Idol, I really do. I watch it religiously. Much as I resist the show as consumerist and corny, I helplessly fall to the producers' machinations, anyway. Who doesn't love a good sob story? Who doesn't love a Judges' Save? Who doesn't love Ryan Seacrest's orange face?

Beyond all that, there have been some truly tremendous talents that have come out of the show. It just sucks that what seems like a promising career during the show's run eventually fizzles out, but that's just the harsh truth of the entertainment industry. Unless you win - and there's only one - you'll forever be branded a loser. And that's not a good reputation with which to begin one's career. J-Hud is the exception rather than the rule.

Winning isn't even a guarantee of stardom. Remember Ruben Studdard, Taylor Hicks or Lee DeWyze? Neither do I.

If you didn't start out as a baby, like Britney and Xtina, then you gotta bust your ass working non-stop like Rihanna and Lady Gaga. You gotta be a machine. Take your cue from J.Lo. Take no prisoners. Pimp yourself non-stop. Records, appearances, movies, TV, product endorsements, gossip rags, everything. When you're starting, you can't be too choosy, hun. Take everything that comes your way and be grateful. People's attention span is just as long as a tweet, so if you're not constantly in their face, they forget. Idol is not a destination. It's only the beginning.

Please indulge my Idol addiction as I share with you Astron's Top 5 Rundown™ of the Most Memorable Idol Performances:

05 Diana DeGarmo / Don't Cry Out Loud
Damn, this girl is a machine. She can sang. That last note was gold. Breathtaking. Literally. I thought she was gonna pass out from holding that note forever and a day, but she would have passed out sooner from her soccer mom red stretch pants. Brava!




04 Katherine McPhee / Over the Rainbow
This girl does things to her voice that I didn't imagine was humanly possible. Shame about the unsavoury 'tude and the subsequent disastrous styling decisions. She could've been big. Really big. This performance blew my mind away. It was beautiful.




03 Melinda Doolittle / My Funny Valentine
I dunno how many times I've replayed this performance. It's brilliant. Melinda takes you to a place where your heart stops beating for a moment or two. This song has been done to death, but this remains my favourite rendition.




02 Adam Lambert / Feelin' Good
What? WHAT???

 
THIS is how you reinvent an old standard!

01 Clay Aiken / Bridge Over Troubled Water
The microphone stroking, the shoulder, the head snaps, the winks, the fuckin' gospel choir. Clay brought everything INCLUDING the kitchen sink. It was a cheesy, corny, carb-laden performance. This was hilarious. I don't know how else to describe it.



Now, wasn't that so bad, it was good?

With Affection,
James

American Idol "Do Good-ism"

Karen Rodriguez

Hello, Friends!

There's plenty to be said about American "do good-ism." When I was growing up in Tuguegarao, the American "elders" from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints did plenty in the community - catechism, outreach, etc. The actual physical church looked nice, I thought, like a rich family's very well maintained mansion. In dusty Tuguegarao, everything American always looked better. So I wondered why my parents never took us to the Mormon church. Instead, we'd hear Sunday mass at St. Peter's Cathedral, which smelt like bat shit and didn't have airconditioning.

As I grew up and learned more about the creepy histories of both the Mormon and the Catholic churches, I got turned off by organized religion all together. I do call on God from time to time and I know that He listens, but I don't need to thump bibles and proclaim that God speaks through my blog. Duh. I'm Asia's Most Hyperactive Gay Boy™, not Asia's Most Hyperactive Preacher. The Gospel of James is all about Love, Tolerance, and World Peace.

What was I saying?

Oh, yes. American Idol.

Americans have done an awful lot of good for the world. And this week, we saw it again when the AI judges raised a rallying cry to help victims of earthquake, tsunami and radiation in Japan.

That's all good - brava.

And yet, I'm not entirely sure that AI is doing any good for its contestants, to begin with.

Instead of having soaring careers after a stint on AI, a very promising act like Karen Rodriguez, for example, fizzles.

Exhibit A: Karen's Audition:

She's brilliant. And we said goodbye to her this week. I doubt that we will ever hear much about her ever again, but who knows. It's up to her to prove me wrong.

Same case with Bo Bice, Katherine McPhee, Elliot Yamin, etc. They're meant to be household names by now. Instead, they're still in that semi-celebrity limbo that just drains one's artistry instead of nurtures it. Fantasia Barrino had one, shining moment singing "Summertime" - that's it. Even Kelly Clarkson seems to be struggling lately. Carrie Underwood will always be a country superstar, and that's fine - good for her. The only AI alumnus who has true international appeal is Adam Lambert, but he's like Cher on Viagra, anyway, so he's dope on his own.

American Idol is a poison.

We're led to believe from the auditions that there's an embarrassing harvest of future superstars. These kids are good, it's the best season yet, there's more talent than ever, blah blah blah. And yet, even with the smokes and mirrors of big stage productions, even with the army of stylists and publicists at AI's disposal, the talent continues to fizzle disappointingly.

This week, everybody was terrible except Pia Toscano. But I scratched my head at her wardrobe choice. Why wear something that resembles a onesie? The judges praised Stefano Longone, but the boy cracked at the very end of the number. He sounded like he was desperately panting all over the place.

There wasn't a single "oh-my-god-that-was-so-good" performance this week despite the fact that many of these kids blew me away with their audition. Where's the magic? Was it all just false advertising?

It's sad.

While it's good to see that America and American Idol still sees itself as the saviour of the world - and that's fine, brava, thank you - perhaps it should look within and see how it might save itself first.

That's not a critique.

That's a dare.

With Affection,
James

Lessons From Idol

Hello, Friends!

It's Season 10 and we're meant to be blown away by the talent. But somehow after the first round of performances aired for public voting, all the noise turned out to be nothing but a big, wet fart.

I can't be a hypocrite; let's be thankful that the show has crowned truly stellar winners whose indelible performances will forever wreak havoc in our collective unconscious: Ruben Studdard, Taylor Hicks, Kris Allen and Lee DeWyze. OK, I like Idol for the same reason I like The Apprentice. Donald Trump's toupee makes me laugh. Having Don Junior as "eyes and ears" makes me laugh. Having Miley Cyrus as a mentor makes me laugh. Having Victoria Beckham as guest judge makes me laugh. All together, now: Ha, ha, ha.

With Idol 10 and the gloriously dehydrated Steven Tyler as a judge, it pays to shriek and scream onstage. And when all else fails, cry. Just ask James Durbin and Naima Adedapo. Crying somehow indicates that you're a better singer because you're, like, so in touch with who you are, and that's so dope.

I love American Idol, I really do. Simon Cowell developed my taste; Randy Jackson taught me to "keep it real, dawg;" Paula Abdul gave me an appreciation for my inner doozy; and Kara Dioguardi gave me the confidence to wear a bikini onstage. I can't say that I learned anything from Ellen Degeneres, except that she's fabulous and I felt awful she had to judge the most armpit-sucking season of Idol. Oh, and Ryan Seacrest proved that a man's face can take more make-up than a drag queen's. I bet if I sprinkled some mungbeans on his cheeks, they'll promptly sprout and take root.

So back to Season 10. Can someone explain to me why Ashton Jones, who is always out of breath and out of tune, in the Top 13? The music industry is littered with the skeleton of a million Ashton Joneses - beautiful black female power belters who had the misfortune of having been "discovered" after Beyonce.

Naima Adedapo has got such a fierce sense of style. But bless her, every time she sings, she sounds like she wants nothing else but be a lounge songstress - and not a very good one, either. The girls singing at The Champagne Bar in The Grand Hyatt will laugh her off the stage.

Haley Reinhart can growl until she's hoarse and I'm still waiting to hear some singing.

I feel sorry for poor Brett Loewenstern because the kid is likely to be bullied even more when he returns to real life.

I want to like Jacob Lusk, I really do. Except that I'm turned off by the preaching. Perhaps I've become completely evil, hence, my skin crawls with heaven's wrath every time Jacob points his finger heavenward.

OK, it's easy for me to bitch and moan from the safety of my couch, but hey - I'm all bark. I don't bite, except on request. I'd rather be a bitch than an asshole, which is what Clint Jun Gamboa and Jordan Dorsey are. Assholes get eliminated. Immediately. America hates bad people. And in case you haven't seen an American movie, you're only either good or bad. If you're bad, you better be British.

By the way, J.Lo's new music video is sick. In a good way.

Dance, bitches. It's a Saturday night!

With Affection,
James

It's GANNABAN, not "Gabbana," Bitch.

Hello, Friends!

I was laughing my head off whilst watching American Idol last night. The show's judges are beginning to sound like a broken record - ha, ha - with their incessant "we just wanna know who YOU are as an artist," and the attendant reply from the contestants - "I just wanna show you who I am."

Where I come from, we're too busy making a living to try and figure out such indulgent matters. Sure, it may bite us in the bum later on in life, but we've got a great sense of community because "we" is always more important than "me."

Gosh, so early in the morning and I'm ranting... I need my pills.

Speaking of pills, I busted my hip on a "James Bond" yacht the other day. The boat's so cool, it's even got a noble title: The Marquis. Isn't that grand?

I still remember the first time I went up on The Marquis. It was Floatilla '09. It had that new-car smell that makes you giddier than poppers. The boys were so busy congratulating themselves for having been invited, they - sorry, we - all ended up trashed on "only white wine and champagne" - apparently de rigueur in such posh environs. (Thank goodness I left my Corona six-pack at home. The last thing I need is a faux pas.) I've got plenty of photos, but Monsieur B, who owns The Marquis, has a strict "no photos on Facebook" policy. So the vulgar cock shots and party pashing pics will remain private.

Seriously, it's always a treat going up on The Marquis. This time, Monsieur B's partner, Mr. H, did the inviting. It was a much smaller group this time than I had earlier anticipated. There were only eight of us. I'm getting tired of mono-alphabetical nom de  guerres, though, so I won't even bother naming the guests. Besides, I was made to promise not to take photos, quote anyone, or tell stories, so...

There's really nothing to tell, then, except - oh, yes - I was ranting and raving about "me" vs. "we."

It's GANNABAN, not Gabbana, bitch.

Having been raised in the northern Philippine valley of Cagayan to pious folks whose six children had to have Biblical names, I had the good fortune of being bestowed the title "Rabbi." Hallelujah, it's on my birth certificate. Of course when I figured out that I'm a homo and "Rabbi" isn't someone whom hot guys wanna go out on dates with, I promptly dropped it and stuck with my still-Biblical-but-more-benign middle name, "James."

I "sacrificed" my first name, which I didn't mind, really, coz having sex with someone called "James" apparently doesn't give guys the heebie jeebies the way fucking "Rabbi" does. James it is, and James gave me my mojo.

So back to The Marquis and to having fabulous friends who invite me to fabulous yachts and fabulous homes and fabulous parties. It's great. But it makes me want to be "Gabbana," not GANNABAN, which is one sacrifice too many. After all, even Barbra sacrificed just the one "a" to become more fab. In other words, I fear not being fabulous enough just being me.

Now I'm beginning to sound like a contestant on American Idol.

 "You've got charisma," Monsieur B ventured, "and that's something you can't learn or buy."

"Thank you," I deadpanned. I don't think Monsieur B knew exactly just how much his statement meant to me.

He made me realize at that moment that I need not be anyone other than JAMES GANNABAN. I do PR and Marketing for a fabulous restaurant group, I blog, I do drag, I conduct trainings, I produce Mr. Gay Hong Kong, I write a monthly column for Hong Kong's only gay publication, and I maintain a loving relationship with a man whom I'm about to celebrate four years of togetherness with. Holy shit, I am Asia's Most Hyperactive Gay Boy™.  

Fuck "we." It's all about "me."
 
I was so overcome with joy, I ran towards Chris to jump on him. He wasn't prepared, though, so he managed to grab only my hand, and then that slipped, too.

So I fell on my ass. Hard.

I was waddling like a penguin because of the pain. I had to visit the doctor the next day. I was given an analgesic balm and four different kinds of pain killers.

Candy-popping pain killers apparently makes you fart, so I was also given something I hadn't yet seen before: pills for flatulence.

Now, let's talk "fabulous."


With Affection,
James



OK, so I'm sneaking a photo in...