AcapHELLa

With the rising popularity of shows like American Idol and Glee, was an acapella contest far behind? No. No, it wasn't. The Sing-Off would have us believe that Ivy League glee clubs and cougar barbershop quartets are (gay) cool. With the exception of Nota (the winners, not surprisingly), a Puerto Rican sextet (hehe--I said sex), the groups cut a cacophonic swath through pop music like a fat kid through cake. For the love of all that is holy, why must every fad be rewarded with its own public forum? The only thing that could have made this disaster of a show any worse was if it had been hosted by Wayne Brady (I'm sure he was their first choice, but he has that sweet gig over at Let's Make a Deal). Now no one is a bigger proponent of singing badly in public than I. Most people are aware of my karaokial (I know, I know--not a word, but it's my blog, damn it!) proclivities. But let's leave the karaoke in its rightful place: a dark, slighty seedy bar--with cheap beer.