Blogosaurus Stampede

If we must talk about the Carrie Underwood Illness, let us call it by its name: lycanthropy. Carrie Underwood is a werewolf, and every night of a full moon she rips some poor victims entrails out over a thirty foot radius… it’s not pretty. It made a few nights of her tenure on American Idol… difficult, let’s just say.

No, we’re kidding. The Carrie Underwood Illness began the day she found that glowing meteorite; how when she touched it she knew either destiny was about to imbue her with vast powers for good… that, or she’d contract radiation poisoning. So that’s it: Carrie Underwood is so saturated with radiation that doctors expect her to do the whole “grow to 50′ and then f*** up a city” thing, any day soon. Check your local papers for Carrie Underwoods touring schedule and expected half-life atomic decay.

Kidding again, she has panic attacks. That’s it, that’s all. That’s the brutal truth of the secret shame behind her malady, her curse… The “Carrie Underwood Illness” is panic attacks. But she says she only gets them around crowds. Which must be difficult, her being a Country Music superstar she must play in front of a whole lot of… crowds…

That has got to suck. I mean, that’s what caused the lead singer/writer of the 80s band XTC to swear off touring. he just couldn’t face the crowd because of panic attacks. Although I presume there are better drugs for this sort of thing now than there was before.

Anyway Carrie Underwood, good luck with your “Carrie Underwood Illness“… at least they named it after you…?

So, it’s Joe Cocker next, is it?

I went to sleep last night over American Idol, with its “Bring an Old Artist to Work Day” finale episode, and I wake up to the same damn thing. Sigh… look, until that show makes room for singers the likes of Nick Cave, Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan, or Tom Waits, then I will never be able to take seriously what they deem a “good singer.”

And dragging seasoned artists into the spotlight with a new crew of generic “sexy enough to have been on Lost” manufactured artists. It’s a “pearls before swine” thing, combined with the cautionary tale of trying to teach pigs to whistle. Just won’t work.

So now it’s raspy voiced Joe Cocker now, is it? Daryll Hall, Brett Michaels and Alice Cooper weren’t enough for you, oh American maw?