In the fall of 2002, Sabrina and Acacia Stevens were gearing up for the second season of American Idol. I couldn’t believe it! How could two of my best friends, who did not share my devotion to pop music, be obsessed with a show about finding the next big pop star when I hadn’t even watched a single episode? While hanging out at their house one day, they insisted on showing me some of the ridiculous, embarrassing, hilarious bad auditions. We were in the elitist teen phase of our lives, so we rolled on the floor while laughing at tone deaf people who insisted that they were the next big thing. (In 2024, laughing at untalented people doesn’t seem as funny as it once did. Or maybe it’s because I’m no longer 17. Either way, I feel kind of bad about it. But at the time, it was a revelation.)
I KNEW I had to be on the season 2 Idol train when it left the station.
My mom and I began watching “American Idol” together every Tuesday and Wednesday night with the first episode of the second season. My dad was frequently out on one of those nights, so it was part of a special mother-daughter bonding ritual type thing we did.
One Tuesday night early in the season, my mom was also out, maybe at Parent-Teacher conferences. We taped the episode, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to watch Idol on my own. When a scrawny, gangly, bespectacled ginger guy with a thick Southern accent proclaimed to the judges, “I’m the next American Idol,” I braced myself for what was sure to be comedy gold.
But the joke was on me, because the voice that came out of that scrawny little nothing guy was a different type of gold, one that sent chills down my spine because of how insanely talented he was. When my mom got home, I told her, “You missed the guy who’s going to win.”
As it happened, that guy was voted off before making the top 12. I was devastated, which didn’t last long, because he was voted back in by the judges during a wild card round.
That guy was Clay Aiken. Who didn’t win, but did come in a close second to Reuben Studdard. I mean, fine. Reuben is also super talented. And to be honest, the two have been about as successful as each other. Clay will always be my favorite Idol contestant of all time, the one I “discovered.” I find his voice to be astoundingly, dramatically perfect. I saw him multiple times in the Broadway musical Spamalot. My dear friend Casey even sprung for us to meet him on stage one time. She and I (and my mom, our constant concert companion) have seen several iterations of his incomparable Christmas tour. We drove to North Carolina to see him debut his album Tried and True live. We’ve even had the privilege of seeing Clay and Reuben tour together more than once. Their honest friendship is portrayed beautifully on stage.
Clay at his audition. You can see why I was prepared for him to be terrible.
I was in college for the next four seasons of Idol, but that didn’t stop me from calling my mom at every commercial break to discuss performances. I preferred when I was home for spring break or if the season finale happened after school ended for the year. We loved judging for ourselves as much as we loved rolling our eyes every time Randy said, “That was pitchy, dog,” or Paula did her big, open fingered, obnoxious clap, or Simon made some kind of weirdly horrible analogy. (My favorite of all time was probably, “That was like musical cheesecake - difficult to get through, and when I was finished, I didn’t want any more.”)
As many young people do when they finish college, I struggled with my next steps. I worked retail full time for a while, and I eventually took up substitute teaching, but I wasn’t 100% sure of what my vocation would turn out to be. Of course I’ve always known I’m a good writer, and I’ve always loved writing, so I thought about pursuing a career on that path. I visited Monster.com or some such job hunting website looking for possible pursuits in journalism.
Interestingly, I found a call for writers to work for a developing online newspaper called The Examiner. They were looking for people to write deeply about very specific topics, one of which was American Idol. At that point, I kept a relatively regular blog, and I sometimes ranted about Idol. Why not put myself forward to get paid for something I already did?
In a very short turnaround time, I was hired. Suddenly, I was writing a LOT about Idol. Examiner’s pay was based on how much traffic your page got, and social media wasn’t nearly the giant attention getter it is today, so the best way to get views was to publish regularly. I wrote articles every Tuesday and Wednesday, covering all episodes in depth. I made a few cents a day. If I was lucky, I might even make a dollar. I didn’t mind, though. I wasn’t in it to be a full time job. I was a substitute teacher, and in my spare time, I made some minimal cash by doing something I did for pleasure anyway. And I was getting published multiple times a week, so if I did decide to attempt to go down the journalism route, I was building quite a portfolio.
One day in May, my phone rang with an unknown number. This was before my buddy Scam Likely called on the reg, so I answered. It turned out to be a guy named Justin, who had just taken over as my manager on Examiner. I hadn’t ever spoken to anyone from the site before, so I was intrigued by his attempts to get to know his writers. He was putting together a meet and greet at a fancy hotel in Hoboken.
But none of that was the real reason he was calling. What he really wanted to know was if I wanted to attend the American Idol finale.
I’d have to pay for everything on my own - airfare, hotel, car, food - but they could get me a Press Pass that would get me Red Carpet and Press Room access. I hesitated briefly - I was making $80/day subbing, so I didn’t have a lot in the bank. But for a possibly aspiring journalist, this was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.
The timing wasn’t ideal - there was a little over a week until finale night. It wasn’t a lot of time to get the trip in order. On top of that stress, Justin, who had seemed so positive and sure of himself at first, took days to solidify the press passes. So I was booked into an event I wasn’t even sure I was going to have access to.
It was stressful, to say the least.
But we committed. Jon and I took a 6:30 flight to LAX, arriving at our hotel by 9:30 that morning thanks to the time difference. We had been awake for far too long but couldn’t check into the hotel for hours. Feeling that kind of dead exhaustion where your eyes sting and your whole body aches, we walked into Hollywood, which presents more as a theme park than a city. We saw Grauman’s Chinese Theater and the infamous Walk of Fame, which is lined with more celebrity impersonators than Disney Theme Parks have princesses. We stopped for lunch at a Qdoba across the street, and Marilyn Monroe and Elvis walked in together. I didn’t snap a picture and to this day wish I had. It was such a Hollywood moment.
When we left, we walked right into a taping of “Idol Tonight,” a pre-show on the TV Guide channel hosted by Season 1 runner up Justin Guarini. We were able to stand around and watch former contestants Paris Bennett (actually super talented), Kevin Covais (who they used to call Chicken Little and that’s really all you need to know to understand that he made it much further than he should have), Hayley Scarnato (I wrote “who remembers her?” in my journal after mentioning her), and Bo Bice (Season 4 runner up) get interviewed. I took notes and a lot of pictures - but since I hadn’t been planning on standing around in the sun for two hours, I also got a lot of sunburn.
The next day was Day 1 of the big event. There were a lot of emails and plans to meet up with the Reality TV Examiner as well as an AEG Rep who was working to coordinate the whole shebang. She gave out our credentials - basically a lanyard with a Press card on it. We were corralled into an area by a sign that said “Credentialed Press Only” and not given a lot of updates. It was as if no thought had gone into this. A lot of people, all with laptops because 2009, standing around in the blazing sun. No relief. Someone went to check if the press room was ready and was gone for quite awhile.
Oh, the press room. Curiosity mounted. What would it look like? What kind of luxury awaited us there?
Jon had nothing to do, and someone came around announcing the availability of tickets to the finale. He went to check on how much they were at the Convention Center across the street, and we were shocked and amazed to find out they were free! In retrospect, of course they are. That audience has to be FILLED, and the Nokia Theater, where the finale takes place, is a LOT bigger than the Kodak, which is where the earlier nights of competition happen.
Meanwhile, past Idol contestants were standing nearby, signing autographs for anyone who asked. Being an Idol fangirl, I wanted to approach them, but we had been told that asking talent for pictures and autographs is highly unprofessional, so I stayed put.
Until two actors from the smash hit show “24,” Glen Morshower (Aaron) and Annie Wersching (Renee) showed up. Another press person was like, “Screw professionalism, I’m getting a picture,” so I did the same.
Finally, someone came to lead us to the elusive press room. Excitement! Would we get swag bags? Gourmet food? A special box from which to watch the performances?
We were led down a set of dark stairs on the side of the building to a place where none of those dreams came true. Instead, there were a few tables, each with two uncomfortable wheely chairs parked behind it, and a table of chips and water bottles. At the front of the room was a TV smaller than the one I’d have been watching Idol on at home. It was more than slightly devastating, to have flown all the way to California and now be seeing this momentous occasion on such a tiny screen.
I watched. I typed frantically. I ate some chips. But AEG had gotten me into a taping for HSN where Paula Abdul was going to showcase her jewelry. I actually loved her Idol inspired Forever Your Girl collection and looked forward to the taping and maybe even a possible gift. So I rushed out of the press room without ever laying eyes on a current Idol contestant.
But the HSN taping was also an underwhelming experience. While standing around waiting for something to happen, Paula herself was ushered in. She stood near me and said an awkward hello before we were both taken to our respective places. From where I sat, I couldn’t see the jewelry at all. And I got no freebies. I didn’t really understand what the purpose of being in the room was. Do all journalists get dragged into pointless situations and get asked to turn out articles based on them? Inquiring minds want to know.
For an extra level of fun, the internet at our cheap motel was spotty, and though I had hours worth of writing prepared, I couldn’t post any of my articles. So the next morning, we headed off to Starbucks for oatmeal, coffee, and wi-fi.I loaded pictures and edited words, and my articles went into the internet ether.
That day, there was NO WAY I was going to miss that finale performance. Buuuuut that night, I had the obligation of being on the red carpet. Oh, whoa is me! The glamor dilemma! Jon was beyond selfless that night. He waited in line at the convention center to obtain a ticket. Since you were only allowed one per person he sacrificed his chance to see the new Idol crowned. It is possible that if he had known was going to be performing that night, he might not have given up this chance.
Meanwhile, I made it. After auditioning for Idol myself two years earlier, I had made it to the red carpet. While I wouldn’t be singing on the stage that night, writing about it was still an amazingly cool and humbling experience.
The talent started trickling in in the form of old Idol contestants. At first, I was nervous and completely out of my element. There were more experienced reporters around me calling out to get the attention of the singers. Granted, this wasn’t the Oscars. There weren’t a million paparazzi screaming out for Tom Cruise or anything. I don’t even know how many of the people covering the event even knew the name Blake Lewis, let alone what he looked like. Someone near me called Blake over and discussed his album with him. I got some quotes by standing nearby. Mandisa was the next artist over, and I got up the nerve to talk about her upcoming music project with her.
Diana DeGarmo arrives on the carpet.
The highlight of my red carpet experience was the arrival of David Hernandez. Don’t recognize the name? I’m not surprised. He came in something like 10th place that season, but he had, in my opinion, the best voice that year. I told him so as he went by. He stopped to chat with me about some pilot he was filming and tell me that he had no musical prospects on the horizon unfortunately. I asked if I could snap a picture of him, and he asked if I wanted to be in it. Well, of course I did! Look at me, being a bad member of the press yet again.
Because I had obtained the ticket to the finale, I had to bow out of the carpet game. You had to be inside the Nokia Theater in a timely fashion, and with no technology. I gave my phone and camera to Jon and my laptop to Michelle the AEG rep.
Since I was missing the biggest talent on the carpet, I decided to put my own spin on things. I whipped out a little notebook and a pen like an old timey reporter and got to work questioning other spectators. How far have they come? Had they ever been to the Idol finale before? Who were they rooting for and why? I particularly remember talking to a young boy of about eight in a black fedora who was rooting for Adam since he reminded him of Michael Jackson. Not exactly a comparison I would make, but hey. Whatever makes you happy.
The Idol finale was vastly different live than it appears on TV. I was never a huge fan of the group numbers featured on all results shows, finding them cheesy and unengaging. However, when you’re actually in the theate, they are super high energy. Everyone gets out of their seats and dances to the lively tunes. It creates the atmosphere of a never ending party. Maybe I should have tried dancing at home.
During commercial breaks, the live audience is treated to stage hands frantically setting up whatever the lead in is going to be. There are a lot of pieces that fly in, calling for judges, and marking spots.
As alluded to before, the guest stars at the finale were incredible. In a single night, I had the privilege of seeing Rod Stewart, Carlos Santana, Keith Urban, Kiss, and Queen. Imagine what Fox could have charged for this unique concert experience. And I got to see these legends for free! (Well, plus the price of the plane, the hotel, and the rental car, but that had nothing to do with the event.) Poor Jon missed out on the big show, which really did suck.
Before the winner was announced, I noted in my six page review of the night that it barely mattered who won. The night was a ton of fun, both Kris and Adam were celebrated, and they would both earn recording contracts anyway. But there had to be a winner, and in a truly shocking moment, Kris Allen was declared the 8th Idol. All signs had pointed to an Adam win, though I was never a fan of his oversinging and somewhat cocky attitude.
The second the winner was announced, I ran at top speed out of the building to procure my technology from Jon and Michelle. Then I raced to the press room - where a lot of nothing was happening. I was afraid I was going to miss something if I waited around the finale, but I wouldn’t have. It was almost two hours before Kris and Adam came down to make their statements. Still, it was exciting to sit in the room with other journalists, recording statements, receiving press releases, and typing away. Kris was humble and relieved to be able to get back to his family now that the show was over. Adam was more of a limelight lover, seemingly much more outgoing and certainly more press-pleasing. He had no trouble chatting away and asserting what kind of music he wanted to make.
After several hours hiding in the press cave, I emerged starving. We ran into third placer Danny Gokey, whose voice I had also loved, and I scored a picture with him. I was off duty by then, so no more bad member of the press.
And we wandered back to Subway for our fancy post-event dinner, me having no idea that Jon had an engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket, or that he had just taken it for a tour of Downtown Los Angeles.
My first and only experience on a red carpet, overall, was an interesting one. I did get to hobnob with some people, but you’d be hard pressed to call them “celebrities.” I got to practice my improvising questions skills, and I also got to fan girl out and take pictures I had been instructed not to take. Had one not been an Idol fan, they probably would not have even known who they were speaking to.
But I was a massive Idol fan, so for me, the excitement was palpable. I may not have met Ryan, Randy, Simon, or Paula, but I had been in the same room as an event I had been watching weekly for seven years. I met some of my favorite Idol contestants who are truly talented individuals. I got some serious journalist cred, which I was never able to use again.
The next year, my manager called to make the Idol Finale offer again. That time, I politely declined. Though the experience had been fun, it had been expensive. While manager Justin had done some work to drive traffic to my page, it hadn’t earned me enough to pay for the entire trip. Not to mention the fact that Season 9 was excessively underwhelming. A few months ago over dinner, I brainstormed the idea to have a podcast where I interviewed past Idol contestants and winners to see what they were currently up to. I fell down the Wikipedia rabbit hole and just started clicking on related articles at the bottom of each page. When I saw one entitled Lee Dewyze, I literally burst out laughing and cried, “Who was that?!”
Turns out he was the winner of Season 9. Completely unmemorable, and someone I didn’t even consider a contender throughout the season. If I had had to witness that atrocity… I don’t know.
I continued covering Idol throughout Season 9, and I began to write about Season 10. In an early article, I mentioned Scotty McCreery’s stand out audition, and he did go on to win. But it wasn’t long into that season when I got tired of trying to come up with new ways to critique Idol performances. It wasn’t particularly thrilling to comment on how talented people were. I can understand why Randy Jackson’s comments became stale; after a while, what more is there to say? How can you creatively compare talented people to anything that doesn’t sound stale?
I continued to watch Idol through Season 11, when Phillip Phillips beat Jessica Sanchez. While I wrote this, I had to take another trip to Wikipedia to remind myself of who the contestants besides Phil (and Elise Testone, who I actually went to college with) were. It all started to run together after a while. Especially when no one but WGWGs (White Guys With Guitars, a term coined by writers on mjsbigblog.com) were winning, Seasons 7-11.
It’s bittersweet now to look back at the phenomenon that WAS. Yes, the show is still going, but it isn’t the water cooler topic it used to be. I used to gather my friends in my apartment to watch. I would be sure to be home at a certain time on Tuesday and Wednesday night. Teachers would talk about it both in the faculty room and in the classroom with their students. It was a favorite show of children, teens, young adults, and grandparents. It united families for a truly wholesome viewing experience. Names that came out of my mouth weekly have now faded into obscurity, leaving me wondering who these people were when I read over what I wrote in the past.
But at the time, American Idol was a touchstone of pop culture. I miss cultural moments like that and all the wonderful memories it drums up.
Does that mean I’m going to tune in for Season 24? It does not. My interests and time commitments have moved on. But it’s nice to revisit the memories.
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