The answer to that question is somewhat more involved than evaluating whether or not he had lived up to the burden attached to his debut, in his credit. Indeed, this album holds up in various ways that its predecessor did not. Cook and his team put a lot of emphasis on “coherence” in promoting the album, and it turns out that wasn’t an empty threat. However, while this is preferred to a bunch of tracks thrown together without a lot of design, it isn’t a measure of artistic success per se. On that count, how did “This Loud Morning” turn out?

Sonically, in truth, the album has a design that isn’t particularly satisfying. Its major selling point is also what makes it a difficult listen; the sound of the songs intentionally crafted to be so similar to each other that it seems to disregard the songs all-together. This is unfortunate with some songs in particular; the album opener, “Circadian”, features a gently tinkling, music box-esque opening that evokes a powerful dreamlike feeling; additional instrumentation, much of it unneeded, destroys right away. That said, the number of songs that feature unique designs that have been overshadowed by the overzealous production are a definite minority; most of the songs pound along purposefully without any indication of creating a distinctive sound for the song as well as for the album.

Having mentioned the production, I have to point out something which is bound to sound contradictory but is nonetheless true; “This Loud Morning” is really not a very loud album at all. To insist that it should be based on the title is a cheap attack, but I mean that to point out that the moods the album is reflecting are rarely aggressive themselves. Yes, the arrangements are overpowering, but the deviations on this album are fairly quiet and not all that assertive in and of themselves, and thus are easily pushed out by the guitar wall. Mind you, a lot of recent rock music does just that, trying to rely on the literate lyrics as being the primary mover of the material more than anything, presumably containing the loudness that Cook is being conjured.

Problem is, the album really doesn’t have the kind of lyrics or narrative to pull it across. To be fair, Cook occasionally has a way with a lyrical image, and there are individual moments that seem inspired. But the songwriting suffers from two major issues; the complete and utter reluctance to use a specific referent and a conflicted lyrical narrative that doesn’t really pull together all that well. The former is because, as a writer, Cook (and perhaps all who he chooses to write with) prefers to use a central image to dominate and distinguish a song; this doesn’t work well when a large batch of the songs involve the world falling apart, which seems overblown without a referent that justifies it, and the other most noticeable theme involves people fusing, which could be used by psychologists who have long determined is not a healthy way to think of a significant other as evidence.

The latter aforementioned problem, that the narrative is sub-par, is somewhat tied to the same issue about the entire record being doggedly ambiguous such that you don’t know who he’s talking about. This becomes a problem in another way when the songs then barely seem to be talking about the same relationship, which in turn makes the histrionic images all the more unwelcome. A three-song suite demonstrates this nicely; “Time Marches On” (with a great lyric in “You were six feet in/on a one-way street”) implies a literal or figurative death of the a well-beloved significant other, which then transitions awkwardly into “The Last Goodbye”, which seems to talk about that significant other as a loved one who had just managed to make a flawed relationship out of something substantial, which then passes off to “Paper Heart“, in which Cook is the wounded man out  in the rain left to watch as the other person leaves. There may be a way to tie these things together, but it’d be through a creative read not given adequately by the material; on the face of the matter, all three of these songs cannot be talking about the same thing, and yet we’re given nothing to supply us with the understand we should be talking about someone else, so it just seems tossed together much in the way of David’s debut.

It’s really a pity; I wanted to like this album quite a bit more than I did, especially because it does actually hold together as an album. But not only is it lacking in truly distinguished songs, but it doesn’t really have the qualities that a good cohesive album needs to have to keep a sustained interest. Part of me continues to hold out that Cook will get it together and construct something, start to finish, that holds up singularly as a statement, because I actually believe he’s smart enough to do that. But I’m at the point where I don’t think that’s actually going to happen.

Karaoke Hell awards this album its Gold Certification.

(Read more about our certification system here.)

And, sure enough, this album really is to be judged by standards that aren’t so different than one might evaluate a David Cook or a Daughtry. However, it has to be noted that this album is indeed a compromise, rather than a complete sublimation of the artist. Both in imagery and in sound, the album is closer affiliated to “harder” rock than any “American Idol” release that comes to mind, and there’s something to be celebrated in that. That the album is comparatively distinguished is a good thing; that the machine is at least willing to make more distinctive sounds is good even if they are derivative. That said, with the state of modern rock being as it is, does this lead to an album that is good or a complete disaster? The truth lies somewhere directly in the middle and, in truth, the competitive impulses to sell and to make hard rock both harm and hurt the record about equally. It’s in an unfortunate middle-space; it’s hard to believe purists will truly appreciate this album en masse beyond “that was pretty good for an ‘Idol’ singer!”, and it’s hard to think that any of the songs have the kind of qualities that really would get play on modern rock radio, which alternates between a heavy reverence to tradition and songs with a more immediate hook than anything here has. It will please his fans (a given), and it will not please metal purists (a given). But I’m a critic, not a prognosticator; that said, it’s hard not to listen to this record and not hear those immediate tensions play out, because the album is relatively artless, though it’s aspiring to a genre where the sonic onslaught is more important than the design anyway.

In that sense, it’s a modest success. Some of the tracks toward the end have a rather meaty arena-rock feel (“Stand Up”), and from the start most of the tracks chug along with enough guitars. Depending on the listener, I suspect that will either be immediately off-putting or satisfyingly driving, and James certainly is courting the latter.  That said, sometimes the tracks dip into the truly banal; such is the case with first single “Love Me Bad”. To be fair to the track, it does try to set up an atmosphere with some more directly descriptive language (always a plus) but veers off course with the singing, which is unfortunately melodramatic to the point of being grating.

That’s one of the main problems with the album; the singing. James may have some relatively strong vocals, but he’s a totally unsophisticated singer, and his treatment of several songs completely diminishes them. “Love Me Bad” is one example, but there are examples weirder, like where he’s prone to taking on pointless accents such as with “Love in Ruins”, and more awkward; “All I Want” might have sounded better in a different key. Occasionally, his voice sounds interesting paired with some reverb effects as with the intro to “Deeper”, but on the whole the singing on the verses isn’t great. Interesting, the wails on “Idol” that often came off shrill and obnoxious are more tamed and simply ineffective here; they simply feel like obligatory adornments.

The other main problem is that the songwriting is extremely uneven. While some tracks like “Higher Than Heaven” are decent takes on standard themes within heavier rock, some of album indulges in the genre’s worst impulse to have songs that lyrically read nonsensically, which only works when the music can very specifically highlight and augment the intended effect by using lyrics as symbols and/or simply to bolster the sound. But there’s really none of that here (to be fair, there often isn’t), so it simply befuddles. The quietest song on the album, “May”, completely undoes its daughter-like-deceased-mother story with a structure that forces one to pause and pay attention because of a literary gimmick that didn’t quite pan out. At least I could understand what was going on there; I can’t say the same for “Outcast” (a love song from the margins? A general anthem? Both?), or “Right Behind You”, which is Hell in the form of mixed metaphors.

All of this makes for a reasonable sonic accomplishment without a message or import that gives it any meaning. A listen in good faith finds it stupefying; a listen in poor faith finds it haphazard and ridiculous. However, there is an honest effort to put itself out there and maintain something tangible within the inevitable selling-out process that goes into making an album intended to get revenue, and for that it should be commended. It just isn’t executed with enough skill or ingenuity to make it worth recommending.

Karaoke Hell awards this album its Gold Certification.

(To read more about the certification system, click here)

Ever since that break, she’s differentiated from that original everywoman persona, most notably when she released the darker, more intense “My December”. However, that persona is still what dominates Kelly’s image, and it’s hard not to see “Stronger” as an attempt to utilize that pop construction to full effect. There are plenty of angry kiss-off songs all over this album, as one might hope from any decent Kelly Clarkson release. Tactically, it’s hard not to think of this as a smart decision, because that really is where Kelly has generally thrived and been able to really excel in a way that none of her peers really could, no matter how much they could try. (It’s telling that on “All I Ever Wanted”, Kelly was able to take a couple of cuts from Katy Perry and do better than the original just on that basis alone.)

However, even though it was a good idea, the actual product falls flat because it is desperately live up to an ideal persona without actually developing or diversifying that persona in particularly powerful ways. In doing so, it flirts heavily with self-parody, even if rarely goes that low. Plus, it misses two important points about Kelly; despite being angry, she hasn’t prior to this come off as overly forced in that anger, and her likability was always the important offset that ran through all of her material, whether it was dark or light. It was hard to dislike the woman.

Here, I found it quite a bit easier. Even “Mr. Know It All”, her initial single release that played up the soul qualities voice that have more recently taken a bit of a backseat to her rock prowess, became more embarrassing upon a closer listen. Some of that’s because there’s some ill-advised singing affections, but the primary issue is that her anger is cartoonish and over-the-top. It was difficult to remain sympathetic when the guy is on the receiving end of a rant that sounds as presumptuous as anything he might have done. It’s not that she hasn’t been angrier than this, but because it seemed to have more referential markers it felt rooted in a kind of honest pain that’s just lacking here.

A substantial part of the album is constituted of songs that are off-putting simply because of the pose she takes on the album. “You Love Me” is partially redeemed by an interesting and pleasant pop arrangement. But there’s nothing to save “You Can’t Win”, “The War is Over” at all, both of which are mere shells to promote Clarkson’s persona without really being infused by it. It’s astonishing that “Einstein”, with its horrifically contrived lyrics, was able to pass quality controls. “What Doesn’t Kill You (Stronger)” (or is it “Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You”? The Vevo and my iTunes are not in agreement) isn’t as intensely grimace-inducing, but the only thing disguising the rote performance that seems more like Kelly fresh off of “Idol” rather than the developed artist she should be is a hook that took the song to the top of the charts.

Thankfully, there are a couple of moments for fans of the empowered, wry Clarkson that has been her trademark. “I Forgive You” actually develops her pop persona in a positive direction, adding a staccato flatness that makes it sound as if Clarkson is really trying to control and master her feelings, and it’s very much welcome. “Let Me Down”, and in particular its anthemic chorus, is another delight more in the vein of Kelly at her best. Still, the best moments are the softer moments. “Dark Side” actually manages not to rehash new material (and if anyone needs some new subject material right now, it’s Clarkson), and manages to be effectively evocative as well. “Honestly”, a couple iffy lyrics aside, finds a quieter anger and confusion Clarkson, and the confusion conflating what’s usually such a righteous anger is positively refreshing. That said, “Standing in Front of You” is just flat, and “Breaking Your Own Heart”, though new territory and thus modestly welcome, is ultimately corny.

It’s hard to pin down why this album is such an intense disappointment. I’ve mentioned the lyrics, and should elaborate. While Clarkson never sang anything with overly complicated emotional tensions, her lyrics often had a simple clarity that made it listenable in a way that made her impassioned singing effective; here, there are obvious gaffes that are outright distracting, and it’s an important line to note that while simplicity is fine, the actively trite, aggressively shallow, and obnoxious gimmicks do not, and the album indulges hard in all three sins. But even with that and the repellant posture, I still feel at a loss as to why I feel so disappointed listening to this. Perhaps it’s because, more than anything else produced before, this album manages to blow holes in Clarkson’s likability, which was always so important to her listening pleasure. Anger, itself, is not necessarily empowering.

Karaoke Hell awards this album its Gold Certification.

(To read about our certification system, click here)

This makes Kellie Pickler’s decision to make a neotraditional country album a touch frightening, given the track record. As far as recording albums go, it takes a lot more sustained effort and musical development to handle material that’s pretending to be Patsy Cline rather than material that’s trying to be Faith Hill. And if as there is evidence that Kellie’s attempts at being the latter weren’t particularly high quality, there wasn’t any suggesting she could really do much of the former. She did have more recording skill in endeavors that weren’t simply technical, but demonstrated on a rather limited range of songs. Plus, when an artist who does a particularly type of pop decides to make a “personal” album, the results are often mixed in one way or another.Clearly desperate to prove that she’s actually trying to make something true to her word, Pickler starts off with “Where’s Tammy Wynette”, in case you didn’t know what she was trying to accomplish here. However, it’s hard to fault a track that describes what an album’s trying to do so accurately; Kellie Pickler wants to make music to ruminate to when you’re sad. The song, alone, actually paints some fairly vivid pictures of the smaller moments in life; as an album opener, it risks coming on too strong. Still, it’s to the album’s credit that it doesn’t kick off with a song that seems tailor-made to radio’s current trend. It ends the question of whether Kellie was misrepresenting the material and leads into whether the material holds up to its inspirations well enough.

The album’s major strength and weakness, as implied by the opener, is that the sound is quite consistent across the tracks; there’s really nothing here for the people who loved Kellie as an over-the-top spitfire, because the album is designed, almost back-to-front, to be played while in a blue mood. By far and in large, these songs actually do well enough as neo-traditionalism country cuts; there’s not a track on here that obnoxiously falters. The worst the album contains is material that pretty much meets the qualifier of “modern take traditional country” and does absolutely nothing with it. But even the most obvious example (“Stop Cheatin’ On Me”) never quite gets to the level of self-stereotype; it fulfills its purpose and leaves with it.

The best this album has to offer, then, are some narratives inspired by classic country that actually do hit close to the heart. Sometimes this is fairly overt, as is the case with the album’s two tearjerkers that use Pickler’s life story in a very discreet way. The album seems to suggest that the major killer on here should be “The Letter (To Daddy)”, a song about Pickler talking about her alcoholic, yet newly sober, father. However, it pales in comparison to album standout “Mother’s Day”, which talks both personal dread of having to deal with the celebration while having no mother of your own and fantasizing about being able to have a stereotypical Mother’s Day for herself. It’s really a nicely done track.

The rest of the album is more subtle, taking up various narratives of living on the road and domestic partnership through the lens of two rocking chairs. The latter, “Rockaway (The Rocking Chair Song)”, is the closest that Kellie gets to the best of traditional country. It’s true that older traditional music is characterized by lots of somber tones and highly personal narratives. What makes it great, however, is that it had a unique ability to find distinctive personal truth and often contained a quiet, powerful wit. “100 Proof” manages to get the pathos of country music but fails to capture much of its character and wit. It’s a shame, really, because there has been some country music that has managed to do both and fare well enough in the mainstream. Some of it’s even funny. (Check out two Miranda Lambert tracks, one highlighting some self-aware regret and another which inverts the Beatles to good comedic effect)

So where “100 Proof” succeeds at cohesiveness, it falls flat for inspiration. This makes for a perfectly acceptable listen, and if you want to hear some sad tales in the vein of traditional country, it’s worth a recommendation. That said, it never really expands outside its cozy, somber yet comfortable space. It’s worth praise for the effort, and I hope Kellie doesn’t take a turn back towards a more intentionally contemporary sound, but hopefully next time the songs can have some more variety in the stories they chose to tell. There’s plenty of great country music to listen to that might give inspiration to that effect.

Karaoke Hell awards this album its Platinum Certification.

(Read about our certification system and “Now That’s Just Artistry!” here.)

However, on her way to the Top 2 of the competition (not itself an indication of artistic merit), Alaina did manage to establish a stylistic direction for herself fairly smoothly; country-pop best thought of in terms of the Dixie Chicks, realistically thought of in terms of Sarah Evans (covered by the contestant on the show), and worst thought of in terms of Carrie Underwood. Indeed, Alaina namechecked Underwood plenty, which reaffirmed the pageant slam. On the other hand, Alaina also had some fairly subdued performances that spoke the better potential of her voice as far as being a recording presence went. By the end, it was a toss-up as to which direction.

Thankfully, on “Wildflower”, Alaina has really outdone herself. While not truly an exceptional album by any means, “Wildflower” is a strong, assured country-pop affair with a number of solid narrative songs. And Alaina manages to tie herself together with a youthful-yet-sentimental recording presence, delivering the songs confidently and convincingly. In doing so, she’s pulled off the unusual feat of being an artist who actually manages to surpass the artist’s name-checked influences. Yes, she tends to use more volume than is absolutely necessary, but not in a way that is grating in the style of the aforementioned influence.

“Wildflower” starts off with “Georgia Peaches”, a song praising the, ahem, virtues of Georgia girls. It’s flirty, self-possessed, and comes on strong without being overly obnoxious, making for a stronger opening single/album opener than post-”Idol” albums tend to get. When Lauren sticks to this kind of energy, she gets a lot of mileage; “I’m Not One of Them” risks dating itself inappropriately with a Facebook reference, but manages to avoid this because the it addresses it subject; its hard to deny the charm of a song that disses posers in jacked-up trucks. On the other side, “One of Those Boys” actually does come on a little too strong describing her kind of guy, but gets along well enough despite that because of Lauren’s voice and some well placed guitars.

Sadly, it’s not really the meat of the album, but because many of the tracks have the spirit you’d find on “Wide Open Spaces”, it’s still often pretty good. “Growing Her Wings” actually does try to do this most explicitly, but because the song itself isn’t all that strong (the most memorable thing about it is a Jason Aldean reference that goes down harder than the Facebook one), it’s not the best example of this. “She’s A Wildflower” does it much better, finding Alaina surprisingly convincing describing a conventional teenage misfit in a fairly autobiographical tone. “Tupelo” also stands out well enough as a country-tinged teenage romantic fantasy.

The rest of the album tends to hold to the sentimental, the inevitable effect of being a musical entity that has anything to do with Nashville. These songs are the most hit-and-miss. “The Middle” manages to be fairly generic reminiscing on a deceased lover with a moral to give proper due to the moments that happen during a relationship, and Alaina’s presence doesn’t hold up that well. And her “Idol” single “Like My Mother Does”, placed oddly in the middle of the album, only sounds modestly less obnoxious than it did in the “Idol” context. But Alaina really sells the hell of “The Locket”, a song about a dying grandmother’s  gift and the story behind it, and “Dirt Road Prayer” upholds all that is holy in Nashville and doesn’t manage to grate doing so.

“Wildflower” contains little that is bad, much which is OK, and some of which is actually very good. It’s a little less than its parts might suggest, but it’s still a legitimately worthwhile country-pop affair in its own right, and coming off of “Idol” that’s to be positively commended. And the diversity of the material that holds up on the album is surprising. I’m rating this album a little conservatively because there’s enough that’s not distinctive enough and a few outright clunkers, but if you’re at all a fan of the genre (and not a purist), there’s really something to be said for it.

Karaoke Hell awards “Wildflower” its Platinum Certification.

(Read about our certification system here)

Basically, “David Cook” did little to change that overall perception. “Artistry” proved to matter little long-term to critics of Idol’s product, who basically charged that the CD and most, if not all, proceeding continued to be dominated by personality-draining songcraft and by soundscapes that had the life mercilessly picked out of them. I’ve agreed with these critics for a long time. But did “David Cook” get a fair shake?

Here’s the catch; “David Cook” actually is not as far off the mark from its genre median than its background would suggest. The sound is at no point distinctive, but as far as radio-oriented post-grunge goes, the arrangements were largely suited fine. In fact, it actually has a problem that’s a genre hallmark; the songs themselves are constructed distinctively enough, but largely bland out over a sustained listen. By the time “David Cook” introduces a piano ballad, you’d be forgiven for believing you had listened to 2 regular songs and 1 really long song. And even then, doesn’t feel any less monotonous.

David Cook the recording artist (I can’t speak to the person) has both of the impulses that define the post-grunge mindset; he has the desire to create songs that reflect his cerebral intelligence, and songs designed to please a large audience. Here, probably in no small part because of the presence of 19E, the latter wins out more often than the former. The songs typically have an anthemic (yes, I’m aware of his band) arc to them, rising in predictable ways and delivering their overwrought payloads drenched in guitars that drive the songs along without being truly powerful.

As far as this purpose goes, the album created two substantial radio hits. It’s worth noting they’re pretty much the same song. “Light On” is the first and better of the two; Cook sings the song with passion and warmth, two of his better qualities, and the song’s chorus has some power to it. It actually disguises that the song has some slightly odd dynamics and an even odder lyric; for a song with such passion, the lyrics seem almost fatalistically certain that the worst will not happen when it is being threatened. But if you take away that passion you get “Come Back to Me”, a mind-numbingly dull song that feels as phoned in as Cook’s delivery.

Cook’s cerebral impulse betrays more about his complicity in its final product. On the one hand, it is the side that produces the best moment on the album; “Bar-Ba-Sol” is a lyrically creative piece about a particularly hellish hangover that boasts the album’s most driving music. Better yet, though it was largely praised as the “heaviest” song on the album, its best moment is its quietest, an instrumental solo with only flickers of the lead guitar and drums that actually highlight the song’s painful, pounding center. Generally, when a song’s lyric can be better highlighted by an instrumental, you’ve done your job as a songwriter, even if it’s a song that clearly wasn’t designed for radio and therefore doesn’t hold up the part of the album his overlords would care most about.

The only problem is that it’s the only moment like this. Cook’s defenders say (rightly) that this isn’t helped by the fact that Cook was told to make his lyrics appeal to a broad audience. You can probably hear that on the bad (though not awful) parts of the album, where the lyrics come off as adolescent; both confused and thuddingly cliche. But the most damning songs are the ones that aren’t quite that bad. I doubt that directive had much to do with songs like “Permanent” and “A Daily AntheM”, which are more lyrically textured than much of the album fodder. Problem is, they’re mediocre songs that don’t really do the subject matter justice, and they’re damning of Cook’s ability as a songwriter.

The quiet surprise on here actually suggests that Cook, on occasion, might be able to do both of his impulses justice at the same time. It’s “Lie”, a song about not wanting to fully realize and go through with the end of a relationship at a vulnerable moment even when that is the obvious final destination. The lyrics are not overly cerebral, but they are nuanced, and it’s both quietly heartbreaking and structured in a way that would make it a good song on the radio. So why wasn’t it a single, again?

Karaoke Hell Awards “David Cook” its Gold Certification.

(Read about our certification system here.)

We’re going to be talking the rest of the auditions and into Hollywood. Schedule pending.

On the other hand, the excessive platitudes about McCreery don’t really hold up either. One of them is frankly ludicrous. The notion that Scotty McCreery was ever going to make a “classic” country album directly from the offices of 19E defies the logic of the Idol machine on any number of levels. And on “Clear as Day”, the arrangements are almost all soft, almost sleepy, contemporary country-pop. The only deviation from the formula is where a touch of rock is added to the guitars (“You Make That Look Good”), which isn’t exactly a step away from contemporary country trends.

The other, more interesting, claim is that Scotty McCreery was an expert storyteller. To begin with, Idol isn’t exactly a venue for storytelling per se. Its contestants are supposed to make their musical impact within 90-second shots, making the impressions about the singers at best about their musical personalities rather than their ability to deliver a song through that personality. But McCreery was given ample room to prove this ability on his full-length recording debut, where most (if not all) song are full-fledged narratives, though hardly exciting or insightful ones as a lot.

And McCreery, more often than not, fails to add anything to the material. He has a tendency to fall into the worst tendencies of Nashville-inspired singers; he sings in a pose of sentimentality and reverence, but fails to give any life to the actual memory involved. Nowhere is this clearer than on the title track, where a seemingly bland romantic rumination is given a puzzling tragic ending (where the love interest dies in a car accident).  McCreery sings the song with absolutely no pathos whatsoever, making the spin off-putting and baffling rather than sad and inspiring.

“Clear as Day” is hardly the lone track to have been delivered in a rather misguided way. “The Trouble With Girls” is written with lyrics that poke at the cheeky and knavish; while the tempo isn’t exactly helping him along, McCreery sings it with a blandly sweet sentimentality that makes the whole affair awkward. On the better side of things, tracks like “Walk In The Country” find the guy trying too hard to prove he’s a real country boy. Some of the issues are more subtle; “Out of Summertime” finds McCreery’s phrases extended well beyond what they should, depriving himself the opportunity to inject individuality into the track.

The best McCreery does is leave the material unharmed. This cuts both ways. When the material is bad, it makes him sound awful; “Water Tower Town” brings up manipulative, misleading small-town clichés that feel as authentic as Jennifer Lopez’s Fiat commercial where she drives around the Bronx and waxes poetic about it being her playground. On the other hand, as far as sweetly sentimental songs go, you could do worse than “Dirty Dishes”, a nice family prayer story which makes a point that isn’t overly intelligence insulting to hear.

Then you have “Write My Number on Your Hand”, a recording so unintentionally hilarious that it is easily the most memorable thing on the track. With a thin arrangement, sentimental singing that borders on self-parody, and some woefully out-of-touch lyrics, the song was meant to be heard at an early Disneyland-esque display about “Those Quaint Country People”. It’s hard to believe that anyone involved actually took this song seriously. But it sits there, indeed, in all of its affected glory.

However, Scotty remains rather vague as a personality throughout the whole affair. You know he wants to be a real country boy and that he wants to be the storyteller he’s been told he is. But because neither rings true here, the only believable personality trait that shows up is that Scotty McCreery thinks about girls a lot. Perhaps if he had expounded on that without all of the affections, he might have made a more interesting record.

That said, the record overall is listenable if somewhat sleep-inducing, so it’s easy to see uncritical listeners to pick up the record and not pay attention to all of the things that are so very wrong with it. From the numbers, it seems they have. And while I’d wish that purchasers were far more active and critical listeners, it’s not like this is the worst of a genre that has seen some rather excessive lows, nor so far below par within its field as to be truly embarrassing.

Karaoke Hell awards “Clear as Day” its Gold Certification.

(Read about our certification system here.)

The shows covered by Karaoke Hell (again, as of writing) all claim to have recording business aspirations. PR machines often praise the show as finding the next great recording superstar. Television judges, critics big and small, and even the contestants themselves harp on “marketability”. And the distinction between pre-show and post-show musical aspirations and success, but much less often quality, are talked about at significant length.  It’s perhaps the most prominent theme throughout the entire viewing experience, though your mileage may vary as to who is doing the selling.

Obviously, this is at some level a fallacy; these shows have far more in practice and in form with variety shows than anything that involves recording music. Contestants are perceived, both during their appearance and post-appearance, as television personalities at least as much as musical personalities, and more often than not the former. Music is heard and distributed in the form of televised live singing, which has a fairly tangential relationship to singing as a general matter and even thinner relationship to singing on a record. (What a televised show can even perceive as singing is fairly limited, but that shall be addressed another time) As they operate, these shows are soap operas about the music industry, with about all the obfuscation that implies.

So Karaoke Hell wants to address this question; what recorded music are these shows making? What is the relationship between one’s presence on a reality TV show and the music that is produced? What kind of music is stifled by the genre (in the form of eliminated contestants)? Is any of it any good? And why should recorded music care about these shows, and if so how should it feel about it?

Karaoke Hell’s hardly the first entity to tackle these questions, and it’s probably not going to do it best. That said, its writers have the advantage of being closely and intensely aware of the show (as regular viewers), of the music made afterwards (as ironic fanatics of sorts), and as critics (as general amateur writers). So we might be able to say something a little different in the long-run, after some work and observation.

“Now That’s Artistry!” helps that project by actively reviewing the music generated in question. The subjects will vary a bit; music contestants produce before, after, and during the show is all up for grabs. Albums will get the most text, but singles, EPs, and show-sponsored releases will be included. Music will be grabbed and reviewed from various points of history, so this isn’t about new or recently discovered releases.

“Now That’s Artistry” will also have a grading system in the form of the Karaoke Hell Record Certification. Here’s how each certification breaks down, in order from best to worst. Note the standard of expectation by which these records are given. Even a record that gets ranked “Platinum” is only considered to be a “decent” record; this is because the quality of the music of these shows is often so low, that such a record is to be commended for coming out of such a system.

Diamond Certification

• This record is of high quality.
• Discerning genre purists should like this record.
• There are few songs on here I would not recommend.
• If this record has commercial/critical success, that success should be commended.

Platinum Certification

• This record is of decent quality.
• Discerning genre purists might not like this record, but shouldn’t actively hate it.
• There are a good number of songs on here I could recommend.
• If this record has commercial/critical success, that success is fair enough.

Gold Certification

• This record is of bad quality.
• Discerning genre purists should dislike this record, maybe even hate it.
• There are probably only a couple of songs I might recommended, at best.
• If this record has commercial success, that success speaks to bad music-listening habits.

Broken Certification

• This record is of terrible quality.
• Discerning genre purists will be inspired to laugh in horror/rant in a frothing rage/commit suicide.
• If I’m recommending something off this album, I’m either being ironic or it’s completely distinct from the rest of the record.
• If this record has commercial success, that success speaks to the fallacy of humanity.

In fact, Karaoke Hell is the brainchild of an eccentric (see: jubilantly batshit) young gay couple, primed towards a more introspective assessment of the abundant reality singing competition franchises. With the assistance of a colorful assortment of cohorts along the way, we shall eschew the “sacred cow mentality” that consumes the banal minds of the Idol purists, who crave a retrogression to the glorious days of pre-artistry. (Not to mention the heyday of Botoxicus Manboobula, otherwise known professionally as Simon Cowell.) Unfortunately, this website and its creators owe a slight debt to Cowell; after all, his redundant reiterations were the inspiration for our beloved title!…Naturally though, we’ll never inform him of such.

It’s uncertain to us when the first time Cowell used the term “karaoke hell” was; after all, he tends to recycle any number of terms. (This blog could have been named after a drag queen cruise ship or a Portuguese cabaret.) The most infamous moment, however, (or at least within the insular fantard community) was when he described David Cook’s version of “Always Be My Baby” on Mariah Carey night as “like coming out of karaoke hell and into a breath of fresh air”. Alas, by reading this blog and the vast majority of links that might direct you here, you are probably deep in karaoke hell as it is, so far from a breath of fresh air you’re probably suffocating and don’t even know it. (If you aren’t, one word: run.)

Alas, while we’re stuck here in this fresh new hell created by some guy named Simon (but not Cowell, actually…the other one), we might as well make the best of it. And if we look really hard, maybe we’ll even discover something interesting about people, music, television, and/or history. If we just waste a lot of time, well, that’s OK, too. But the point of Karaoke Hell is to explore the breadth of singing shows on national TV, in spite of all the other better things to do with our lives.

The base of this project will be the major network TV singing shows: American Idol, The X-Factor, and The Voice. International versions may be included for compare and contrast as well (or at least the English-language factions). Should personal time permit, a more general exploration of the history and trends of shows explicitly about music on television might factor in somehow, along with the topics they bring up. Of course, in addition, we will be addressing some of the music (and “music”) generated by these shows after the reality TV bubble bursts. And ideally, we’ll grow from there. However, we don’t want to overestimate what will be occurring here; nobody is insinuating this will be a full-time occupation for our authors (including ourselves). That being said, with your participation in sharing your opinions with us and spreading the word to wrangle more readers, you will contribute to the future of this offbeat venture. And with any luck, our vision of establishing an endearingly scathing web locale with its own unique voice in this everlasting realm will come to fruition.