‘Idol’atry has its disadvantages

After “American Idol’s” five years and six seasons on the air, all but the mediaphobes among us can recite the names of the national “pop”-ularity contest’s victors: Kelly, Ruben, Fantasia, Carrie and Taylor — to be joined on Wednesday by whoever wins this year’s competition. (In Las Vegas, the money’s on Jordin).

These winners have gotten their more or less fluky chances at stardom because some intern or executive along the way thought they’d make for good TV. Some are legitimate talents whom critics and the public alike have embraced — such as season one champ Kelly Clarkson, a rising talent bent on forging a distinctive musical identity, and, most recently, Jennifer Hudson, who made the leap from season three’s No. 7 to “Dreamgirl” incarnate.

Other “Idol” stars, however, have raked in millions and gotten a crack at the music industry’s most prestigious awards without ever having developed the skills, craft and savvy that artists used to spend long years learning the hard way — in cramped tour buses and smoke-filled bars. (Mr. Hicks and Chris Daughtry, we’re not talking about you here.)

We know what these overnight sensations have won in taking a shortcut to fame and riches.

But what have they lost?

Let us remember that “American Idol” is a program based on pop music, which always has been more about commercial appeal than artistry. In these terms, of course, the show is a monstrous success: “A.I.” is a $2.5 billion franchise.

But doesn’t it seem a little unfair that someone like season five’s Kellie Pickler — a middling vocal talent with a certain charming, Southern-accented cluelessness and essentially no industry experience — can waltz onto a TV show, earn just the sixth most votes, and sell more than 500,000 copies of her debut disc?

We don’t mean to pull a Faith Hill, but, “What?”

“I don’t know another way to get this much buzz before you even put out a record,” says Bill Smith, program director for the recording arts program at Full Sail Real World Education in Winter Park, Fla.

Buzz, in “A.I.” season four winner Carrie Underwood’s case, translated into a debut album (2005’s “Some Hearts”) that went five times platinum faster than any female country musician’s in Billboard history and scored enough trophies — including the best-new-artist Grammy — to warrant her purchasing a “gorgeous curio cabinet” to house them.

Miss Underwood is a beautiful young lady from the farms of Checotah, Okla., who sang in church and pursued music modestly for a time. She sings about Jesus and other uplifting subjects, making her a good anti-Britney role model. But her part in the Bob Wills/Don Henley tribute at this winter’s Grammys left the Internet littered with talk of her “overwrought,” “passionless” or just “OK” renditions. Some complained about her “lack of character,” a comment that evokes “A.I.” judge Randy Jackson’s 2004 comments after her very first audition piece: “I would work … more on the emotion and stage presence.”

“I can’t count how many times she changed hands on the microphone during that performance [of ‘Desperado’],” says Mike Campbell, head of the vocal department at Musicians Institute in Los Angeles. (We counted: about 20.) “That’s nerves and not really having performance experience,” he adds.

Mr. Campbell should know: Listed in “Who’s Who Among American Teachers” (in 2005) as well as Scott Yanow’s “Jazz Singers: The Top 500,” he has lent his vocals to concerts and recordings by some of the century’s most cherished artists, from Ella Fitzgerald to Quincy Jones.

He cut his teeth the old-fashioned way: plying the club circuit, where night after night he learned the nuances of his trade in front of small audiences who tolerated a novice’s minor mistakes. The process may have been lengthy, but it finely tuned his art, carefully notching and sculpting it at each turn.

Livingston Taylor (James’ brother) has been making music for 40 years and has taught at the illustrious Berklee College of Music in Boston for close to 20. What concerns him about “A.I.” is that it doesn’t test a vocalist’s instrument and interaction the way a solo gig does.

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