The Night the Music Died

Like 60 million plus people around the world, I have been following the rise and fall of talent on American Idol.  I am a left brainer, a classical pianist and author who is passionate about music, art and books. For years, I have tuned in captivated by the seemingly unending supply of undiscovered gifted raw talent. My proclivity is to tune out the beginning elimination shows until the talentless have been purged and the real contenders like cream rise to the top.

This year, I was particularly enthralled with the show. I was curious how the new judges Jennifer Lopez and Steven Tyler would fare as they tried to fill the seat of the incomparable Simon Cowell. I give all three judges—Jennifer, Steven and Randy—immense kudos for gathering an exceptional group of singers. The talent was diverse and prodigious, covering the gamut of Country Western, Gospel/Soul, Jazz, Pop, Reggae and Heavy Metal. The "Wow Factor" was in place for a really exciting competition. For the first time, I even voted for my favorites which, after all, is the ultimate display of interactive "fanship." To put it bluntly, I was hooked!

I spin at and Lonnie Galate, owner and instructor extraordinaire, had the good sense to purchase many of the performances and play them for her eager spinners.  Shout-outs are expected in a spin class where physical endurance and adrenalin coincide.  We take our music seriously and have no compunction in voicing our likes and dislikes.  Lonnie personally favored Casey Abrams, a truly gifted musician and vocalist. However, Casey was a bit quirky, growled a bit too much and met his demise on April 28. Next to go was Jacob, a particularly sweet Gospel/Soul singer whose high notes sometimes pierced my level of tolerance. 

The judges basically love all of the contestants, and their criticisms reflect that fact. I can’t blame them; the remaining field of teenagers and barely out of their teens talent are all gifted. However, if you analyze them individually, the differences are immense.

Seventeen- year-old Scotty McCreery has a one in a million voice. A deep resonate basso perfectly suited for country music, but not likely to cross over into any other genre. Lauren Alaina, country again, her voice has beautiful tonality and impressive range. Twenty-one year old Haley Reinhart has a modest voice that on occasion delivers the goods, as she did in her rendition of "The House of the Rising Sun," but she sucks in the attitude department and one can detect the slightest sneer that graces her eyes and lips when she is fed even a small dose of constructive criticism.

Finally, there was James Durbin, who without a doubt was the only possible "American Idol." A consummate musician with a range of voice that defied description, James was and is my favorite. In his performance of "My Guitar Gently Weeps," his voice is an instrument echoing the arpeggios of the guitar solo, a super voice feat. I have purchased all his songs on iTunes and have listened to them countless times in amazement at his ability to interpret each style of song either as well or better than the original artist.

But, beyond his brilliant musical ability, which is undeniable, is his personal story of overcoming obstacles that in most instances would seem insurmountable. James lost his father when he was nine years old from a drug overdose. He has Tourette syndrome, a disorder of the nervous system that produces involuntary movements, and also suffers from Asperger’s, a form of high-functioning Autism. An outsider that was bullied as a child for his afflictions, he was saved by the love of a girl (I am not making this up). The 22-year-old elder statesman of the competition has a wife and baby that he fervently adores.  Intriguing story you say.  Novel? Movie? Both? The pitch: Through incredible perseverance, lost boy finds love and path to redemption through reality show? Sounds like a shoo-in. 

To us fans, James has been by far the most emotionally available competitor. He has laid it all out week after week, every performance has been breathtaking. Yes, the eyebrows involuntarily rose up and down, which only made him cuter and more vulnerable. Then the unimaginable occurred, on May 12, James was booted off. Jennifer poured tears, Randy looked like he had burst his appendix and Steven looked weary eyed and bewildered. May 12 was the night the music ended for me and I imagine for a whole lot of other fans. It was the end of the season.

You can partially blame it on the voting system, which allows teenyboppers to vote without restriction over and over again for their faves. Clearly, this strategy has backfired—literally becoming "the shot that was heard around the world."  Yes, it has happened before, think Chris Daugherty and Adam Lambert, who both have gone on to sensational careers. For some reason I didn’t think it was possible that James could lose. I felt that James was the kind of pure rock’n’roll artist whose musical diversity could rejuvenate a flagging industry that really could use a shot in the arm. 

It was not to be, the end came in a thunderous clap of disappointment. I think the Rolling Stones said it best, "You can’t always get what you want. But if you try some time, you might find you get what you need." For James and his fans, the end came too quickly, but as with every dark cloud there is a silver lining. James Durbin will become the superstar that he is meant to be and he probably will have a better opportunity to develop his music in his own way. I only know that I am a believer and can’t wait to hear the first James Durbin album. Thank you American Idol for discovering James Durbin. Unfortunately, American Idol, your season is over.