This post has nothing to do with train wrecks. Train wrecks are horrible things. When over fifty tons of steel and glass are hurled down feeble tracks at speeds as high as one hundred and sixty miles per hour towards a wall or a similar oncoming vehicle, everyone should be scared. Or horrified. A similar reaction should also be reserved for the folk on American Idol.

Don’t get me wrong; the show does uncover some gems. Katharine McPhee is outstanding. Sometimes she strikes me as a bit off, but those few times are rare and completely the fault of the song selection. McPhee’s mom is a vocal trainer and such a resource has surely proved beneficial in her daughter’s life. She sings extremely well, confidently and manages to do it all with a sultry smile. And to cap things off, she ends with humility.

Clay Aiken was also good. With a voice like gold and a cleaner look, he quickly became one of my favorite performers. His album was instantly memorable and he earned even more points by having a Christmas album: smart. Kelly Clarkson was great although I thought that Tamyra Gray was cheated of a victory (AI: Season One). Tamyra eventually got her album (which was good) and Kelly got a couple of albums (the first one was okay, the second one—past AI break—was phenomenal).

Those few aside, I think that the producers turned every stone to find some of the most abysmal vocalists on earth. I know that sounded very Simon of me, but honestly, some of these people were (and are and continually will be) bad.

Ace, real pretty and constantly praised by the panel of judges, sounds like scratching a record…really…slowly. I’m not talking about the cool sound made popular by rap artists of the eighties. I’m talking about popping those old vinyl records (click link younguns) in a phonograph (seriously, kiddies, click) taking the needle (yeah, they used a needle…no lasers) and running it slowly across the thing so that it makes a screeching call.

That’s Ace doing a falsetto. Pretty vinyl with a horrid, bad, please-change-channel sound. Kelly Pickler: nightmare. And who can forget Constantine, John Stevens (who got better post-AI), and on and on? Well, thanks to Vote For the Worst keeping memory alive.

I’m hoping for McPhee but who knows; you never can tell with these things. I can only stand back, in helpless horror and fascination.