American Idol, I think we should break up.

"Love, I find, is like singing.  Everybody can do enough to satisfy themselves, though it may not impress the neighbors."    

~Zora Neale Hurston

I used to be a fan.  I was once proud to say that I had voted for Jordin Sparks and David Cook, and felt excited about being an American Idol groupie.  And it makes sense.  Who doesn't love the idea of a random schmuck off the street getting catapulted to fame because they had amazing, previously undiscovered talent?  I would cringe a bit during the show's more heartless moments, but mostly I enjoyed cheering on my singer of choice, knowing that my "special sense" about musicians would undoubtedly prove correct.   But then I read an interesting book that made me view the show entirely differently.  I'd rather not go on tirades here about how it produces cookie cutter pop stars in an industry that sells image more than originality (which it does), or about how they have devoted more and more of the show's time to ridiculing people who who can't carry a tune. (though they unapologetically do.)  I worry more about what its popularity says about our culture of music.


Listen to what Daniel J. Levitin says in the introduction to This is your Brain on Music:

"Jim Ferguson, whom I have known since high school, is now a professor of anthropology...For his doctoroal degree at Harvard, he performed fieldwork in Losotho, a small nation completely surrounded by South Africa.  There, studying and interacting with local villagers, Jim patiently earned their trust until one day he was asked to join in one of their songs.  So, typically, when asked to sing with these Sotho villagers, Jim said in a soft voice, 'I don't sing.'  ... The villagers just stared at Jim and said, 'What do you mean you don't sing?!  You talk!'   Jim told me later, 'It was as odd to them as if I told them that I couldn't walk or dance, even though I have both my legs.'  Singing and dancing were a natural activity in everyone's lives, seamlessly integrated and involving everyone."

He also said:

"Our culture, and indeed our very language, makes a distinction between a class of expert performers - the Arthur Rubinsteins, Ella Fitzgeralds, Paul McCartneys - and the rest of us.  The rest of us pay money to hear the experts entertain us.... A couple of generations ago, before television, many families would sit around and play music together for entertainment.  Nowadays there is a great emphasis on technique and skill, and whether a musician is "good enough" to play for others.  Music making has become a somewhat reserved activity in our culture, and the rest of us listen."

After reading this, it's hard for me to enjoy American Idol anymore.  My family was one that sang together around the piano, and I will always value the sense of community and pleasure that comes from things like campfire songs,  karaoke, community bands and spiritual worship.  People participate in these things because music helps us express things that are difficult to express in any other way.  I have seen countless teenagers posting on social network sites about the songs that would be included in the "soundtrack" of their lives, and I understand why.  Music says it in ways that we can't, and people love what it adds to their lives.  But the message that American Idol has spread far and wide is that if you don't sound like Kelly Clarkson, you have no business singing at all.  American Idol hopefuls that are less that qualified get laughed off the stage while those of us who knew better than to try get to critique from the safety of our over-stuffed furniture.  Contestant A can't sing in tune, contestant B has a funny nose, contestant C gets a little squeaky in the upper register, blah blah blah.

Screw it.  Sing on, America!  I'm a trained musician, and I spent countless hours in a practice room wood-shedding over Mozart, Beethoven and Bach until they were perfect to the last note, and I say screw it.  Stop being a critic!  Sing in the shower, turn up the radio and sing loud in the car.  Play the piano, even though you quit lessons when you were thirteen.  Dig out the ol' banjo and blow off the dust.  Sing on, Taylor Swift!  If your live performances aren't spliced to grammy-worthy perfection, your sisterhood of fans will love you all the more for being a real, live human being, and reminding us that we can be, too.  Sing on.

My song of the day is Nickel Creek performing Ode to a Butterfly: