Absolutely Dreadful: The American Idol Generation

Debuting in 2001 in the United Kingdom as a modern, streamlined version of Star Search, the Pop Idol franchise has become a worldwide phenomenon, with versions in more than 25 countries and auditions numbering in the tens of thousands globally. Perhaps the most culturally significant spin-off (arguably even more than the original) has been American Idol. As proof, we’d think nothing of Kelly Clarkson or Carrie Underwood going on a six-month tour of Europe and Asia, but might be more surprised to learn that Birgit Õigemeel (winner of Estonia’s Eesti otsib superstaari) or Phương Vy (winner of Vietnam’s Thần Tượng Âm Nhạc: Vietnam Idol) were doing 30-date tours in the US.

What drives these large masses of young people to stand outside for days, waiting for their chance to sing a verse and a chorus, while dreaming of fame and fortune? What causes many of them to follow the auditions from city to city, as if somehow the next audition will be the one where they finally convince the judges of their talents? What attracts the truly awful, the freakish, the tone deaf? How can you account for their delusions? 

Andy Warhol once said, to his eventual dismay, that in the future everyone would be famous for 15 minutes. In this statement, he foretold the mass media-driven world of Realitainment where celebrities could be quickly forged and then immediately disposed of. Warhol was fascinated by the idea of celebrity, and loved to make “Superstars” out of the unremarkable hangers-on that surrounded him, so his ruminations on fame were in-character and understandable. The truly shocking thing about his prediction is how widely it’s been embraced as a great idea by the populace. People say it all the time: I want my 15 minutes. Where’s my 15 minutes?

The average international life expectancy of a human being is 67 years. That’s 35,215,200 minutes. How many thousands of those minutes are wasted trying to be famous for a mere 15? On American Idol, you might only get to be famous for 15 seconds. Just long enough for you to mangle “Turn the Beat Around,” have Paula Abdul compliment your hair colour, and be called an idiot by Simon. That’s it, you’re done. Go home now. It’s another five weeks until the auditions for So You Think You Can Dance and you need to practice. 

If you’re not auditioning for American Idol, you’re probably at least watching it. What leads an otherwise rational, right-thinking person to sit down on their couch, watch some poor girl sing a honky-tonk version of “Eight Days a Week,” then discuss whether it was a brave move or a terrible one? Or, God forbid, actually pick up the phone and vote for your favorite? 

Consider an old-fashioned town hall meeting. Before the advent of technology —and I don’t mean the internet or MP3 players, I mean any electronic technology at all — community was limited to those folks whose homes were within walking distance. One’s troubles were the town gossip, and any community issue, no matter how small or feeble, was fodder for hot debate. Those communities are all but gone today, as the introduction of mass communication has expanded one’s circle of view to encompass the entire planet, and extended one’s nose to the point where it could be stuck in the business of virtually anybody. But for all we’ve gained, the global community lacks the bonds that once brought people together, the bonds of shared experience. The reason for American Idol’s popularity is that it fosters those bonds. It’s not that we care about the singing or have any desire to hear from these people ever again — as Taylor Hicks can surely attest — it’s because we all get to talk about it tomorrow. American Idol is the town hall of the 21st century.

One can understand, maybe even forgive, why Idol is the highest rated show on American TV year after year, but given that public speaking is considered Western culture’s most common fear, more so than death itself, you might assume the high ratings would lead to less people willing to humiliate themselves for the cameras; but somehow it’s just the opposite. More than any generation before, the youth of 2008 feel a need to stand out from their peers and be seen on a world stage — for anything, even playing the fool. William Hung turned a thick accent and a speech impediment into a record deal and a spot in a not-so-distant future Trivial Pursuit 2000s Edition, so why not you? Why not any of us? You can’t win the lottery if you don’t play, and even winning the lottery won’t get you seen on Access Hollywood. 

There is a desperation inside every human being. It’s a nagging feeling, one that says there ought to be more to life than what we’re currently experiencing. For as long as we’ve had awareness, we’ve had that nagging feeling, and philosophers will continue to debate its significance for as long as awareness remains. The average person, however, has typically been able to fall back on ideas of God and Heaven (or a local variant) to alleviate the desperation. Those same residents of our hypothetical old-fashioned town hall were able to subsist with their simple routines because they knew the meaning of life: we’re born, we procreate, we try to follow God’s rules, then we die and get to go somewhere better than this. It’s all laid out for you, with no deep thinking required.

Nowadays, we’re not so sure. The comforts of the modern age provide more time in which one may ponder oneself. Without the certainty of a Heavenly reward, our time on Earth is infinitely more fragile. How do we prove that life is worth living, or that we ourselves are worthy of existence? The easy way is through the recognition of others. Thus, an anxious generation searches nervously for the nearest TV camera, ready to tap dance or yodel or shout “No deal!” or sing “I Will Always Love You” at the top of their lungs, or whatever it takes. Ever wonder why each and every yahoo on Idol insists on screaming out their audition, adding embellishment after overwrought embellishment, until some innocent little song has been trampled to death by their vocal gymnastics? It’s the desperation. The nagging feeling. Somewhere in their subconscious they believe if they can just nail this audition, they’ll discover the meaning of life. Reality TV is the modern day spiritual pilgrimage.

It can’t last forever. With hopefuls now singing “A Moment Like This” or “Since U Been Gone” every chance they get, the bloated fame factory that is American Idol has circled back to the start and begun to gorge on itself like some kind of pop culture ouroboros gnawing on its tail. When each season throws a new half-dozen “Superstars” (there’s that word again, Mr. Warhol) into the ether, each with a relevancy half-life shorter than the last, this implosion is inevitable. 

For our next reality phenomenon, may I suggest we cut straight to the chase with America’s Next Top Buddha. The contestants all sit quietly and contemplate their role in the universe, and the first one to reach Nirvana and spontaneously combust wins. A 24-hour webcast with highlights, such as they are, shown on TV every Tuesday night. And what the hell, you can vote people off for some reason.  Mark Burnett, if you’re reading this, call me.

© 2008 Dante Kleinberg; licensee (Cult)ure Magazine.
This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited.

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