"...Might Be They Started Saying 'And The Emmy Goes To' Because It Was Hard To Say The Word Winner Without Rolling Their Eyes...."

Cue Steve Martin running clumsily in from the mail box.

"Emmy nominations are here! Emmy nominations are here!"

Or, if you're of a slightly younger demographic, let's go with Forrest Gump being wheeled in from having his buttocks bandaged.

"Lt. Dan! Ice cream!....and Emmy nominations!...."

The "experts" are already feverishly typing their predictions and/or betting lines on the winners.

Meanwhile, I'm neither an expert nor a particularly feverish typist.

And my predictions have nothing to do with anything other than a sense of how these things work, acquired and honed over the, say, fifty years, give or take, that I've been around to witness the process.

Starting out a long time ago, in a black and white TV featured living room, in a suburb far, far away.

So, don't bet the farm, or anything else for that matter, on any hairball of forecast I cough up here.

Simply enjoy, if you will.

Oh...and somewhere around midnight on August 25th, remember I told you so.



Outstanding Drama Series
Breaking Bad
Downton Abbey
Game of Thrones
House of Cards
Mad Men
True Detective

Wow...look at all those quality shows nominated from one of the three "major" networks. NOT. Breaking Bad lingers in the hearts of voters but not in their actual voting cortexes. Downton Abbey is still cool but it's "what have you Masterpiece Theatered for me lately?" cool. House Of Cards is about politics and Congress and/or Obama have pretty much soured pretty much everybody on voting for anything remotely connected to politics. Mad Men's nod, frankly, is a little bit of a mystery because it's not only set in the sixties, it's really yesterday's news. Comes down to a neck and neck between True Detective and Game Of Thrones. And when it comes to these "big" awards, buzz is absolutely everything. While True D is, in my o, more "cutting edge", you can pretty much rest assured that the combination of blood, boobs and a faux, but very effective, coating of "literary" pretty much guarantees "Thrones" will be seated at the head of this particular award table.


 Lead Actress in a Drama Series
Lizzy Caplan, Masters of Sex
Kerry Washington, Scandal
Michelle Dockery, Downton Abbey
Julianna Margulies, The Good Wife
Claire Danes, Homeland
Robin Wright, House of Cards

Not a lot of "name" value here. Claire Danes is a fan fave, but probably not buzzy enough to win. Julianna Margulies is classy, but when did that ever matter when it comes to any other Emmy voters besides the PBS posse? This award is a dice toss. I say Robin Wright because she showed Sean Penn the door. TV watchers love Jenny from Forrest Gump and hate Jeff Spuccoli for being mean to both Madonna and Robin.


 
Lead Actor in a Drama Series
Bryan Cranston, Breaking Bad
Jeff Daniels, The Newsroom
Jon Hamm, Mad Men
Woody Harrelson, True Detective
Matthew McConaughey, True Detective
Kevin Spacey, House of Cards


Bryan Cranston is superb but superb in a "wow that was a superb meatloaf last night but it's just leftovers now" way. Jeff Daniels has amazing range given his ability to give credibility to both Will McAvoy and the dumber than dumb Harry Dunne but Aaron Sorkin's work seems to have fallen out of favor post "West Wing". Voters who lean toward edgier, even weirder, are likely True Detective connoisseurs, but that likely means that Harrelson and McConaughey cancel each other out. Then there's Kevin Spacey who is excellent but not really "TV people" and Jon Hamm whose Mad Men is, as mentioned before, showing signs of fatigue. That pretty much rules everybody out. So, my money is on the Academy doing what it always seems to do....play it safe and give the award to someone that makes people say "uh, well, okay, I guess that's cool". And in this batch, that would be the already moved on to Broadway stardom Bryan Cranston.



Outstanding Comedy Series
The Big Bang Theory
Louie
Modern Family
Orange Is the New Black
Silicon Valley
Veep


Big Bang is, according to recent information, the most popular comedy series globally which is a pretty heavy pedigree. But they've been around seven years now and that always turns off the voters who want to seem hip and groovy with their choices. Louis C.K. is a funny guy, but he's no Jim Parsons and his comedy chops hardly pull the weight needed to merit awarding an entire show. Sillicon Valley is one of those shows that everybody says they really like but don't really watch all that much. And Modern Family is, while still fun, sharply written and beautifully performed, another one of those "been around for a while and showing a little wearing out in the knees and cuffs" nominees. I like Veep. I think it's darkly funny and just far enough out of the box while keeping a toe or two in the box to deserve this Emmy. But Orange is not only the new Black, it's the show that gives every Academy member who votes for it the chance to say truthfully that they are hip, groovy and tuned to the buzz because they voted for....Orange Is the New Black.


Lead Actress in a Comedy Series
Lena Dunham, Girls
Edie Falco, Nurse Jackie
Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Veep
Melissa McCarthy, Mike & Molly
Amy Poehler, Parks and Recreation
Taylor Schilling, Orange Is the New Black


Melissa McCarthy has probably ruined any chance she has of ever picking up another Emmy by defecting over to the movie side of the street. And given the "plucky and/or obnoxious fat girl" label she and/or her peeps have decided to plaster on her career for now, the odds of her being awarded for the "awww, they're overweight, but really sweet and just like real people" role that first got her noticed fall into the category of....wait for it....fat chance. I think Amy Poehler is the comedy equivalent of John Lennon. She has done some reasonably interesting stuff, but she has never been as good as she was when she worked (works) with her Paul, Tina Fey. Also, Parks and Recreation is The Office in, well, a parks and recreation office. Lena Dunham? MTV and BET might give awards to attractive, but average, girls with real, albeit somewhat misshapen and moderately floppy breasts, who offer up courageous looks at said breasts, but Emmy doesn't. Schilling has the Big Mo that comes from being on the big O, but her actual name recognition doesn't translate into votes. Which leaves Edie and Julia, both veteran super novas of TV talent, one in a very darkly funny show about a caring nurse who loves people but hates herself, the other in a very darkly funny show about a self absorbed politician who loves herself but thinks anybody who cant do her some good should just fuck off. This one's a poser, cause I think it's one of them thar proverbial dead heats. Pushed to pick, I say Louis-Dreyfus. Although Falco is crafty and might use her drug acquisition skills to yank it out from under her..


Lead Actor in a Comedy Series
Louis CK, Louie
Don Cheadle, House of Lies
Ricky Gervais, Derek
Matt LeBlanc, Episodes
William H Macy, Shameless
Jim Parsons, The Big Bang Theory


Jim Parsons is gold, but old gold and the hip and groovy faction will want to move on this time. Macy is edgy but kind of left field as these things tend to go. Gervais has been a flavor of the week but I suspect this will be neither the favored flavor or the week. Matt LeBlanc cleverly lampoons Matt LeBlanc but that's not something the hip and groovy faction thinks qualifies him to win. Cheadle? A versatile and accomplished actor with a mega rich CV. But lead actor in a "comedy" series? Not so much. By default, Louis CK takes Emmy home because, gosh darn it, he's one funny dude. And Jim Parsons doesn't have any more room in the trophy case.


 
Outstanding Miniseries
American Horror Story: Coven
Bonnie & Clyde
Fargo
Luther
Treme
The White Queen


This is one of those awards that, in a pre-DVR world, caused people absolutely no concern whatsoever at having to leave the room for a pee before a commercial arrived to assist them. In a DVR and/or pause the play world, though, this is one of those awards that causes people absolutely no concern whatsoever at having to leave the room for a pee before a commercial arrives to assist them.

Oh. And, by the way, while you were peeing, American Horror Story won an Emmy.


 
Outstanding Television Movie
Killing Kennedy
Muhammad Ali’s Greatest Fight
The Normal Heart
Sherlock: His Last Vow
The Trip to Bountiful


The Kennedy nostalgia momentum came to a screeching halt November 23, 2013, as the 50th anniversary of the assassination came to a screeching halt. And, not for nothin,  I totally respected Rob Lowe as Sam Seaborn but as JFK, I kept thinking that Tina Fey and Amy Poehler were going to walk on set any minute as Judith Campbell and Marilyn Monroe. All the others, except The Normal Heart, were fine, laudable presentations that lacked only one virtue that might have scored them a win. They weren't The Normal Heart. When it comes to winning Emmys, very few things are a much a lock as poignant shows and/or movies about the very human drama of homosexuality.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.


 
Outstanding Variety, Music, or Comedy Series
The Colbert Report
The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Jimmy Kimmel Live
Real Time with Bill Maher
Saturday Night Live
The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon


This category is so obviously apples and oranges that it comes down to which ever one is the hippest and grooviest at voting time in the eyes of the hip and groovy faction of the voters. I'm not really hip to what's hip in that circle, so I have to do a little close my eyes and stab my finger at the phone book kind of thing.

And the finger lands on...and the Emmy goes to...The Colbert Report.


 
Outstanding Reality-Competition Program
The Amazing Race
Dancing With the Stars
Project Runway
So You Think You Can Dance
Top Chef
The Voice


Another chance to pee.
The Voice, if you really need to know.
Mostly because Blake Shelton looks good to the ladies in his tight ass jeans.


 
Outstanding Host for a Reality or Reality-Competition Program
Betty White, Betty White’s Off Their Rockers
Tom Bergeron, Dancing With the Stars
Jane Lynch, Hollywood Game Night
Heidi Klum/Tim Gunn, Project Runway
Cat Deeley, So You Think You Can Dance
Anthony Bourdain, The Taste 


When they order the Emmys, they apparently have to buy in bulk. As a result, there are certain categories that exist, apparently, for no better reason than they have a certain number of them things to give away.


 

Lead Actress in a Television Movie/Miniseries

Helena Bonham Carter, Burton and Taylor
Jessica Lange, American Horror Story: Coven
Minnie Driver, Return to Zero
Sarah Paulson, American Horror Story: Coven
Cicely Tyson, The Trip to Bountiful
Kristen Wiig, The Spoils of Babylon


There are times when the list of nominees is so crammed tightly full of amazing, one of a kind performances in amazing, one of a kind productions that choosing a winner is, for all intents and purposes, a staggering task.

This list of nominees and productions is kind of the opposite of that.


 
Leading Actor in a Television Movie/Miniseries
Benedict Cumberbatch, Sherlock: His Last Vow
Idris Elba, Luther
Chiwetel Ejiofor, Dancing On the Edge
Martin Freeman, Fargo
Billy Bob Thornton, Fargo
Mark Ruffalo, The Normal Heart


Kinda the same thing here as with the previous category.
Bet the bank on Mark Ruffalo, though, cause, again, we're talking poignant movie about the very human drama of homosexuality.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.


Supporting Actress in a Drama Series
Anna Gunn, Breaking Bad
Maggie Smith, Downton Abbey
Joanne Froggatt, Downton Abbey
Lena Headey, Game of Thrones
Christine Baranski, The Good Wife
Christina Hendricks, Mad Men 

Supporting actress and actor nominations are really of interest to only seriously devoted fans of the respective shows and/or respective actress and/or actor. Primarily because for every, say, Maggie Smith, whose name rings a bell with a lot of people because of her vast volume of work, there's a Joanne Froggatt who is an accomplished actress but often confused with the British rock band whose hit "Slow Ride" is a staple of classic rock radio. And of the six nominees listed here, you've got one from a show that is no more, two from a show from PBS which registers neither jack nor squat with the Keeping With the Kartrashians krowd, one from an HBO show that is absolutely the flavor of the week but the clock, as ever, is ticking, one who does a remarkable job but probably has some viewers wondering why Dr. Beverly Hofstetder is double dipping on The Good Wife and one buxom redhead on a show that was oh so trendy right up to the second that it was no longer oh so trendy.

This one is a total dice roll.
I say seven, eleven and Headley.
Because the main game in town these days is that game that involves thrones.


 
Supporting Actor in a Drama Series
Aaron Paul, Breaking Bad
Jim Carter, Downton Abbey
Peter Dinklage, Game of Thrones
Josh Charles, The Good Wife
Mandy Patinkin, Homeland
Jon Voight, Ray Donovan 


Likewise as previously explained.
Dinklage is the throne game player here and a surer thing there could not-eth be.



Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series
Mayim Bialik, The Big Bang Theory
Julie Bowen, Modern Family
Allison Janney, Mom
Kate Mulgrew, Orange Is the New Black
Kate McKinnon, Saturday Night Live
Anna Chlumsky, Veep 


Bowen is sharp and fun as Mama Dunphy but, again, the show is in "what have you done for me lately" mode, Janney is a world class actress who is breaking my heart by working in a sitcom that makes Cougar Town look like the finest work of Paddy Chayefsky, Orange is the New Black and Mulgrew might be able to ride the wave, but she's still got a little typecasting dust from Star Trek Voyager to overcome, McKinnon is a brilliantly gifted comic impersonator but calling Saturday Night Live a comedy series is like calling The Daily Show a news program and Anna Chlumsky brings enough sass, satire and potty mouth to Veep to more than make us forget My Girl, that big screen block of cheesy schmaltz that probably put MacCauley Culkin off the idea of ever again eating honey.
This leaves Mayim Bialik and her multi layered portrait of Amy Farrah Fowler.
I think this is a unique talent doing a five star job and every bit deserving of this award.
So I predict that Kate Mulgrew will get it because she happens to be on Orange is the New Black.


 
Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series
Andre Braugher, Brooklyn Nine-Nine
Adam Driver, Girls
Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Modern Family
Ty Burrell, Modern Family
Fred Armisen, Portlandia
Tony Hale, Veep 


The academy, every now and then, like to appear to be cutting edge in one category while, at the same time, attempting to atone for blowing it in another. Since Brooklyn Nine Nine was in almost all the articles about surprises and snubs for its failure to receive a series nomination, I go here with Andre Brauger, the evening's designated atonee.


 
Supporting Actress in a Miniseries or Movie
Frances Conroy, American Horror Story: Coven
Kathy Bates, American Horror Story: Coven
Angela Bassett, American Horror Story: Coven
Allison Tolman, Fargo
Ellen Burstyn, Flowers in the Attic
Julia Roberts, The Normal Heart 
 
Supporting Actor in a Miniseries or Movie
Colin Hanks, Fargo
Jim Parsons, The Normal Heart
Joe Mantello, The Normal Heart
Alfred Molina, The Normal Heart
Matt Bomer, The Normal Heart
Martin Freeman, Sherlock: His Last Vow 


I lumped these two categories together because they both fit into my previous dissertation about the whole supporting actor, actress thing.

If pick I must, though, here's the pickees.

Roberts for The Normal Heart because, well, it's The Normal Heart, a poignant movie about the...yada yada.

Colin Hanks for Fargo because, at least one time all night long, the academy is going to want to show how objective they are by giving someone, anyone, some award, any award, in any category that has nominees from The Normal Heart in it to someone, anyone who was nominated for something besides The Normal Heart.

Besides, four of the six nominees are The Normal Heart and, I mean, come on, really?

And Colin Hanks is Tom Hanks son and Tom won an Oscar for Philadelphia, a poignant movie about the very human drama of homosexuality.

Not that there's anything....well, you know.


 
Outstanding Reality Program
Antiques Roadshow
Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives
MythBusters
Alaska: The Last Frontier
Deadliest Catch
Shark Tank
Undercover Boss
Who Do You Think You Are?

Outstanding Documentary or Nonfiction Series
American Masters
COSMOS: A SpaceTime Odyssey
Pioneers Of Television
The World Wars
Years of Living Dangerously
 
Outstanding Informational Series or Special
Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown
Inside The Actors Studio
Through The Wormhole With Morgan Freeman
Vice
The Writers' Room
 
Outstanding Variety Special
AFI Life Achievement Award: A Tribute To Mel Brooks
The Beatles: The Night That Changed America
Best Of Late Night With Jimmy Fallon Primetime Special
Billy Crystal: 700 Sundays
The Kennedy Center Honors
Sarah Silverman: We Are Miracles
 
Outstanding Animated Program
Archer
Bob's Burgers
Futurama
South Park
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Manhattan Project
 
Outstanding Children's Program
Degrassi
Dog With A Blog
Good Luck Charlie
Nick News With Linda Ellerbee - Family Secrets: When Violence Hits Home
One Last Hug: Three Days At Grief Camp
Wynton Marsalis – A YoungArts Masterclass

To paraphrase the classic pop band Chicago..."does anyone really know what any of these shows are?...does anyone really care?...."


 
Guest Actress in a Drama Series
Margo Martindale, The Americans
Diana Rigg, Game of Thrones
Kate Mara, House of Cards
Allison Janney, Masters of Sex
Jane Fonda, The Newsroom
Kate Burton, Scandal 
 
Guest Actor in a Drama Series
Paul Giamatti, Downton Abbey
Dylan Baker, The Good Wife
Reg E Cathey, House of Cards
Robert Morse, Mad Men
Beau Bridges, Masters of Sex
Joe Morton, Scandal 
 
Guest Actress in a Comedy Series
Natasha Lyonne, Orange Is the New Black
Uzo Aduba, Orange Is the New Black
Laverne Cox, Orange Is the New Black
Tina Fey, Saturday Night Live
Melissa McCarthy, Saturday Night Live
Joan Cusack, Shameless 
 
Guest Actor in a Comedy Series
Bob Newhart, The Big Bang Theory
Nathan Lane, Modern Family
Steve Buscemi, Portlandia
Jimmy Fallon, Saturday Night Live
Louis C.K., Saturday Night Live
Gary Cole, Veep 


Personally, I think the whole "guest actor/guest actress" category is a bit of a cheat to the hard working folk who toil day in/day out/season after, hopefully, season on their respective shows.

You drop by, get a script, do the table read, do the blocking, do a rehearsal, enjoy the fine culinary creations at the craft table, tape before a live audience, grab your check and hit the door.

Then, bang, you're nominated for an Emmy.

Reminds me of an old off color card my father used to carry in his wallet.

"I'm not as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was."

Just to say I did finish up the prediction list, let's do a quick run through.

Rigg for Game Of Thrones because it's, say it with me.....Game....of........

Robert Morse for Mad Men because the Emmy voters like to throw at least one bone to an old guy and Morse is older than Beau Bridges.

Uzo Aduba for Orange....not only because it's Orange, but likely because they'll take a shot at getting John Travolta to give out the award and then giggle gleefully as they await whatever mangling of her name takes place.

Bob Newhart for Big Bang. Old guy thing again. But in this case, a really, really talented and obviously sweet old guy who showed those already very talented youngsters who make up the Big Bang cast a thing or two about impeccable comic timing.



As I said at the long ago outset, I am not an "expert" nor am I a "professional" TV analyst.

I'm just a guy who has watched TV and award shows for fifty plus years and has a pretty good handle on how it, and they, work.

Watch August 25 and see.

The Emmys will consist in the largest measure of three ingredients.

The color orange.

Games played with thrones.

And the poignant and very human drama of homosexuality.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

"...Thinking We Need To Re-think The Whole Concept Of People Who Get Paid To Think Up Ways To Tell People What To Think...."

Never been much for "critics".

Which shouldn't be confused with  "being critical" because, Lord knows, I'm always ready, willing and able to step up and offer the loose change left from my having spent 98 of a hundred pennies.

But, "critic", by its current cultural definition, implies both expertise and wisdom, cogent perspective and valid analysis.

A reasonable measure by which to judge whether we should, or should not, like or dislike something.

Pish.

And would you like tosh with that?

Lest you already be loading up the word hypocrite in your retort revolver, allow me to disarm you.

The admittedly hair thin, but, I would offer, key distinction between my readiness to be critical and my disdain for "critics" isn't about presentation, though, as much as it is purpose.

When I'm critical of something, I'm expressing my personal opinion for no more reason than to express it.

"Critics", meanwhile, are, by the current cultural tradition, implying that you should, or should not, buy, watch, listen to, participate in and/or endorse the particular product, program, music, event, et al that they are "critic-ing".

You see, I can't even bring myself to use the word criticize in that context, let alone refrain from employing quotation marks when writing the word "critic".

Because, in nothing more or less than my personal opinion, a "critic" is to criticism as a "pundit" is to political perspective.

An individual who, through bluster, bravado, fate, fortune and/or a world class talent for shoveling copious amounts of horse hockey has managed to convince large numbers of people that they should be paid for their opinions.

Think consultants and subtract graduate school and/or a rolodex of business contacts that could choke the hockey manufacturing horse.

As opposed to those of us who just have an opinion and let it loose, free of charge, every now and then.

In the latter category, at this writing, we find yours truly.

Meanwhile, in the former, the name Brian Lowry suddenly springs to mind.

Lowry is credited as being the "TV columnist" for the online edition of Variety Magazine.

Damn.

There's those pesky quotation marks again.

I suspect it might be because, lacking a mama who didn't raise no fool, I'm probably correctly suspicious that use of the term "TV columnist" is designed to, if only subliminally, put a shiny coat of credibility on the nametag Lowry wears, lest there be any cynics in the crowd, like, for example, myself who would already be turning a deaf ear in the direction of anybody wearing a nametag with the dreaded C word on it.

Either way, in the course of looking up some information about a documentary series that I have been particularly enamored of in recent weeks, I came across the following "review" of said series, written by Mr. Lowry, the, say it with me, "T V c o l u m n i s t".



Tethered to the rather sobering notion that the youngest baby boomers are turning 50 this year, CNN’s “The Sixties” provides a nostalgic if not particularly insightful look at that tumultuous decade, one that inevitably features considerable overlap as it crisscrosses from topic to topic.

Produced by Tom Hanks and properly littered with both experts and participants in its history, the 10-part production is a classy trip, but as constructed (with occasional exceptions), not quite the magical history tour it might have been.

So much went on during this formative period that it’s difficult to choose where to begin. Moreover, an hour devoted to Vietnam can’t help but bleed into others subtitled “The British Invasion” and “Sex, Drugs, and Rock ’N’ Roll.”

Perhaps appropriately, “The Sixties” opens with “Television Comes of Age,” charting the advancement of the medium’s influence, starting with the Kennedy-Nixon debates, and proceeding through JFK’s assassination (“the moment television journalism comes of age,” says Dan Rather), as well as groundbreaking programs like “Star Trek,” “The Smothers Bros. Comedy Hour” and “Laugh-In.”

Throughout, there are fascinating clips, quotes and tidbits, like a young Ralph Nader saying TV is “the medium that’s either going to save America or send it down in demise,” or a young Mick Jagger being asked — two years into his stardom — how long he thinks he and the Rolling Stones can continue to perform. During the segment devoted to Vietnam, there’s also chilling audio of President Johnson confiding to aides regarding the war, “I don’t think it’s worth fighting, and I don’t think we can get out.”

Among the handful of segments previewed, the best is clearly a two-hour installment (the other extended chapter addresses the Civil Rights movement) that chronicles the Kennedy assassination and its aftermath, including the skepticism that followed the Warren Commission Report and attempts in its wake to prove a conspiracy.

For all that, what’s largely missing from “The Sixties,” despite its meticulous detail in capturing these memorable events, is how much they resonate to this day, and the oversized influence that decade continues to wield over modern-day culture. Indeed, “Mad Men” has drawn much of its relevance from the desire to keep re-litigating the ’60s politically, and addressing at least some of that within the documentary would only have made it richer and more contextual.

Instead, “The Sixties” primarily plays like an opportunity for those who actually experienced the changeover from black-and-white TV to living color to re-experience that glow, without necessarily bridging the gap for a younger generation weaned on having access to all that entertainment and more in its pocket.

At its best “The Sixties” is admirable, but to riff on an old promotional slogan, it isn’t all that it could be: Yes, it’s an exercise that might capture the magic of landing on the moon, but doesn’t take the extra step that would send viewers over it.


Okay, first, credit where due.

I'm a fan of clever writing style.

And, all of his slant on the series notwithstanding, Mr. Lowry did wrap it all up nicely with that fun connecting/contrasting of the decade concluding drama of the 1969 landing on the moon with the failure, in his eyes, of the series itself to "send viewers over it".

Clap, clap, Brian.

Ralph Kramden couldn't have sent Alice lunar bound with any more wit than that.

Meanwhile, back at the "review".

I've watched the first five installments of the series.....


Television Comes Of Age...the advent of the television era...

The World On The Brink....the story of the Cuban missile crisis...

The Assassination Of President Kennedy.

The War In Vietnam.

A Long March To Freedom...the civil rights movement...


From the get go, I looked forward to these shows and this series in general, primarily because, going in, I knew that they were produced by Tom Hanks, Gary Goetzman and Mark Herzog.

Herzog, the producer of the award winning "Gettysburg".

Goetzman, the producer of the remarkable "John Adams" for HBO.

Hanks, of course, the Oscar winning actor, but the accomplished producer of, among other projects, the superior HBO mini-series portraying the American space program from its primitive beginnings, culminating in the aforementioned landing of men on the moon in 1969, "From The Earth To The Moon".

All of this classy stuff from some producers who obviously have more than just a little game.

At this writing, the first five episodes of "The Sixties" have more than met my expectations.

In fact, in the case of both the JFK and civil rights installments, I was impressed enough to start composing thoughts to share my enthusiasm about them, and the series in general, on my Facebook page which then evolved into an idea for a whole essay for this blog site which had me researching a fact or two which led me to.....

the "review" written by Mr. Lowry.

Which will bring us back to do-re-me-so, here we are.

At this point, a point need be made.

I'm not faulting Brian Lowry personally or, for that matter, his opinion.

He's entitled to it.

The only problem that I have with his sharing here is the essentially the same problem I always have when it comes to "critics".

Let's call it the "formees"

And that Lowry leaves them out.

With the assistance of a little copying and cutting and pasting, allow me.



Tethered to the rather sobering notion that the youngest baby boomers are turning 50 this year, CNN’s “The Sixties” provides a nostalgic if, FOR ME, not particularly insightful look at that tumultuous decade, one that inevitably features considerable overlap as it crisscrosses from topic to topic.

Produced by Tom Hanks and properly littered with both experts and participants in its history, the 10-part production is a classy trip, but as constructed (with occasional exceptions), not, FOR ME, quite the magical history tour it might have been.

So much went on during this formative period that it’s difficult, FOR ME, to choose where to begin. Moreover, an hour devoted to Vietnam can’t help but bleed into others subtitled “The British Invasion” and “Sex, Drugs, and Rock ’N’ Roll.”

Perhaps appropriately, “The Sixties” opens with “Television Comes of Age,” charting the advancement of the medium’s influence, starting with the Kennedy-Nixon debates, and proceeding through JFK’s assassination (“the moment television journalism comes of age,” says Dan Rather), as well as groundbreaking programs like “Star Trek,” “The Smothers Bros. Comedy Hour” and “Laugh-In.”

Throughout, there are fascinating clips, quotes and tidbits, like a young Ralph Nader saying TV is “the medium that’s either going to save America or send it down in demise,” or a young Mick Jagger being asked — two years into his stardom — how long he thinks he and the Rolling Stones can continue to perform. During the segment devoted to Vietnam, there’s also chilling audio of President Johnson confiding to aides regarding the war, “I don’t think it’s worth fighting, and I don’t think we can get out.”

Among the handful of segments previewed, the best, FOR ME,  is clearly a two-hour installment (the other extended chapter addresses the Civil Rights movement) that chronicles the Kennedy assassination and its aftermath, including the skepticism that followed the Warren Commission Report and attempts in its wake to prove a conspiracy.

For all that, what’s largely missing, FOR ME, from “The Sixties,” despite its meticulous detail in capturing these memorable events, is how much they resonate to this day, and the oversized influence that decade continues to wield over modern-day culture. Indeed, “Mad Men” has drawn much of its relevance from the desire to keep re-litigating the ’60s politically, and addressing at least some of that within the documentary would only have made it richer and more contextual FOR ME.

Instead, “The Sixties” primarily plays, FOR ME, like an opportunity for those who actually experienced the changeover from black-and-white TV to living color to re-experience that glow, without necessarily bridging the gap for a younger generation weaned on having access to all that entertainment and more in its pocket.

At its best “The Sixties” is, FOR ME, admirable, but to riff on an old promotional slogan, it isn’t all that it could be FOR ME: Yes, it’s an exercise that might capture the magic of landing on the moon, but doesn’t take the extra step, FOR ME, that would send viewers over it.


Again, nothing personal there, Brian.

I have this same little itch of an issue every time I sit down with the wife to enjoy an episode of the cooking competition show, "Chopped".

If you haven't seen it, in a nutshell, four chefs compete in three elimination rounds judged by three, wait for it, "experts" (read: chefs who, as opposed to the talented but basically unknown competitors, have a certain name, ergo celebrity value) who rate their food on creativity, presentation and, oh, yes, flavor.

My wife is a lovely person.

With an infinite amount of patience.

As you might imagine.

Not the least of which is demonstrated as, with each "critique" by the three judge chefs of the respective competing chefs, I do a little game of "interjection" into their comments.

For example....

Judge Chef offers: "I love what you did with the moose meat, Competing Chef Fred, it had nary a hint of antlers which, as we all know, just like shell left in the crab bisque, can be a real buzzkill during pre-main course chit chat, but the maple flavored WD-40 sauce lacked a certain zing....."

It's usually about that time I armchair add a resounding "FOR ME!" to the analysis.

At which point my wife smiles softly, quietly continuing to multi task the viewing of the competition with conquering the next level of Candy Crush, all the while indulging me my aggressive asterisking of the cook fest.

I wonder if Brian Lowry's wife ever yells out "FOR ME!" when reading her husband's reviews.

Probably not.

Most likely because Brian's totally subjective assessment of whatever it is he happens to be assessing at any given time probably, at least, pays for the data plan on that smartphone that Mrs. L uses to conquer the next level of Candy Crush.

Whereas my two cents creates a cash flow of less than two cents.

At the same time, I'm not expecting you to like or dislike, even watch or not watch, what I think to be a remarkable documentary simply on the basis of you reading here that I think The Sixties, produced by Tom Hanks, Gary Goetzman and Mark Herzog is a remarkable documentary.

Because, after all, we all, all of us, are entitled to our own opinion.

Quote, unquote.

"...We Refer You To The Jimmy Castor Bunch And Their Lyric Line..."Gotta Find A Woman...Gotta Find A Woman....Gotta Find A Woman....."

We ain't exactly Reader's Digest around here.

 

But, we do recognize the merits and benefits of increasing our word power.

 

Ergo...

 

par·a·dox

noun

noun: paradox; plural noun: paradoxes

1. a statement or proposition that, despite sound (or apparently sound) reasoning from acceptable premises, leads to a conclusion that seems senseless, logically unacceptable, or self-contradictory.

 

Admittedly, when seeking insightful and penetrating perspective on the current state of country music, the first research source that comes to mind is, generally, not People Magazine.

 

After all, there's the pre-conception that very little insight or penetration is going to be found in a publication offering up cover stories, complete with glossy photos, about Princess Kate's supposed baby bump.

 

But, son of a gun (or sum bitch, as traditional Tennessee expression would offer), right there, in plain sight, is a report on the said current state and its now not only obvious but blatantly obvious lack of acknowledgement of the attempted contributions of the estrogen side of 16th Avenue South.

 

 

 

Spend any time at all listening to country radio these days and the gender gap becomes clear. With the occasional exception of Miranda or Carrie, you'll be hard pressed to find a female voice on the air – or a song about something other than drinking on a dirt road/in a field/on the beach/in a truck.

And that gap on country airwaves seemed all the more vast after listening in at Keith Urban's All 4 the Hall benefit for the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum last week. From hard-rocking Brantley Gilbert to Reba McEntire's traditional twang; from Urban's pop stylings to Mary Chapin Carpenter's Americana vibe; from Underwood's pipes to Kacey Musgraves's storytelling, the lineup was a reminder of how big a tent country music can be.

In that spirit, here's our call to country radio's gatekeepers: Keep that tent open wide! It's not just about getting more women's voices out there (though we should), it's about remembering how good the genre can be when it tells the many, nuanced stories of our lives rather than reducing everything to the bottom of a Dixie cup.

Here are six artists we want to hear more of: 

Kacey Musgraves Yes, she's been hyped – and deservedly so. But despite the Texan's meticulously crafted songs like "Merry Go 'Round" and "Follow Your Arrow" – and a sound that can only come from a honky-tonk-loving heart – country radio continues to look the other way.
Check Out: "It Is What It Is," a beautiful shrug of a song (co-written by Brandy Clark and Luke Laird) about resignation in a doomed relationship

 

 

 

 

Ashley Monroe Like Musgraves, she had one of last year's best releases with her Vince Gill-produced Like a Rose, but even with her pal Miranda Lambert singing praises and some Pistol Annies cred (she and Lambert form two-thirds of the group), Monroe still hasn't found a place on radio as a solo artist. It's our loss – just listen to her album's title song or the wicked humor of "Weed Instead of Roses."
Check Out: "Two Weeks Late," heavy on the pedal steel, it takes on "woe-is-me" with a wink.




Brandy Clark Already a hit-maker for other artists – she co-wrote Miranda Lambert's "Mama's Broken Heart" (with Musgraves and Shane McAnally) and The Band Perry's "Better Dig Two" – Clark saved some of her best work for last year's debut, 12 Stories. Lyrically witty (have a listen to her single "Stripes"), Clark has a voice that's rounded and rich. Her songs are ready-made for country radio, but you won't find her voice there.
Check Out: "Hold My Hand, " a vulnerable ballad about that moment when you meet your partner's former lover.






The three other artists mentioned in the People article can be found at the magazine website.

But these three examples more than illustrate the point, not to mention the aforementioned word with which we are increasing our word power today.

Clearly, any moron can tell that these three ladies, at the very least, are writing and singing the kind of stuff that deserves an audience, the kind of audience that is not only found online and/or in the Opry House seats, but also on the other side of the microphone from what's left of the live voices narrating your periodic journey through country music via your FM of choice.

Yet, turn on that chosen FM at any time day or night and the odds are staggeringly in your favor that what you will hear is yet another guy singing yet another song about yet another truck driving down yet another dirt road either coming from or heading too yet another party where there will be yet another keg of beer to ingest while enjoying the sensual visual delights of yet another glop, drop or stream of honey traversing the curvature of yet another woman's shapely ass.

And although you can't see what you're hearing while you hear it, the odds are equally in your favor that said guy singing said song will be attired in yet another t shirt, not necessarily color coordinated with his ball, train or hunting cap, most likely worn in a manner that would allow said singer to rush from his stage show to his off work time recreation of playing catcher on his favorite pick up team.

Put less verbosely, backwards.

Meanwhile, writers and singers and singer/writers like Musgraves and Monroe and Clark and their fellow non-fellas go on writing their songs, singing their songs, recording their songs while receiving rave reviews, clear and obvious live fan appreciation and zip zero nada in the way of radio airplay.

Well, as I, and many others, have written before as we traveled down this same dirt road, the fact is that we've traveled down this dirt road before.

And there really is nothing new to be said on the matter.

Because, the fact is that what we got here is not so much the ladies failure to communicate.

What we got here....is a dad gum mystery.

A mystery rooted in this unmistakable, undeniable, irrefutable truth.

Somebody is buying all that crap in a backwards ball cap.

And by somebody, I mean a lot of somebodies.

Trust me when I tell you that no deranged individual is sitting in any office of any or all radio station general managers, holding a gun (or guns, that is the right of all Americans, you know) to their head and threatening to remove said head from shoulders unless said station continues to play the dirt road/truck/party/honey dripped on ass playlist, the whole playlist and nothing but the playlist or so help them, God.

There is no need for that.

Because somebody is listening devotedly, even fanatically, to all that crap in a backwards ball cap.

And by somebody, I mean a lot of somebodies.

Therein lies the mystery.

If you read any comment section of any web article having to do with contemporary country music or if you should witness, even participate, in an actual conversation having to do with contemporary country music, you will be hard pressed to find anybody who will admit to liking all that crap in a backwards ball cap.

And by anybody, I mean everybody.

But somebody is buying it.

And by somebody......

Which brings us back to our good intentions to increase our word power.

No one seems willing to admit to liking it, everyone seems willing to complain about it, but the crap in the cap not only rules the radio roost, it's a smack down damn retro return to those glorious yesteryears of clubs that allowed men, all men and only men, so help them, God.

And the women were not only required, but expected, to stay home, stay quiet and/or stay pregnant.

While at the same time, writers and singers and singer/writers like Musgraves and Monroe and Clark and their fellow non-fellas go on writing their songs, singing their songs, recording their songs and receiving rave reviews, clear and obvious live fan appreciation.

But zip, zero, nada in the way of radio airplay.

It's an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, inside a box.

Or, at the very least...say it with me......

...a paradox.

For what it's worth, there is precedent for this kind of thing.

This kind of thing being defined as something that anyone who is asked expresses disdain, even contempt, for yet continues to flourish and succeed because somebody is buying it.

And by somebody, I mean a lot of somebodies.

Not just a little ironically, as it turns out, this particular something is not only female friendly, but as over loaded with estrogen as the country music charts are soaked with testosterone.

Only, in this case, crap would probably be spelled with a K.

People can't stand em, don't want em' and wish that they would just go away.

Country crap in a cap.

Keeping up with Kardashians.

Six of one.

But somebody is buying it.

And by somebody......

Sum bitch.

"...So, A Little Blacktop Every Now and Then Would Kill Ya?...."

Hey, baby, jump in the truck.

And let's take a ride down a familiar ol' dirt road.

With Collin Raye.



[Collin Raye, is an American country music singer. He made his solo debut in 1991 with the album All I Can Be, which was the first of four consecutive albums released by Raye to achieve platinum certification in the United States for sales of one million copies each.

Between 1991 and 2007, Raye charted 30 singles on the U.S. country charts;  Four of Raye's singles have reached Number One on the Billboard country music charts: 1992's "Love, Me" and "In This Life", 1994's "My Kind of Girl", and 1998's "I Can Still Feel You" ]



As a platinum-selling country music artist and, more importantly, a lifelong fan of the genre, I’d like to send out this heartfelt plea to the gatekeepers of the industry:

Enough already. 

 

I’d like to think that I am expressing what nearly every artist, musician and songwriter (with perhaps a few exceptions) is thinking when I contend that the Bro’ Country phenomenon must cease.

It has had its run for better or worse and it’s time for Nashville to get back to producing, and more importantly promoting, good singers singing real songs. It’s time for country music to find its identity again before it is lost forever.

I know, I run the risk of being labeled as a “has-been, carrying sour grapes” by speaking out.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I had my run from 1991 until 2002 and I’m quite thankful for that. 

I have more hits than I can possibly play in a single concert. I had my day and I do not begrudge anyone having theirs. 

But as someone who grew up loving and being forever affected by the true greats of country music, I simply have to offer up this plea to the Nashville country music industry to reclaim the identity and poetic greatness that once was our format. The well-written poetic word of the country song has disappeared. 

There appears to be not even the slightest attempt to “say” anything other than to repeat the tired, overused mantra of redneck party boy in his truck, partying in said truck, hoping to get lucky in the cab of said truck, and his greatest possible achievement in life is to continue to be physically and emotionally attached to the aforementioned truck as all things in life should and must take place in his, you guessed it...truck.

I didn’t mind the first two or three hundred versions of these gems but I think we can all agree by now that everything’s been said about a redneck and his truck, that can possibly be said. It is time to move on to the next subject. Any subject, anything at all. 

Willie Nelson once wrote in his early song, "Shotgun Willie," that “you can’t make a record if you ain’t got nothing to say.” Apparently, that’s not the case anymore. 

Disposable, forgettable music has been the order of the day for quite a while now and it’s time for that to stop. 

Our beautiful, time-honored genre, has devolved from lines like, “I’d trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday ... holding Bobby’s body next to mine,” and “a canvas covered cabin, in a crowded labor camp stand out in this memory I revive. Cause my Daddy raised a family there with two hard working hands….and tried to feed my Momma’s hungry eyes,” down to “Can I get a Yee Haw?”

And the aforementioned Truck! “Come on slide them jeans on up in my truck! Let’s get down and dirty in muh truck, doggone it I just get off riding in muh truck, I love ya honey, but not as much as muh truck!” Oh and we can’t leave out the beautiful prose about partying in a field or pasture. 

Now I’m not saying all songs should be somber ballads or about heavy, profound emotional subject matter. On the contrary, great fun, rockin’, party songs, describing the lifestyle of blue collar country folk have always been a staple of the genre. But compare for a minute the poetic, “middle American Shakespeare” infused lyrical prose of classics like Hank Williams’ “Jambalaya” or Hank Jr’s “All My Rowdy friends are coming over tonight” or Garth Brooks’ “I’ve got friends in Low Places” or his “Ain’t going down till the sun comes up” to the likes of contemporary offerings like “That’s My Kinda Night,” or any of the other 300 plus songs from recent years that say the exact same thing in pretty much the exact same way. It’s like comparing a Rolls Royce to a ten speed. 

Finally, I’m not pointing a finger at the artists and especially not the songwriters. They’re simply doing what they have to do to make a living. 

It’s the major label execs, the movers and shakers, the folks who control what is shoved down radio’s throat, that I am calling out. They have the power and ability to make a commitment to make records that keep the legacy of country music alive, and reclaim a great genre’s identity. 

Who knows? Some of these Bro’ Country guys could actually be awesome singers with potential to be great artists! But we‘ll never know, as long as they’re encouraged by the industry to continue being redneck flavors of the day. 

It’s not fair to them or to anyone. 

Thankfully there are a handful of artists out there currently who are trying to keep integrity in the mainstream. Miranda Lambert is one of them. There are a few others but not nearly enough to rescue the terminally ill format. 

It must start with the gatekeepers. The true fans of country music deserve nothing less.

The artists of my era knew we weren’t as cool or great as the true greats of the past but we did try to hold to a standard that they had set, which built and sustained the Nashville industry and truly made country music an American art form. It needs to be that way once again. 

God Bless Hank Williams. God Bless George Jones.

We've been down this dirt road before.

 

And the debate between the "thens" and "nows" regarding the condition of contemporary country music flourishes like a well tended field blessed with an abundance of rain.....

 

...that makes corn that makes whiskey that makes......

 

Well, you know....

 

Couple of thoughts.

 

First, the debate is all very engaging, entertaining, even energizing if you like a spirited conversation with someone simply for the sake of a spirited conversation.

 

If, on the other hand, you're hoping, even looking, for a solution or resolution of some kind....

 

...well, you're crankin up the wrong truck, honey.

 

Ain't gonna happen.

 

Buying, for the moment, Collin Raye's gracious, albeit arguable, premise that it's the evil "suits" and not the "singers/songwriters" who are solely responsible for the decline and possible fall of the down home empire, let's not kid ourselves.

 

Country music is a business, baby.

 

And businesses are in business to make profits, baby.

 

And contemporary country music might be considered "disposable and forgettable", but disposable and forgettable are selling like hotcakes.

 

Actually, Pancake Pantry pancakes, but only real Nashvillians can crack that code.

 

And if, God forbid, somebody in Music City were to record, for laughs or by accident, a song about a family of beer drinkin', honky tonk hangin', truck drivin' pygmies, played and sung in Swahili, using accordions, zithers, aerosol air horns, screaming hyenas and sprinkled percussively with a smattering of armpit farts and such song were to be accidentally released to the public and downloaded a couple of million times, then, bet the farm at the end of the ol' dirt road, baby, the next day the writers rooms and studios of Music Row would be an anthill of activity as writers, producers, musicians and singers worked long, hard hours coming up with their own version of a song about a family of beer drinkin', honky tonk hangin', truck drivin' pygmies, played and sung in Swahili, using accordions, zithers, aerosol air horns, screaming hyenas and sprinkled percussively with a smattering of armpit farts.

 

Again, none of this is breaking news.

 

And the debate, just like the miles and miles and miles of dirt road, will go on and on and on and on....

 

...forever.....or.....

 

...right up to the nano second that  a song about a family of beer drinkin', honky tonk hangin', truck drivin' pygmies, played and sung in Swahili, using accordions, zithers, aerosol air horns, screaming hyenas and sprinkled percussively with a smattering of armpit farts is accidentally released to the public and downloaded a couple of million times, then, bet the farm at the end of the ol' dirt road, baby, the next day the writers rooms and studios of Music Row would be an anthill of activity as writers, producers, musicians and singers worked long, hard hours coming up with their own version of a song about a family of beer drinkin', honky tonk hangin', truck drivin' pygmies, played and sung in Swahili, using accordions, zithers, aerosol air horns, screaming hyenas and sprinkled percussively with a smattering of armpit farts.

 

So, the debate is a waste of time.

 

Cause what sells is what will continue to be produced.

 

And if an occasional classy, timeless work of artistic integrity happen to inadvertently come off the assembly line, then they'll be gravy.

 

The kind of gravy you can only find on Mama's table Sunday after church in the house at the end of the ol' dirt road.

 

Don't count on it, though.

 

Because integrity, at least in the artistic sense, is like filet mignon.

 

Everybody agrees on its status as an exquisite meal offering.

 

But the line at the finer steak houses of the world ain't got nothin on the drive thru at Mickey D's.

 

Again, nothing new here.

 

Here's a thing, though.

 

The, for the most part, unspoken, even unrealized, result of the continued, even enthusiastically engaged in, dumbing down of country music.

 

Perpetuation.

 

Perpetuation that comes in the form of keeping alive and well, through their words and music, the stereotype that people who live, laugh, love and die in the southern states of the United States are , to a man, woman and child,uneducated, unsophisticated, beer swillin', truck drivin', ass slappin', tractor lovin', bumpkins who wouldn't know a Hemingway from a Hemi, a Picasso from a velvet Elvis, a John Steinbeck from a John Deere, an F-16 from an F-150, the Bard of Avon from a badonkadonk in Amarillo or knight to king three from a queen of the silver dollar.

 

Country folk, by their nature, tend to keep things simple.

 

Simple, basic values.

 

Simple basic beliefs.

 

So, here are two simple things.

 

Stupid is as stupid does.

 

And stupid is as stupid sings.

 

People who live, laugh, love and die in the Southern states of the United States are, as a whole, not automatically or necessarily uneducated and/or unsophisticated.

 

Just as black people are, as a whole, not automatically or necessarily, living a life primarily focused on bling, bitches and cheerfully addressing each other as "niggah".

 

Despite what conclusions can be drawn given the tone and texture of current hip hop music.

 

But just as that hip hop perpetuates that cultural conclusion, so, too, does the continued proliferation of beer drinkin', truck drivin' party animals in country music perpetuate the conclusion that all Southerners are beer drinkin, truck drivin' party animals.

 

Look, nobody begrudges anybody a little down home fun.

 

Yee haw is a perfectly acceptable, even ingratiating, form of greeting.

 

But, seriously, greedy, tunnel visioned label execs (and the singers/songwriters who allow themselves to be pimped), do you really think that an occasional lyrical ride in the Camry down a nice paved street to an intimate bistro for a glass of Chablis set to a memorable melody would cause the wheels to come off the profit wagon?

 

Or F-150, as the case may be?

 

Fifty years ago, they took Amos and Andy off television because of accusations of racial stereotyping, ridiculing caricaturing and perpetuation of the perception that blacks were shiftless, aimless, uneducated and unsophisticated.

 

Meanwhile, on any country music station across the country, feel free to tune in at any time, day or night to hear perpetuation of the stereotype that people who live, laugh, love and die in the southern states of the United States are , to a man, woman and child,uneducated, unsophisticated, beer swillin', truck drivin', ass slappin', tractor lovin', bumpkins who wouldn't know a Hemingway from a Hemi, a Picasso from a velvet Elvis, a John Steinbeck from a John Deere, an F-16 from an F-150, the Bard of Avon from a badonkadonk in Amarillo or knight to king three from a queen of the silver dollar.

 

You'd think somebody in Nashville would have made the connection by now.

 

Must be hard to see things clearly.

 

What with all them trucks kickin' up all that dirt.

 

 

 

 

 

"...Untweeting The Tweet Is Like Unringing The Bell...."

What we've got here is failure to communicate.

Somebody needs to tell these kids which talent is supposed to be front and center.

I'll be more than happy to help.

Coming up.



After last Thursday's controversial "American Idol" results show, Alex Preston and Jena Irene might have had reason to worry about a fan backlash. (They cast the two dissenting votes in an "Idol Twist" round that resulted in fellow contestant Sam Woolf getting sent home.) But now it's another top four finalist, Caleb Johnson, who's catching flak, after one of his shocking post-show interviews has gone viral.

Speaking to After Buzz TV last week about his opinion of social media, Caleb expressed some of his lingering resentment over having to perform the fan-requested Aerosmith ballad "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" — a song he admitted he hates, and arguably his weakest performance of the season — by blasting his followers who supposedly regularly spam his Twitter feed with unwelcome song suggestions.

To dis his superfans (i.e., the people most likely to SuperVote for him) was foolish enough. But his politically incorrect wording made the situation much, much worse.

"[Twitter] gives access to a bunch of retards to talk to me," Caleb said, astonishingly. "I don't really enjoy having to see somebody telling me what song I have to sing. I think at this point of the competition, I can pick and choose my own songs and represent me. I don't need 10,000 people saying, 'You should sing this, you should sing that. Listen to me!' Fortunately, guys, I'm going to listen to myself, whether you like it or not."

Obviously, the use of the dreaded "R-word" under any circumstances would have been offensive and unacceptable. But the fact that Caleb seemed to be directing this slur at engaged, well-meaning fans (as opposed to "haters") was simply baffling… and it was possible career suicide, with the finale and a record contract only three weeks away.

While Caleb's aforementioned Aerosmith cover last Wednesday had been underwhelming, he'd easily rebounded with a tour de force rendition of Whitesnake's "Still of the Night" (ironically, also a fan request) that was actually one of the greatest performances of Season 13. (It even garnered kudos from Whitesnake frontman David Coverdale — on Twitter!) But Caleb squandered much of that goodwill with his thoughtless remark. Many fans, possibly former fans, took to — wait for it — Twitter to vent their anger and disappointment over what Caleb had said.

  

On Saturday afternoon, Caleb addressed this controversy on his Facebook page (but not on Twitter), posting:

"For the record that juvenile comment I made in the interview was not directed towards my fans but to the wackos that send hundreds of hate messages a day to me! You guys are amazing and I cannot thank you enough for your support. Sorry if it offended anybody it was the wrong choice of words. Also I greatly appreciate it when you guys give me song suggestions but it gets really overwhelming at the volume it comes in so please understand ! Rock on !:)"

Caleb's apology oddly didn't quite vibe with what he'd originally complained about to After Buzz TV (he hadn't mentioned anything about "hate messages," only song requests). Nor did he seem to demonstrate a true understanding of the hurtfulness of his words. Whether his Facebook statement was enough to repair any damage done to his reputation and help him maintain his frontrunner status heading into next week's top four show, we will soon find out.

But if Caleb does stay on the show in the coming weeks, it might be a good idea for him to re-enroll in the media training class that was offered at Randy Jackson's "Idol" workshop.

In the interest of staying on point and/or topic, I'll spare you my familiar diatribe about these shows cheapening the art of singing and/or music in general by insisting on turning them into the live performance equivalent of a three legged race at the company picnic.

Although these shows cheapen the art of singing and/or music in general by insisting on turning them into the live performance equivalent of a three legged race at the company picnic.

Meanwhile, there's a skill/talent being increasingly utilized in these situations that isn't getting the slightest bit of attention, let alone its due.

A skill/talent that should actually come with its own sound effect.

The sound of beeping.

More and more, and more often, people in the public line of sight (or "limelight" as your pre-smartphone, pre-flat screen older than dirt parents and/or grandparents used to call it) seem to find it a necessary, even essential, part of their public presentation to mouth off in ways unbecoming a civilized individual, let alone an officer on matters which have little, if anything, to do with their ability, or lack, to keep our attention for four minutes, give or take, with their God given gifts of song.

It should come as no real surprise that the title of that Dixie Chicks documentary has popped to mind.

Shut up and sing.

Can't, in fairness,though, really blame the celebrities, per se' as the fault, dear Brutuses, lies not in our stars, but in the advent of social media and, literally, instant communication allowing those stars to be heard and/or seen, literally, instantly, regardless of how profound, or not, insightful, or not, keen eyed, or not, ill timed, inappropriate and/or moronic.

Or not.

But, mostly, ill timed, inappropriate and/or moronic.

Throw into the salacious soup equal measures of the ravenous hunger and/or thirst people have for sensational, snarky, snotty, back biting, bitch slapping and the ready, willing and ableness of all forms of media to feed that ravenous hunger and/or thirst from a digital diner open twenty four/seven with a generosity of portions that makes the local Thanksgiving feast handout at the Salvation Army headquarters look like a scene from "Oliver" and what you have is grand guignol gossip on a global scale.

Caleb Johnson isn't, of course, even remotely close to the first "celebrity" to place a stylish item of footwear firmly in his potentially profitable pie hole.

And while it seems logical to assume that he never intended his "career" to head that way, he now finds himself eligible for inclusion on a list of "should have been seen and not heard-ers" that boasts such infamous mouthpieces as Alec Baldwin, Mel Gibson, Reese Witherspoon, Donald Sterling.....

....oh, and land sakes alive, let us not forget Paula Deen.

Ya'll.

Again, in fairness, most of the aforementioned talky transgressors committed their conversational hari-kiri in the context of private situations,

If being fully exposed to both video and audio recorders can reasonably defined as private situations.

Mr. Wants To Be The American Idol But Apparently Not Badly Enough To Keep His Mouth Shut Unless He's Warbling Whitesnake, on the other hand, let his fingers to the walking and talking without any more provocation that being asked an innocuous question about social media in one of dozens of interviews the kid has already given.

A softball he could have easily parked over the fence that he turned into a mucky mess that made Pine Tar Pineda look like a poster boy for superior sportsmanship.

See, here's the thing.

And the bottom line.

Whoever is helping this kid to attempt to build a singing career is outrageously remiss in teaching him one of the key fundamentals in any public relations campaign.

A little something that doctors, actually, learn from day one of med school.

First...do no harm.

Then, there's that thing about goals and focus and, more importantly, keeping eyes on the prize.

American Idol is a singing competition.

And those who compete are supposed to be competing as singers.

It's not an episode of Crossfire or The Five or The O'Reilly Factor.

Most people don't really care what Caleb Johnson thinks about anything.

Any more than they are anxious to hear Bill O'Reilly warble Whitesnake.

So, just in case no one has clued you, there, young Idol aspirant, which based on the most current empirical evidence, the fair assumption is that no one has......

The talent with which you are trying to impress people is your ability to sing.

Not your ability to walk things back when you mouth off.

Oh, and not for nothin', but the ability to walk things back is totally way past yesterday's news anyway.

Audiences were thrilled beyond measure the first time it happened.

March 25, 1983.

Motown 25th Anniversary Special.

Michael Jackson.

Moonwalk.

So, Caleb, dude, seriously, with all due respect there, buddy.

Shut up and sing.

"...Pull Up To The Second Window....And May The Force Be With You....."

Just this past week.....

....in a galaxy not so far, far away......

Editor's note: Lewis Beale writes about culture and film for the Los Angeles Times, Newsday and other publications.The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of the author.

(CNN) -- Now that the cast of the seventh "Star Wars" movie has been announced, you can imagine the anticipation among the millions of fans of the film franchise. And why not? The six "Star Wars" films have been enormous successes: they have grossed over $2 billion domestically at the box office, spawned scores of books, comic books and merchandise (how many kids have their own light saber?) and made household names of characters like Darth Vader, Han Solo and Luke Skywalker.

They've also been the worst thing ever for the science fiction genre.

I say this as someone who has been a devoted sci-fi reader since childhood. I was so blown away by the first "Star Wars" film when I saw it in 1977, I went back two more times the same week to wallow in its space age fantasy. But here's the thing: George Lucas' creation, basically a blown-up Flash Gordon adventure with better special effects, has left all too many people thinking science fiction is some computer graphics-laden space opera/western filled with shootouts, territorial disputes, evil patriarchs and trusty mounts (like the Millennium Falcon).

"Star Wars" has corrupted people's notion of a literary genre full of ideas, turning it into a Saturday afternoon serial. And that's more than a shame -- it's an obscenity.

Science fiction is in fact one of the most creative literary genres around. The best of sci-fi is filled with meditations on what's "out there," what makes us human, how technology is used and how it is changing us. It takes up issues of race, sexuality and quite literally everything else under the sun. It is essentially about ideas, not action, and that's the problem, as far as Hollywood is concerned.

There are, for example, no light sabers, spaceships or Death Stars in the 1979 novel "Kindred," by Octavia Butler, who won the Hugo and Nebula, sci-fi's top awards, and was also awarded a MacArthur Foundation "Genius" Grant.

Butler's main themes are race and sex, and in "Kindred" she wrote about a modern black woman who travels back in time to the antebellum South, where she is enslaved. The novel is regularly taught in classrooms and has made at least one list of "Great Books By Women."

But Hollywood has yet to adapt it for the screen. Maybe if the lead character had a Wookie by her side...

Many of the great works of sci-fi have not been made into films -- The Foundation novels of Isaac Asimov, Joe Haldeman's "The Forever War," William Gibson's "Neuromancer," among others -- partially because they are too smart, too dense and too thoughtful.

Sure, some classics have made the transition, but the track record is spotty: David Lynch's "Dune" was a disaster, for example, and the recent "Ender's Game" was a mixed bag that was not successful at the box office. Francois Truffaut's "Fahrenheit 451," although stylish and intellectual, was a bit too frigid for a mass audience.

Which means that Hollywood studios, not known for thinking outside the box, opt for the "Star Wars" template -- lots of whiz bang, plenty of quirky alien characters, CGI to the max, plenty of explosions and little thought of any kind.

To be sure, the first "Star Wars" was a breath of fresh air, a fun flick for sci-fi geeks. But the series quickly ossified, a victim of its own success. Only two of the films -- "Star Wars" and "The Empire Strikes Back" -- show any originality. The rest tread water, give the hardcore fans the same old, same old. I mean, how many light sabre duels can you sit through before you're bored out of your skull? 

How many outer space dogfights? How many seemingly profound Yoda-esque thoughts?

Me, I'm giving up on the whole thing. I don't care that J.J. Abrams, a director with talent, is helming the new flick. He's hemmed in by audience expectations -- like casting the stars of the original in this film -- and recycling stale material. I'll pass.

Instead, I'll queue up "The Matrix," and enjoy the most original sci-fi movie of the past 25 years. I recommend "Star Wars" fans do the same. They need to be reminded what real creativity is all about.

Couple of immediate impressions found their way into my nebula.

First, Lewis Beale ain't gonna win no new readers, fans and/or friends from the faithful followers of George Lucas pool with his little essay of intended enlightenment.

Any put down, or perceived putdown, of the world of Star Wars is, to the aforementioned faithful followers, treason on a "calling for the registration of all hand guns" scale.

Something along the lines of preferring duck a l'orange to Duck Dynasty.

What is ya? Some kind of damn Commie or sumthin'?

Next, in my humble o, Beale makes a reasonable, measured and balanced case for his point of view, with only a cayenne pepper pinch of snark added to the presentation.

The kind of presentation that would be considered reasonable, measured and balanced by your average well educated, literate, erudite individual.

Which circle back, both neatly and ironically, to the primary fault in his presentation.

A fault on a scale just a little shy of San Andreas.

More on that in a sec.

Or light year.

EHHH! (sound of buzzer)

That was a pop quiz and only those who would find Beale's points palatable likely knew that light year is a measurement of distance and not a measurement of time.

Meanwhile, back at Degobah....

"Legitimate" science fiction (and, let's be honest, Beale leavens the loaf of lament with just enough self deprecating humor to avoid being tarred with the snob brush but underneath it all, I think we all know that snob is the correct sobriquet and Beale considers Star Wars to be legitimate in about the same sense that the spawn of Kim and Kanye is legitimate),  has always been much more about intellectual pursuit than insurrection protection, more about philosophy, sociology, psychology, physiology and/or biology than it has about advanced technology and/or Scientology.

The most sincere examples of the work are literary works of depth and substance, style as a means and not as an end, thought provoking, even inspiring, addressing, dealing with and, even at times, trying to make sense of mankind, mankind's existence and relevance in the universe, even the existence and relevance of that universe itself.

The very best, or at least best known, writers in the genre have long been respected as authors of serious intent.

Ray Bradbury, Ursula K. LeGuin, Isaac Asimov, Phillip K. Dick, Robert A. Heinlein. Arthur C. Clarke.

The list goes on....to infinity and beyond.

Or at least where no man has gone before.

The Martian Chronicles, The Left Hand Of Darkness, I, Robot, Do Androids Dream Of  Electric Sheep, Stranger In A Strange Land, The Sentinel.

All seminal works considered essential reading and unquestionably significant contributions to both the world of literature and cultural history itself.

And not a Wookie or Jar Jar to be found among them.

Not to mention Tribble.

Hey, no reason why poor George Lucas should take all the phaser hits. 

Plenty of photon fun to be made of Roddenberry and his Wagon Train to the stars, too.

Not that there's anything wrong with any of them.

Not every meal need be the creation of a highly educated, intricately trained master chef of the cuisine.

Plenty of enjoyment to be found at the drive thru windows, too.

Nutrition and/or erudition, not so much, but enjoyment?

You bet your Big Mac, baby.

And you want fries with that?

Meanwhile, getting back to the point that has suddenly wandered far, far away.....

I understand and, for the most part, agree with Beale's contention about the junk food nature of Star Wars and its offspring.

But I think his belief that they've been "the worst thing ever for the science fiction genre" is a little harsh.

And runs the risk of causing a little de-cloaking of that previously mentioned snobbery that he, for the most part, avoids in his piece.

Because I grew up reading Bradbury and LeGuin and Asimov and Dick and Heinlein and Clarke, among a lot of others.

And I also read Flash Gordon and Tom Swift, watched This Island Earth, Invaders From Mars, Plan 9 From Outer Space and, more recently, Mission To Mars, Red Planet and Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.

Hey, let's be fair. One person's charming, moronic, borderline inbred family of hillbilly goofballs is another person's fascinating, borderline otherworldly group of strange visitors from God knows where.

And none of the crap ruined my taste for the classic.

Any more than the Quarter Pounder with cheese put me off the pleasures and sustenance of the pound of shrimp with Lobster sauce.

I have a lot of appetites.

And moods.

And moments.

Peter Paul Almond Joy's got nuts.

Peter Paul Mounds don't.

And sometimes I feel like a nut.

Sometimes I don't.

And sometimes I feel like a Darth.

Sometimes I don't.

George Lucas didn't ruin anything.

If he's guilty of that assertion, then, seriously, kids, fair being fair, we really have to haul Colonel Sanders in for ruining people for a magnificent chicken cordon bleu.

Just my opinion, of course, but I think Lewis Beale should consider getting his nose out of the air.

Even if that remains the best way to view the stars.