Sing a simple song and win a prize on new game shows
September 6, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television critic
According to the Q&A portion of the latest Miss Teen Whatever pageant, Americans can't memorize the location of America on a map of America. But we sure do know the lyrics to loads of crappy songs.
You can see this on your teevee if you watch NBC's "The Singing Bee" and Fox's "Don't Forget the Lyrics," which has new episodes starting tonight. Both game shows correctly presume that dancing wankers everywhere know the words to Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" -- including the apparently awesome lines "Words are like weapons, they wound sometimes."
Maybe you're expecting me to fume here about American priorities -- we memorize tunes over topography. But honestly, have you smelled the world this decade?
American adults have lives to grind. Why should we care less about pop culture than wearisome maps, which are primarily a geopolitical subject?
Geopolitics is now just a Ping-Pong game anyway, where the rest of us are told which Bush or Clinton will be the next president during the coming 1,000-year reign of Bush-Clinton androids manufactured by Acme or Skull and Bones.
Call me a fatalist, but why not drown our sorrows in idiotic karaoke contests and slowly descend into imperial fade?
"Bee" is passable self-medication for the empire. Host Joey Fatone picks a few contestants from an audience. They sing bits of pop hits and fill in the blanks of some lyrics. The final warbler tries to win $50,000 during a speed round.
"Bee" has things going for it. It doesn't take itself seriously. Songs are partly contemporary -- the Drifters one second, Jet the next. And it's bright and cheery. It fits the mood of karaoke, rather than being all funereal like "Don't Forget the Lyrics."
The silhouette set of "Lyrics" is black and shadow-blue. The music and the opening narrator communicate threatening tones, as if losing at karaoke will lead to death by monkey feet.
Like most nighttime game shows, "Lyrics" pounds time to a halt. It takes an entire segment, plus a commercial break, for host Wayne Brady to tell one contestant if he got one lyric correct. Borrrring.
By contrast, "Bee" makes you feel like you're part of a quick, happy bar contest. People who don't browse bars (the marrieds, the parents, the kids) can watch at home and pretend to be at this karaoke bar that they don't really want to be at.
The downside is "Bee" is unfair. One contestant gets to sing "Material Girl." Her rival might have to sing Stevie Wonder's "Part-Time Lover." I bet you even Osama bin Laden knows pieces of "Material Girl." Who the hell knows one sentence in "Part-Time Lover"?
So "Bee" values pageantry over justice, like most things we cherish (the war, celebrity trials, tipping before we even receive our disappointing Starbucks coffee). And unjust pageantry is, you know, puffery, so "Bee" takes you on a journey to nowhere. It's like a lobotomy, but with pizzazz. These days, things could be worse.
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television critic
According to the Q&A portion of the latest Miss Teen Whatever pageant, Americans can't memorize the location of America on a map of America. But we sure do know the lyrics to loads of crappy songs.
You can see this on your teevee if you watch NBC's "The Singing Bee" and Fox's "Don't Forget the Lyrics," which has new episodes starting tonight. Both game shows correctly presume that dancing wankers everywhere know the words to Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" -- including the apparently awesome lines "Words are like weapons, they wound sometimes."
Maybe you're expecting me to fume here about American priorities -- we memorize tunes over topography. But honestly, have you smelled the world this decade?
American adults have lives to grind. Why should we care less about pop culture than wearisome maps, which are primarily a geopolitical subject?
Geopolitics is now just a Ping-Pong game anyway, where the rest of us are told which Bush or Clinton will be the next president during the coming 1,000-year reign of Bush-Clinton androids manufactured by Acme or Skull and Bones.
Call me a fatalist, but why not drown our sorrows in idiotic karaoke contests and slowly descend into imperial fade?
"Bee" is passable self-medication for the empire. Host Joey Fatone picks a few contestants from an audience. They sing bits of pop hits and fill in the blanks of some lyrics. The final warbler tries to win $50,000 during a speed round.
"Bee" has things going for it. It doesn't take itself seriously. Songs are partly contemporary -- the Drifters one second, Jet the next. And it's bright and cheery. It fits the mood of karaoke, rather than being all funereal like "Don't Forget the Lyrics."
The silhouette set of "Lyrics" is black and shadow-blue. The music and the opening narrator communicate threatening tones, as if losing at karaoke will lead to death by monkey feet.
Like most nighttime game shows, "Lyrics" pounds time to a halt. It takes an entire segment, plus a commercial break, for host Wayne Brady to tell one contestant if he got one lyric correct. Borrrring.
By contrast, "Bee" makes you feel like you're part of a quick, happy bar contest. People who don't browse bars (the marrieds, the parents, the kids) can watch at home and pretend to be at this karaoke bar that they don't really want to be at.
The downside is "Bee" is unfair. One contestant gets to sing "Material Girl." Her rival might have to sing Stevie Wonder's "Part-Time Lover." I bet you even Osama bin Laden knows pieces of "Material Girl." Who the hell knows one sentence in "Part-Time Lover"?
So "Bee" values pageantry over justice, like most things we cherish (the war, celebrity trials, tipping before we even receive our disappointing Starbucks coffee). And unjust pageantry is, you know, puffery, so "Bee" takes you on a journey to nowhere. It's like a lobotomy, but with pizzazz. These days, things could be worse.
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