I'D MAKE ROOM FOR YOU, I'D SAIL SHIPS FOR YOU: We don't always award an ALOTT5MA Award for Unrequited Crush of the Year, but 2008 was a special year indeed. He was covering the American Idol beat for the LA Times and she, of course was "the greatest performer in 'Idol' history." And I might have forgotten about it, except that Richard Rushfield wrote Carly Smithson again today, God bless him:

"American Idol," for all the fame it bestows, can be a marketing handicap. A surprising number of former contestants face the question, "What kind of artist are you?" This is certainly the case for Smithson, whose powerful vocal skills broke through the clutter in Season 7 but whose pop/rocker style was difficult to express around the songs of Mariah Carey, Dolly Parton and Broadway musicals. ...

In the studio, two songs seem to be the full expression of the power she only hinted at on "Idol" -- an intense ballad titled "Lie With Me" and "Let Me Fall," a blazing power-rock anthem. The songs seem very personal (although she insists they are not taken from her life), about relationship anguish and tormented love.

Oh, the memories. Rather than going back to his legendary elegy for Ms. Smithson's Idol run ("Shock, grief, anger, betrayal. These were the feelings that swept through the Idoldome after the stunning dismissal of Carly Smithson...."), let's instead highlight what he wrote the following week:

The Idoldome was a colder, emptier place Tuesday night than it had been a mere week ago, when the most electrifying singer in "American Idol" history, Carly Smithson, still walked among us. In the life of every "Idol" partisan, sooner or later this day must come when one must look defeat dead in the eye and search for new reasons to keep faith in the system.

In the end, democracy cannot be just a way to force one’s own candidate into office; the means must be more important than our individual ends and, bitter though it may be, the will of the electorate must be embraced. Were it not for American Idol, one must recall, we would have never known Carly Smithson at all. However, taking my seat in the Carly-less Idoldome, I recounted the words of the Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert in his Elegy of Fortinbras, when he wrote, putting words in the mouth of Hamlet’s sole survivor ...

You get the idea. Rushfield may not get the girl, but darn it, he gets the ALOTT5MA Award. (Perennial runners-up: Peter King on Brett Favre, Jim DeRogatis on Billy Corgan.)

JUST A LITTLE TOUCH OF STAR QUALITY: Remember how I broke down Idol's final eight two weeks ago? After tonight's result show, yeah, I'm feeling pretty good about it. Still three more weeks until we can use "Welcome To The Boomtown" as the headline for the final two.

In the meantime, next week? Neil Diamond. Oh, predicting the song choices is going to be fun.

e.t.a. The LA Times' Ann Powers, on the other hand, is pissed:

Seriously, what is the “American Idol” constituency seeking? Another pop moppet prepped to fill the pages of gossip magazines and make adorable viral videos? Simpering Brooke White and half-baked Jason Castro (I like him, but come on, it’s a shtick) are sailing through because their images are cute; they’re more like sitcom stars than musical powerhouses.

Brooke’s particularly puzzling success, given her repeated flops in the spotlight, may be attributable to the 8-year-old girl market. For tween voters too young to fully crush out on the Davids, she plays the princess role, her deluxe locks and befuddled manner recall Amy Adams’ turn as Giselle in “Enchanted,” last year’s Disney hit. Brooke’s obvious discomfort at the end of tonight’s episode suggests that she knows she’s living on borrowed time. But heck, if I were to sponge a few extra weeks off anybody, I’d take it from pre-teens too. They have a lot to spare.

e.t.a.2. Can you top that, Richard Rushfield?

Every night she went up on the "Idol" stage, Carly projected both the sure hand of someone who had spent her life working for this moment, and the gratitude of one who has learned that life doesn’t owe her anything. Hers was the joy, not of a dream that she felt the world had an obligation to fulfill, but of a dream that had been forced to hide away until its flame was so tiny, it was this close to being blown out. And finally, when it seemed just about to disappear forever, to be allowed to shine once again! No other contestant’s story could match depth and poignancy to Carly’s euphoria at being given this chance once again, to paraphrase her countryman, W.B. Yeats, a lonely impulse of delight drove her to this tumult among the clouds, which is why I called her the most electrifying performer ever to take the "Idol" stage.

No one could match that intensity, but we take comfort in knowing that that flame now burning so, so brightly can no longer be extinguished, and like many before her who came to this stage, even if they did not make it to the final rung of this competition, her career will undoubtedly continue and we will see its fire again and again in the years ahead.

ANOTHER ELEGY, AND YES, IT’S BEEN A BAD WEEK: I just got the unpublished copy of Richard Rushfield’s recap of last night’s ANTM:

Shock, grief, anger, betrayal. Those, of course, were only the most immediate reactions of the audience to the premature departure of tall, fair, be-extensioned, impeccably-jawed Lauren from America’s Next Top Model. Other emotions following somewhat later, though not attributable with scientific certainty to the ouster, were melancholy, reverie, discontent, panic, arousal, that delicious combination of panic and arousal, ennui, mishegas, and discomfort at Yiddish proficiency. Lauren herself remained indifferent to the end, proudly overmedicated and possibly incapable of understanding the injustice visited upon her, but we, the audience, felt an additional emotion omitted from the above list: unbridled jubilation in knowing that for Lauren, whose illimitable talent in being tall and fair and impeccably-jawed has now – or at least after sequesterville – been loosed to the world, the journey is just beginning.

I am deeply sad (there’s another one!) that Lauren is dead. That death makes us reflect upon our own lives – our successes; our failures to reach the lofty goals we set; our tendency to lament the deaths of people who are still alive. And yet, this death is a call to arms. Other people should have died first – fake Whitney and Jerseyish Dominique, SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN – and every minute that they remain alive is a minute that Lauren is not stomping clumsily around in our hearts, a more artfully-composed Frankenstein. “BLOOD,” the audience seemed to scream, at least in my house where I live alone, “WE DEMAND BLOOD.”

In the sleepless hours following this monstrous unfairness, my thoughts turned to who, aside from the other contestants, must be blamed, confronted, and killed. Covergirl, yes, for demanding that their spokesmodels be capable of speech and movement. The fashion industry, for demanding unrealistic levels of “ambulatory stability” from its catwalk-walkers. And Dr. Tyvorkian, the Angel of Death, for spreading her bat-wings and casting a shadow on our dead-eyed angel. We may debate for years who else is to blame, but for now, let us rejoice in our time with Lauren, however bitter and threatening our particular type of rejoicing may seem.

The narrative I constructed for myself of Lauren out of nothing but a handful of confessionals and my beauty-struck febrile imagination went something like this: Born, grew tall, liked punk rock, knew nothing of fashion, grew impeccable jaw, learned rudimentary communications skills sufficiently to express basic food and hygiene needs, developed “signature walk” so unique that it, coupled with Italianish dialogue, caused second-nicest girl in house to double over in laughter, and then, poof, snuffed out, like a flame or an elderly person with a fully-vested insurance policy. No other contestant’s story could match the depth and poignancy of this brave woman’s poetic (but Ginsburg- or maybe Plath-poetic, not like Frost or anything like that) struggle against punk-rock-affiliation – and I don’t want to hear it, miss female circumcision, you shut your yap. No one could match her intensity, diffused though it was, but we take comfort in knowing that the Lauren juggernaut will not be slowed, and like many before her who came to this show, even if they did not make it to the final-two ghost-themed fierce-off, her career will undoubtedly continue and we will see its fire again and again in the years ahead whenever Tyra brings models back to talk about their nonexistent success. And then Lauren will be elected the first weirdo punk-rocker President of the United States, and she will invent a car that runs on air and excretes clean drinking water, and she will win the Nobel Prize for modeling and politics.

Surely, this is not the greatest injustice from which our nation has had to heal. It is not even the third-greatest, because of the Dred Scott decision, the Carly Smithson debacle, and the estate tax. But we have survived each of those, except technically for the estate tax, and we will survive this. And so I close tonight with the following by the great poet Richard Rushfield: “The following things are awesome about you/Your courage/Height/Fairness/Impeccable jawline/And courage/Fly away, flightless bird.”

DO YOU THINK YOU'RE WHAT THEY SAY YOU ARE? It's been a while since we've checked in on the LA Times' Richard Rushfield and his overwrought reactions to Carly Smithson's ouster from Idol. Well, he's backstage with all the former contestants at the start of the Idol tour, so let's see how he's doing:

Onstage, the band and crew runs through the set of the greatest performer in "Idol" history, Carly Smithson, with the choreographer Stacy Walker standing in for the singer.

Um, okay. Also, Jason Castro really likes racing go-karts.

RICHARD RUSHFIELD IS OVER THERE WEEPING TEARS OF JOY: Carly Smithson has joined a band -- Fallen -- made up of Smithson and the former non-vocals personnel of Evanescence. That first Evanescence album is actually really solid, and guitarist Ben Moody has subsequently written fine singles for other artists, including Kelly Clarkson's "Because Of You," Daughtry's "What About Now," and Avril Lavigne's "Nobody's Home." I'll be interested to see what they put out.

AND IF YOU'RE CARLY SMITHSON YOU NEED NO LINE AT ALL; YOU JUST DESCEND FROM THE CLOUDS: Frequent ALOTT5MA Piñata Richard Rushfield reminds us what really happens during the American Idol audition process.

RETURN OF THE MOTHERSHIP: Tonight, after leaving us for eight months (although never really leaving us, thanks to the tour, the albums, the reruns, the YouTubage and my seeing Ruben, Frenchie and Trenyce in Ain't Misbehavin' last week, which I will review soon) following a particularly captivating season, American Idol returns for its eighth year.

We're getting three weeks of auditions instead of four, but four judges at the table instead of three, and Richard Rushfield has six reasons to be hopeful, and six to despair regarding this season. No, five of his six bad reasons are not "Carly Smithson can't come back," and he and I do agree on at least one of the positives, though I wouldn't phrase it quite as strongly: "I am of the opinion that Hollywood Week is not only the most thrilling part of Idol, but possibly the greatest drama in all of television - leading up to the Green Mile; the most harrowing viewing since Euripides. This year we will receive not one but two weeks of Hollywood Week (oxymoron though it may be.) I say, that's a good start, but it's still not enough."

Will you be watching tonight, or are you waiting for the chaff to be threshed and winnowed first?

FOUR ROOMS: Frequent ALOTT5MA Piñata Richard Rushfield talks to Alexis Grace, Jackie Tohn, Bucky Covington and (shockers) Carly Smithson about what Hollywood week is really like.  Good read.  Meanwhile, Dan Fienberg's faster than I am, so here are his thoughts on tonight's Idol episode.

Thus far, I have to say, this has been a darn entertaining season and the new judges are not getting in its way.