I watched a couple clips of American Idol the other night. Miraculously, I’ve made it through 33 years without so much as seeing a snippet of the iconic show. I knew of it, of course—it was hard to avoid American Idol, especially in its heyday, when America still legitimately seemed to watch the same TV shows.
What struck me, in watching the clips of Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood performances, was how the art form of American Idol (and many of the subsequent iterations) are mainly about musical interpretation more than anything else.
Now, I have no beef with musical interpreters—Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Elvis. Many of the most famous artists in the American musical heritage are first and foremost interpreters of others’ songs.
At some point, though, it became de rigeur, save for within the relative insulation of the Nashville country music bubble and the world of teen pop idols, to write one’s own music.
Now, I don’t know when this point is. In fact, I’m working off nothing other than my instinct to eye-roll at modern-day interpreters. But where did that instinct come from? Why is it that I watch American Idol with such deep hesitation?
Taylor Coe 