My Idol Journey: A Skeptic Gives "American Idol" a Chance

Before this year, I prided myself on the fact that I'd never watched a single episode of American Idol. I just didn't think it was my kind of show. From what I had heard (and had seen through umpteen YouTube clips), it seemed to be just a bunch of kids singing in a decidedly pop style in a heated competition for a dubious title. Pop music and competitions are among my Most Hated Things, so of course I steered clear of this show.

And Simon Cowell--oy vey. Talk about my Most Hated Things. Try as I might, even after having given in and watched the ninth season of Idol, I still can't find much good to say about this guy. I just hope he sleeps well at night, on top of the millions of dollars he's made from crushing the dreams of young people.

But while my feelings for Mr. Cowell are unchanged, my feelings for American Idol have changed considerably. After moving to a remote stretch of Vermont late last year, I learned pretty quickly that television was going to become my new best friend. So when Idol rolled around in January, I bit the bullet and decided to watch.

And I was pleasantly surprised.

Now, from what people have told me, this season of the show was its weakest yet. But being that I had no barometer on which to judge this season versus previous ones, I found myself enthralled from the first week of auditions to this week's finale.

And this is what I learned....

It's really hard not to become emotionally invested in American Idol. The whole premise of the show is set up in such a way that your emotions are constantly being played into. Whether laughing (the obviously way-past-the-Idol-age-limit General Larry Platt performing his masterpiece "Pants on the Ground"), crying (Katie Stevens doing the show for her Alzheimer's-stricken grandmother; the accident that nearly cost Casey James his ability to play guitar; the birth of Michael "Big Mike" Lynche's baby during Hollywood Week), or warming the cockles of the heart (endearing Southern girl Vanessa--my early-on favorite--with the sweet, pristine, Emmylou Harris-like soprano, who was excited to go to Hollywood because she was going to get to ride on an "air-o-plane"), this show pulls out all the stops in its efforts to maneuver its way into your heart. And for me, at least, it worked.

Ellen DeGeneres makes everything better. I know she got mixed reviews for her inaugural season in the judge's chair, but in my mind, Ellen can do no wrong. Sure, she's not a music industry professional. And yeah, maybe she could have been more critical (constructively critical, that is, not Simon Cowell Critical). But Ellen is just good, real people, in my humble opinion. Her voice on the panel was an important one: the voice of a fan. I thought she did a bang-up job.

Ryan Seacrest is kinda creepy. It may be because he works, like, a gazillion jobs, but Ryan struck me as really out of touch and sometimes his behavior or choice of words really baffled me. Remember him dancing around like a goon during Tim Urban's "Can't Help Falling in Love"? Or asking Lee DeWyze who among his fellow contestants should be sent packing? Really, dude, not professional. At all. Is this what passes for a TV host nowadays?

The "expert" judges have no fucking idea what they're talking about. I don't lump Ellen into the category of "expert judge," for the simple reason that she's not one (and I think she'd probably agree). Randy Jackson, Kara DioGuardi, and Simon Cowell are the resident "experts." And those three don't know shit. I found myself liking Randy the best out of the trio, mainly because his booing of Simon during Cowell's introduction at the opening of every episode made me laugh hysterically. I knew it was coming, but I laughed every damn time. That's some good shit right there, Randy (or do you prefer "Dawg"?).

Anyway, despite my warm fuzzies for Mr. Jackson, those judges have no clue how to critique music. (Let's not forget: Simon's biggest pre-Idol claim to fame, at least stateside, was as a music producer for the fucking Teletubbies.)

During every single episode, the three would give wildly varied criticism and would often do something truly infuriating. They would chastise a performer for "playing it safe" or "not taking any risks." So, the next week, said performer would do something different, stepping out of his/her comfort zone. And how did the judges reply? Mostly something along the lines of: "Why are you doing something risky?" or "That was awful! You should stick to what you know!" (Sidebar: I do agree with their opinions on Tim Urban's truly bizarre, reggae-soaked version of "Under My Thumb." That wasn't just outside Urban's comfort zone. That was outside of humanity's comfort zone. I, for one, just wanted Tim to stop singing and take his shirt off. Am I alone on this one? Anyone? Anyone?)

But let's remember that the judges' opinions are just that: opinions. (And these, of course, are mine). For instance, they didn't much like Casey James's rendition of "Mrs. Robinson," calling it "lazy" and lacking in substance. While many probably agreed with this summation, I couldn't have disagreed more. When I look back on my first-season Idol experience, one of the few performances I will remember will be Casey sitting on the edge of the stage, strumming a mandolin, and singing a sweet, simple, sensual, and sensitive version of "Mrs. Robinson." Then again, I thought Casey was hands-down the most talented male of the season. Not only is he hotter than a Baptist preacher's wife at an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast (that's a line from The Golden Girls), but his smoky, bluesy voice has the power to give me instant wood. 'Nuff said.



The judges also seemed to have a select few they liked to pick on. One was Tim, and I definitely see why they singled him out: he was decent enough, but he really didn't deserve to be there. However, they also picked on some truly amazing performers, like Siobhan Magnus and Didi Benami, two contestants that I adored. Going into the semi-finals, Crystal Bowersox (whose "If It Makes You Happy" during Hollywood Week made me a lifelong fan), Casey, Siobhan, and Didi were my favorites. But as the competition progressed, the judges really nitpicked at Siobhan and Didi in particular, and the voters took their cues from the judges. Didi finished in 10th place, Siobhan in sixth--certainly not bad, but they both deserved to go much further in the competition. I mean, Didi's "Play with Fire" and Siobhan's "Paint It Black," both during Rolling Stones week, were nothing short of phenomenal.

Final point on this matter: the judges can't be trusted to be a harbinger of what all of America likes or dislikes.

The most talented contestant doesn't always win. Now let me just say that I have nothing against Lee DeWyze. He's very talented and, among all the contestants, certainly showed the most growth. And, as the judges pointed out ad nauseum, "That's what 'dis show is all abouuuuuuut!"

But did Lee deserve to win over Crystal (who hit it out of the park night after night, leaving her competition in the dust)? Not in my book. Which leads me to the final--and perhaps most telling--thing I learned while watching American Idol:

Texting-savvy, prepubescent girls dominate the Idol fanbase. And this is why, I think, Lee took the crown. 12-year-old girls the world over swooned for his cute looks, rock star voice, and sincere, aw-shucks demeanor.

While I can't argue that Lee is certainly a good, solid singer, I do take umbrage with the judges' assertions that Lee "feels the music" and is "emotionally available." I only saw him truly feel a song twice: during his performance of "The Boxer" during his trip home and in his stunning, chill-inducing rendition of "Hallelujah."



Other than these two performances, I never got the impression Lee was feeling much of anything. He more often than not looked like a deer in headlights up there, stiff as a board and utterly expressionless. To me, the sign of a truly good performer is one who feels the words he/she is singing. Lee often came across as someone who could sing--but not necessarily FEEL. And I think the two go hand-in-hand.

Which is why MamaSox should have won. Crystal never gave a bad performance; she was on top of her game in every single episode. Granted, she's more my kind of singer than Lee is. She's got that whole dreadlocked, gap-toothed, curvy-figured, my-heart-and-soul-are-in-my-pipes, hippie-chick thing that I have a soft spot for. But she also knows just who she is. Crystal is not a young artist "searching for her identity." She is comfortable in her own skin, and her awe-inspiring ability to consistently bring down the house (my house, at least) was proof of that.

It is for these precise reasons she did not win. I mean, a 12-year-old girl may not necessarily feel comfortable watching a strong, assured, unconventionally beautiful young woman who knows her own power as she sings her heart out with unharnessed passion. I would even venture to say that a lot of girls probably felt threatened by Crystal because, let's face it, in adolescence none of us knows who we are. Hence MamaSox's runner-up finish. That's the only logic I can put to Lee's win (Lee, incidentally, bombed during all three of his songs on the night of the final vote; Crystal, on the other hand, hit home run after home run. Her "Up to the Mountain" had me face-down on the sofa, weeping.)



Everyone over the age of 30 that I either talked to or heard discussing Idol was convinced Crystal was the best of the season. But most of us 30+ folks probably don't have the mad texting skills (or the free time) of the preteen set, who can text in their votes at rapid-fire pace.

Oh, and for the record, I did vote. Every single time.

And they were all for you, Crystal. You'll always be my first American Idol.

This is lovely...

Check it out.

Dear Susan Boyle

So I know this clip is making the rounds in a major way. And I couldn't be more thrilled.

Susan, you are simply incredible. Thank you for your talent -- and for reminding us where REAL beauty comes from.

And thank you for doing what you're doing, from all of us who wish we had the chance.

You are bliss. You are inspiration.

xoxoxo

-d.s.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

My life goes on in endless song
Above earths lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I'm clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?

When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing?

In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging,
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?

A hymn by Robert Wadsworth Lowry, reworked and with an extra verse by Pete Seeger.

Click here to hear Enya's version.

Sweet Bonnie Bramlett

Like many of my generation, my first exposure to Bonnie Bramlett was when she was a featured player on Roseanne for a couple of seasons in the early nineties. To my knowledge, she only sang twice on the show, but both times were amazing. I used to pray they'd let her sing in every episode.

Little did I know what a legend she was. Bramlett was one-half of the duo Delaney and Bonnie in the late sixties and early seventies before embarking on a solo career (Sweet Bonnie Bramlett being her first solo album, in 1973). Prior to meeting and marrying Delaney (who sadly passed away in December of last year), Bonnie was the first and only white member of the Ikettes, the back-up singers for Ike and Tina Turner. In the last forty-odd years, she's put out several albums and done some acting here and there.

And that voice! My God! I can't even describe it. It's like her soul is in her voicebox. 

Click here to hear Bonnie bring down the house, singing the hell out of "You Really Got a Hold on Me", from Roseanne.

And here's a more recent number: Bonnie doing "Superstar" live onstage. Many artists have covered this song (notably The Carpenters and Bette Midler), but they ain't got nothin' on Bonnie. The pristine emotion she lets loose with this number is devastating. The heartbreak -- and the talent -- in this performance will knock you out of your chair.

Learn more about the amazing Bonnie Bramlett on her website.

Communion (Or, Confessions of a Theater Queen)

"When you come into the theater, you have to be willing to say, 'We're all here to undergo a communion, to find out what the hell is going on in this world.' If you're not willing to say that, what you get is entertainment instead of art, and poor entertainment at that." -David Mamet


Damn Judi Dench!

This is all her fault.

Several days ago, I posted a YouTube clip of Dame Judi's phenomenal interpretation of "Send in the Clowns" from the musical "A Little Night Music". If you haven't watched this yet, do so now and I promise I won't hurt you. Watching this flawless performance will give you a better idea of the fever that has gripped me since posting the clip.

Most people know that I'm a bit of a theater queen. I own this title unabashedly, as live theater is a vital nutrient to my own happiness and sanity. I've always wanted to be an actor, for as long as I can remember. I went to acting school after high school, I "pounded the pavement" in L.A. for a few years thereafter, then I promptly abandoned those dreams for a more "sensible" life. Interpretation: I handed in my lifelong dreams of the stage in order to sell my oh-so-valuable "customer service skills" and how fast I type and how good I am at Excel. Old dreams do indeed die hard. And for me, they don't die at all.

They live somewhere just below the surface. Even now, writing is my passion, but I still regard myself as an actor who likes to write. I view my world through the lens of a performer, which, I think, is similar to that of a writer -- yet they are not the same animal. I am fortunate, I suppose, that I can digest the universe as both, but the actor in me often feels slightly more authentic than the writer. It's as if I could get up on a stage in the warm blinding arm of a spotlight and perform this blog entry for you in an infinitely more effective way than I can write it here. It's tricky. I love acting and I love writing. And the sad fact is, it's nearly impossible to make a living doing either.

After falling in love with Dench's "Clowns", I happened upon an old forgotten CD: the soundtrack to the musical version of "Sunset Blvd". I was lucky enough to see this show in its pre-Broadway days, with Glenn Close as Norma Desmond. It was one of those performances that defies words (once again, you can hear the actor in me trying to play the writer). Close was electrifying, in a way I've never seen before or since. How else can you explain the magnitude of a performer who gets a standing ovation before she even gets on stage? When you encounter a stage presence that majestic, it's an experience that sticks with you...and I, being so young at the time, was shaped by it. "Sunset Blvd" was a musical plagued with inner drama, lawsuits, and mixed reviews. But it will always be my favorite musical: for the memorable songs, the lush and sweeping orchestrations, the gothic, behemoth sets, the extraordinary performances...and for it's complete claim on my impressionable young heart.

So while I was sucked back into 1950 Hollywood and Norma Desmond's turbulent turban, it was not hard for me to remember the starry-eyed kid I was at the time I saw it. I was so full of youthful vigor, surprising balls, and theatrical dreams. At that time, I never thought it was a question of If. I thought it was a question of When.

Enter the Tony Awards. Sunday night, a gay man's dream: the best and brightest of Broadway getting a rare television spotlight. For the first time ever, I watched the entire show (I never used to sit through all the musical numbers). I was transfixed. I was that kid again, albeit older, with less hair, dark circles under the eyes, and massive credit card debt. I was startled that that kid even still existed. I thought he was bludgeoned to death years ago by one too many office jobs or serving gigs. At best, I thought he was probably forever trapped in a four-sided cubicle, with an inbox full of emails outlining how he has violated company policy by asking questions of the wrong people.

Imagine my surprise. He's still alive. And he was fed -- there's no other word for it -- by the magic of the theater.

Patti LuPone, arguably the greatest musical theater actress of our time, and one of my favorites, sang a song from "Gypsy", in the role she eventually won a Tony for later in the evening (her second, after winning for "Evita" 29 years ago). The song, "Everything's Coming Up Roses", and "Gypsy" itself, are of course classics of the genre. But I've always viewed them as a bit tired, over-produced, and consistently revived (the show was revived just a couple of years ago with Bernadette Peters) despite a decades-old expiration date. Well, I should've known better. LuPone does nothing half-assed, and it is impossible for her not to pour her heart into everything she does. She TORE UP "Everything's Coming Up Roses" and brought the house down. The audience thundered to it's feet: the only full-house standing ovation of the evening. She breathed new life, a complex emotional terrain, and a fevered desperation to her impeccable performance. My heart swelled as I watched: this is the power of the theater. This is the power of a great performer. This is LIFE. This...this is what it's all about.

Now, if you may permit me, I have a personal connection with Patti LuPone. I've always been a big fan. Hell, when I was a kid, I played the cassette of her "Patti LuPone Live" so many times the tape wore away to smithereens. I saw her on Broadway about ten years ago in the play "Master Class", where she played the great opera diva Maria Callas. Her performance as Callas was of course amazing -- but "Master Class" is a play. Not a musical. She did not sing. Flash forward to 2005, just before I moved to Boston. Patti came to Minneapolis for a concert, her one-woman show for her album "Matters of the Heart". My mom and I went, and somehow we managed to get front row center seats. Patti was just steps away from me. I was mesmerized, in absolute awe the entire time. Remember that LuPone is first and foremost a musical theater actress. She's used to singing her songs to someone else on the stage. Being this was a solo show, just Patti, her piano accompanist, and a string quartet, there were no other performers onstage with which to connect. And so, she chose me. It was obvious. I was sitting right there in front of her, and she sang nearly every song to me. Our gazes locked, our passions united, I was lucky enough to become a part of Patti's performance. During her final number, she gave me roses. What's also interesting to note is that during her bows, when she came out to receive the roaring standing ovation we had given her, she was weeping with gratitude. I don't mean a little tear. I mean she was sobbing with thanks and appreciation. It was the most honest, authentic response I've ever seen a performer give to an audience's reaction. She felt it. She felt us. She winked at me. If an audience is a mirror for the person onstage, Patti certainly felt our respect and adoration...and returned it back to us tenfold. Patti LuPone's generosity as an entertainer is like nothing I've ever witnessed.

This is precisely the reason I cannot so easily abandon my own dreams of the stage. When everything falls into place, and the stars are aligned just so, the relationship between an actor and his/her audience can transcend all parties involved to a place that can only be called magical. It's not about where you're sitting, or what the set looks like, or even if you like what's being performed. It's about a connection: a group of people, varied and diverse and never again to be assembled together, sharing the same air and space in order to experience life at its fullest. It doesn't happen every time. But oh, when it does happen....

On Tuesday, John and I went with our friend Elizabeth to see the great Broadway singer Brian Stokes Mitchell in concert at Boston Symphony Hall. Mitchell is a true Broadway leading man (The New York Times christened him "Broadway's Last Leading Man"). Not only does he ooze class and grace, but he's got this big beautiful bass voice that shakes you to your very soul. It's a voice I just want to curl up in and go to sleep. Though we were perched in the third balcony cheap seats, I could not have had a better experience had I been sitting up there beside him. With all these theater dreams sprung anew, I embraced every minute of his performance. And then, near the end of the show, something totally unexpected happened. Mitchell did a song that I've since learned (thanks, Google!) is an old Bruce Hornsby song from the 80s. It's called "Hooray for Tom", and it's performed from the viewpoint of a little boy. I didn't see this coming...but I started crying during this song like I haven't cried in ages. In fact, I was still crying yesterday. Unfortunately, Mitchell's version of "Hooray for Tom" is not available online, but you can hear Bruce Hornsby's original version by going here. This song struck really deep within me, and I feel like something has forever changed. What it might be I haven't entirely figured out yet. All I know is that I can't go back to how I was before. I need to reevaluate my own life and my own dreams. I need to give further thought and respect to all those plans I had when I was a kid.

And who knows? Maybe someday they'll say hooray for me.

Clowning Around

In an old episode of "The Golden Girls", Blanche's brother comes for a visit and reveals to Rose that he's gay. Rose, unable to keep the secret, tells Dorothy, who in turn refuses to tell Sophia. Sophia, however, is convinced she can figure the secret out. After asking Blanche's brother a few nonsensical questions, she tells Dorothy that she's cracked the secret: Blanche's brother is gay. Dorothy asks how she figured it out, and Sophia responds, "I heard him singing in the shower. He's the only man I ever knew who knew all the words to 'Send in the Clowns'."

This is a fitting introduction to this post. "Send in the Clowns" (a Stephen Sondheim song from his 1973 musical "A Little Night Music") is one of those tunes that has somehow managed to endear itself to the gay community. Along with "Over the Rainbow", and pretty much anything by Streisand and Midler, "Send in the Clowns" is a powerful torch song almost always performed by a diva.

And pretty much every diva has covered it at some point. Streisand, Judy Collins, Grace Jones, Elizabeth Taylor, Angela Lansbury, Glenn Close, Glynis Johns have all recorded "Send in the Clowns".

I've always liked the song; indeed, it's the only song I still remember how to play on the piano. The lyrics speak beautifully of love lost, opportunities squandered, and last chances at happiness. It is divinely sad.

But after hearing Dame Judi Dench's version, my like for "Send in the Clowns" escalated to love. And I also realized that, despite the long list of impressive talents who have covered the tune, none of them got it right, or at least as spot-on, as Dench did in the 1996 West End revival of "A Little Night Music". While the other divas follow the obvious route of belting the song and exaggerating its melodramatic splendor, Dench presents it as it was meant to be performed: subtle, raw, emotionally devastating, and undeniably quiet in its sheer power.

"Send in the Clowns" is not a song meant for a singer. It's a song meant for an actress. And they don't get much better than Judi Dench.

Before her rendition, the first minute and a half of the clip below is an interview with Dame Judi. It's important to watch this to understand the backstory of the song -- clearly something the other cover artists didn't comprehend.

Grab the Kleenex and enjoy.

Perpetual Blueness: 15 Sad Songs I Love

Feeling blue really sucks, and it seems I've spent the majority of my life in perpetual blueness. However, one of the upsides of the downside is the infinite plethora of music out there tailored to the expression of melancholia. I've put together a little list of 15 of my favorite sad songs. When it comes to feeling blue, these ditties hold the cobalt crayon for me. When I get to a low place, I often find it difficult to interpret what I'm feeling.

Luckily, these songs do it for me.

15. "Holocaust" - This Mortal Coil. The Scene: Goth and spare, sung in a pleading tenor, allowing the crushing lyrics to smolder through. Favorite Line(s): "You're a wasted face/You're a sad-eyed lie/You're a holocaust". Overall Message: Nobody gives a shit, and we're all in this alone.

14. "A Case of You" - Joni Mitchell. The Scene: Though covered beautifully by two of my favorite singers (Tori Amos and k.d. lang), no one will ever touch Joni Mitchell's original lament of a heartbroken artist. Favorite Line(s): "Part of you pours out of me/in these lines from time to time". Overall Message: You were my muse, now you're gone, and I like to drink.

13. "In This Heart" - Sinead O'Connor. The Scene: Sung a cappella, O'Connor harmonizes with with velvety bass voices in lush, layered rounds. Favorite Line(s): "I am waiting for you/For only to adore you/My heart is for you". Overall Message: You're a blind schmuck. I'm here waiting for you.

12. "Unusual Way" - from the musical "Nine". The Scene: A musical theater ballad that captures eloquently the pain and yearning of unrequited love. Favorite Line(s): "You can't tell what it's like to be me looking at you". Overall Message: You'll never know what you do to me because you only see me as a friend, and now I'm a co-dependent blob of Jell-O.

11. "Someone Else's Story" - from the musical "Chess". The Scene: My other musical theater pick on this list, a girl bemoans her squandered chance at true love. Favorite Line(s): "She realized she'd left him behind/And sadder than that she knew he wouldn't even mind". Overall Message: You never realized what you could've had, and I'm a dumbass for not nabbing you when I stood a chance.

10. "Hallelujah" - Jeff Buckley. The Scene: The oft-covered Leonard Cohen classic, performed to aching perfection by the late, great Jeff Buckley. Favorite Line(s): "But love is not a victory march/It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah". Overall Message: You destroyed me for any future love or happiness. Thanks a lot, kimosabe.

9. "Boxing" - Ben Folds Five; Bette Midler. The Scene: Though I enjoy Ben Folds, I've never heard his version of this stunningly unique song. I only know Bette Midler's passionate interpretation, in which she uses her voice like a series of blows in a boxing match. Favorite Line(s): "Well sometimes I punch myself as hard as I can/Yelling 'Nobody Cares!', hoping someone will tell me how/Wrong I am". Overall Message: I'm getting old. All I have to hold onto are past glories.

8. "My Father" - Judy Collins; Patti LuPone. The Scene: Judy Collins wrote and originally recorded it, but Patti LuPone's masterful cover is beyond compare. Favorite Line(s): "I sail my memories of home/Like boats across the Seine/And watch the Paris sun/As it sets in my father's eyes again". Overall Message: Dad never moved us to France as he had promised, but I didn't break my promise to my own spawn.

7. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" - Johnny Cash (with Rosanne Cash). The Scene: The famous Simon & Garfunkel song of hope and support becomes something quite different in Johnny Cash's hands (with lush, powerful back-up from daughter Rosanne). Favorite Line(s): "All your dreams are on their way/See how they shine". Overall message: I'm always here for you.

6. "Easy's Getting Harder Every Day" - Iris DeMent. The Scene: Iris DeMent, in her unique, plaintive soprano, captures the agony and emotion of a withering marriage. Favorite Line(s): The entire song is gorgeous, picking a single line or lines is impossible for me. Overall Message: I'm stuck in this unfulfillment.

5. "Don't Forget Me" - Marianne Faithfull. The Scene: I've always been a fan of Marianne Faithfull's tortured, scratchy voice: it's an instrument that's seen and done it all...and lived to tell about it. This song levels me every time I hear it. Favorite Line(s): "When we're older/And full of cancer/It doesn't matter now/Come on, get happy/'Cause nothing lasts forever/And I will always love you". Overall Message: Remember me no matter what...and keep sending the alimony checks.

4. "My Life" - Iris DeMent. The Scene: Another Iris song that I absolutely adore, this one's gotta be one of the best sad songs ever. I've blogged about it before as I often feel it is my own soul being expressed in its deceptively simple lyrics. Favorite Line(s): "An' my life/it's tangled in wishes/and so many things/that just never turned out right". Overall Message: I may have failed, but I've still got some good points.

3. "Lied Ist Aus (Frag' Nicht Warum Ich Gehe)" - Marlene Dietrich. The Scene: Hell if I know, it's in German. All I can tell you is the title translates to "Don't Ask Me Why I Cry". It's Dietrich's heartbroken, husky crescendo that always brings a lump to my throat. Dietrich's voice is the story here, and it transcends language. Favorite Line(s): Hell if I know, it's in German. Overall Message: Hell if I know, it's in German.

2. "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" - Edith Piaf. The Scene: One of Piaf's signature songs, this one tells of a life and love affair lived to the fullest, as only Piaf could express it. Favorite Line(s): "But no tears will be shed/There'll be no one to blame/Let it always be said/We attempted what came" (translated from French). Overall Message: I messed up. You messed up. And it was all worth it.

1. "Over the Rainbow" - Judy Garland. The Scene: It's Judy and I'm gay. 'Nuff said. (Note: for the quintessential version, listen to the Carnegie Hall concert recording). Favorite Line(s): "If tiny little bluebirds fly/Across the rainbow/Then why oh why can't I?". Overall Message: Somewhere, someplace, there's got to be some sense and happiness in this world. Now Liza, get Momma her pills.