Mike Cox I can’t remember ever being more ashamed of my fellow Americans. Thirty– five and a half million people watched the premier of American Idol . That is a six percent increase over last year.

Incredible.

The show is a mix of Ted Mack’s Amateur Hour , The Gong Show , and Star Search with a little train wreck appeal thrown in.

We watch people with no talent make fools of themselves and have their dreams shattered before a national TV audience. Then a nasty Limey with no noticeable talent of his own, attacks them as they bleed internally.

After this carnage is completed in episodic, Peckinpah–style slow motion over a period of several weeks, we are left with a few marginally talented people, carefully chosen for their marketability.

With no regard for the integrity of the process, more people vote for an American Idol contestant than for our president. The irony is incalculable. Winners and anyone else with an ounce of public appeal are then marketed to the public in CD promos, tours, and fake television spots on local Fox affiliates. And this idea is growing in popularity rather than dying a deserving and quiet death.

On the day the Idol numbers were announced on the front pages of newspapers, the death of Wilson Pickett was listed in section D of most of those same publications. Pickett was one of the great soul singers of the 60s with hits like Mustang Sally and Midnight Hour . He died of a heart attack at the age of 64.

I remember a performance by Pickett at the Atlantic records birthday bash 15 years ago. He sounded like it was 1965. The sweat and soul poured from his body as he sang. Most of the audience had never heard of him, weren’t impressed, and were waiting for the headliner, some rap star whose name I don’t remember.

In addition to the Wicked Pickett, we’ve lost Lou Rawls, Little Milton, and Junior Wells in recent months. Much of the great talent from the 60s is dying away, most of them broke and alone. Many more are nearly forgotten, doing small shows and reunion tours while mediocre, over-hyped Idols are raking in big bucks.

I’ve never been able to figure what the attraction to Idol is. Friends who watch it can’t explain why they watch, at least not to my satisfaction. You can see the same awful ineptitude at Wally’s on Friday night during Karaoke.

The winners aren’t very good. There are people walking the streets of Nashville, hungry, who sing and write better songs. I guess the hype machines and the personal commitment of getting to vote for someone makes us more loyal to the winners.

The nastiness of Simon must also play a part. Lots of folks harbor a desire to tell people what we really think. We don’t do it because it isn’t polite and because we are concerned for our well–being.

I’m pretty sure if Simon said those things to one of the Karaoke regulars in a bar, he would get his butt kicked. I saw a performer do Feelings a few weeks ago who could definitely get the job done. And she probably wouldn’t work up a sweat doing it. She was a pretty good–sized girl.