First, back in my March 19th Letters to the Idols, I said:
Dear David Archuleta: (â€The Long and Winding Roadâ€) My sister will call me later and give me a telephonic bitchslap for saying this, but: I think you are a fabulous Broadway-ish singer, but not a â€œpopâ€ singer. If they have Andrew Lloyd Webber week, you are SO in, dude.
Preshow predictions: (Okay, technically paused show predictions) Brooke is seriously in trouble—she has no range. Carly—eh. Archuleta will, unfortunately, bring down the house. David Cook—please sing the Phantom song. Syesha will be good but boring—again. Jason, I think, might be suprisingly impressive. Now watch me be totally wrong.
Dear Syesha Mercado: (“One Rock & Roll Too Many“) That’s the first time I’ve ever liked you. Slightly nasally in places, but I was actually engaged by your performance. Hated your hair like that, though.
Dear Jason Castro: (“Memory“) Ack! Ptew ptew. Does Listerine make mouthwash for my ears? I guess it wouldn’t be mouthwash, then. Antisceptic earwash? Couldn’t gargle, though. Whatever, that was wicked weak.
Dear Brooke White: (“You Must Love Me“) You actually showed some range! Too bad you blew the beginning and need the lyrics tattoed on the inside of your eyelids. Unfortunately, I know every single word of “Evita” (Madonna-style) and I’m disinclined to appreciate your performance.
Dear David Archuleta: (“Think of Me“) WHY did you try to remake that as a freakin’ pop song a la freakin’ Menudo? Dude, you’re an idiot. (Of course the judges will now drool all over your little brown puppy-dog eyed, froggy-throated self.) I hated it, mostly because I wanted you to dominate this theme. This was your week to own and you ducked it.
Dear Carly Smithson: (“Jesus Christ Superstar“) Whew, it was nice of Sir Andy to save you from certain doom. That was a kick-ass performance, and you managed to go the whole two minutes without making that “I’m going to break out of solitary and kill your puppy” face. Sweet!
Dear David Cook: (“The Music of the Night”!!! Ohpleasepleaseplease…) Holy. Shit. You know THAT scene in When Harry Met Sally? Yeah, that’s me right now.
Bottom three: Brooke, Jason and…either Syesha or Carly (though I don’t think she’ll deserve it).
To go home? I think it’s Brooke’s time, the husband thinks it’s Jason’s.