America's Got Talent Season Four Premiere Part 1 Recap

Okay, kids, I know you've missed my gleefully evil recaps since the American Idol finale has come and gone, so I'm back to fire up the Snarkatron and have a go at another wacky season of America's Got Talent! NOTE: Due to the fact that this is an audition recap, and a two-hour one at that, there is more than enough to snark on, and I apologize for the insane length of this recap. If you ever do make it to the end, you have my abject gratitude and a promise to tersify things a bit next time (which should be easier, because Part 2 of the two-night premiere is only an hour)!

Apparently, the world's got talent. Thank goodness they left some for us! New host Nick Cannon (aka Mr. Mariah Carey) is staked out on the White House lawn to tell us how great this new season is going to be, because nothing says 'America' and 'free location shoot' like the White House.

After an introductory segment that appears to use clips from every single audition that we're going to see anyway and takes long enough to make me wonder who the hell thought they needed two hours for tonight's show, we finally get to the opening credits, then back we go to Nick for MORE filler-we are told about the cities that hosted auditions this year: Los Angeles (home of showgirls, which probably surprises Las Vegas a little); Chicago (a loud man in a loud jacket reps his city); Miami (this time we get a dude who looks like either a used-car salesman or a runaway extra from Guys and Dolls); Houston boasts a be-sunglassed fellow in an insanely pink ensemble; Seattle's got talent and a black guy in whiteface. Have you noticed that the people who get to yell, "_______'s got talent!" never, ever make it on the show as contestants, let alone go to Vegas? Enjoy your three seconds of fame, kids!

We start in New York City, where there are more hopefuls who won't make it, telling us how cool it would be to win. Very cruel, show. Finally, the judges are introduced and enter the auditorium: Piers Morgan, surprisingly underdressed in an untucked shirt, no jacket; Sharon Osbourne in deepest black befitting her status as heavy metal royalty; and David Hasselhoff, rockin' the Douchebag Chic with his black leather Members Only jacket, indoor sunglasses, and preparatory pushups in the lobby. Hee!

First to audition is Ray Schwarz, who is 26 but who talks like Shecky Greene (ask your grandparents). He has an Elvis-ish hairdo and tells Nick he came to "sing and dance a little bit". Okay, that's acceptably modest, and he seems very nice, but the hair gives me pause. He allows to the judges that he is much improved after some singing lessons (uh-oh), and then he starts in on "A Little Less Conversation" by Elvis Presley (well, I can't say the hair didn't try to warn me). The dancing is very goofy indeed, but entertaining to watch. The singing isn't horrible, but it's very so-so, Piers makes a snotty joke about how bad was Ray before the lessons, which is uncalled-for because Ray is very sweet and respectful. Sharon and Hasselhoff make up for Piers's meanness by thanking Ray kindly for coming, even though it's a No for both.

As Ray leaves the stage, we hear the Ting Tings start singing "Shut Up and Let Me Go," an awesome song that leads into a series of suckage: First is Jay Brunelle, a fellow who is sporting a guitar, one of those hands-free harmonica rigs that make you look like your neck is in traction, and I kid you not, a unicycle, which of course he rides while playing the guitar and singing some crap. The judges buzz him before he can start in on the harmonica, mercifully. Next is Andy Lopata, stage named "Cheap Shot", who looks like a personal trainer but is actually here to "do rap". He says he does "Eminem-ish stuff", and he actually is a bit like Eminem, but the audience isn't feeling it and drowns him out with their callous boos. This is AGT's fault, folks-they have whipped the audience into such a frenzy of obnoxiousness that some contestants just won't get a chance.

The Ting Tings keep playing while the losing continues: "Sky and Vlad Eros Fire", a couple who perform a fire act, except that it is more of a Human Barbecue act, because as Vlad spins about with a flaming umbrella (!), Sky does an ungainly backbend over a small fire on the stage, catching her hair on fire, then compounding the problem by falling directly into the flames. Three buzzes immediately sound as the hapless woman stands back up, her head literally smoking. Rejected unanimously, Sky and Vlad stalk off the stage in a miasma of singed hair and humiliation while someone off-camera calls for a fire extinguisher on stage. And get some fans, too; that's gotta smell.

The judges have had enough of this crap and take a break, but to hearten us while heading into commercials, we are shown clips of upcoming acts who clearly do have talent. This pisses me off, though, because I hate knowing in advance who's going to make it. The most fun of this show is being shocked and amazed, either pleasantly or otherwise. Have they learned NOTHING from Susan Boyle?

After the break, during which we learn that there is going to be a show on the Oxygen Channel called Dance Your Ass Off in which voluptuous women compete to win a dance contest and lose some booty area, we head to Chicago to find some talent while listening to "Boom Boom Pow" by the Black Eyed Peas, and Mr. Canary and I observe to each other that the show is really shelling out some bucks to get current music. We approve.

Movie usher Moses Lanham has one talent-he can turn his feet around backward and walk around with them that way. I am curious as to why he thinks he could make a Vegas show out of this, but I also really want to see it. Then he does it, and it's indescribably creepy. And he keeps doing it, and it keeps being creepy, and the judges freak out and Nick looks like he's going to vomit. I've had enough, and Piers buzzes him, but Hoff and Sharon are too morbidly enthralled by the creepy backwards feet and have forgotten about their buzzers. Finally Moses just stops, thankfully.

Hasselhoff expresses what I was thinking-how do you make a show out of that? He votes No, despite some audience cheering for creepy Moses. Sharon sensibly votes No. Piers informs us that it literally made him physically sick, and Sharon zings him with a hilariously quick, "So, well done for that!", and then backwards-jacket-wearing Nick comes out on stage to much laughter and ushers Moses off stage, backwards shoes flopping amusingly on his feet.

Next up is Christopher "Mad Dog" Thomas and The Footwork Kingz, yet another dance troupe from the 'hood. I will not snark on this, because I am happy to see people trying to get out of a bad neighborhood by developing their talent for performing instead of for carjacking or selling drugs. They are from Chicago, so they get a lot of hometown love from the audience. They are pretty good dancers with their high-energy stepping routine, but I've been watching real dancers on So You Think You Can Dance (or SYTYCD, pronounced "city kid") and I'm a little spoiled, now. Nevertheless, they are by far the best act we've been shown yet this evening, so they are clearly going through. I don't expect them to win the show, but I certainly wish them some measure of success so that they can get out of the 'hood and so Mad Dog can get some dental work.

Okay, we're into another commercial break and we have sent exactly ONE act to Vegas. "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga plays over more filler about Chicago and its auditioning public. We are then introduced to Shine, a family group (two brothers and two sisters) of corn-fed, squeaky-clean kids from Wisconsin. That's dairy country, folks, and there's cheese aplenty as the Partridge Family theme song plays while the fresh-faced, promise-ring-wearing blonde teens talk about how much they love to sing happy, uplifting music. Sigh. This is gonna be a bloodbath.

My SuckDar is pinging on high, but who knows, maybe they're really good. And yet we find, to no one's surprise, that they're really not (trust the SuckDar!), as they brutalize the Katrina and the Waves song "Walking on Sunshine" while failing to perform the most elementary choreography. The crowd erupts in boos that last until the kids stop singing, and the dear children are clearly unaware of their badness, as they have been "performing" in front of ridiculously indulgent audiences for ten years. They are introduced to the real world with three Nos, and Piers goes so far as to call them out as Children of the Corn, which cracks me up. Sorry, Midwest!

Time for yet more suckitude! The Positive Brothers lead the way, with their tomato-colored bodysuits and their amusing lack of rhythm; next, we are treated to an "original" act (where "original"="sucks", always and forever) of a mother who plays accordion whilst her daughter bounces around in a bikini (Laura and Alicia Velgos); Christy Marie tells us she's a "phenomenal" singer, so you know she sucks, destroying Cher's "The Shoop Shoop Song (It's in His Kiss)"; and Jay Jay, 17 years old, having us on in a ridonkulous "heavy metal hair" wig straight from the Halloween store. Accompanied by a keyboard that he clearly doesn't know how to play, he keeps opening his mouth like a muppet to let us in on the joke. It's amusing on that level, but of course he doesn't make it through.

Heading into another break, I note that we are THIRTY-TWO MINUTES into the show and still have only ONE approved act, but we have yet to be subjected to power tools and the leader of the free world (fortunately not together).

Still in Chicago, we hear the strains of "Hail to the Chief" and a chant of "Yes, we can!", so it must be time for Pete Peterkin, "The Rock and Roll President", heretofore to be known as Fake Obama, because he is clearly going far enough in the competition to need a nickname. He does a hilarious and incredibly spot-on Barack Obama impression, cracking jokes with the same suavity displayed by own our Comedian-in-Chief, then dons a James Brown wig and not only dances well but sings impressively. "President Obama with a permanent", Nick Cannon marvels.

Sharon asks Fake Obama how many other impressions he does, and he allows that he does about 300 (!) impressions and plays "about 15" instruments. Good grief! Hoff pretends to be indecisive, and the crowd starts chanting, "Ve-GAS! Ve-GAS!" He kicks it to Piers, who makes up a rule that impressionists have to be able to sing, and Fake Obama immediately busts out a reply in the vocal stylings of James Isley. He follows up with Ray Charles and Little Richard, "Wooo!!" and all, which tickles Piers. It's obvious Fake Obama has more talent in his pinkie than 90% of the other auditioners have in their whole families, but we still have two hours to fill, so it gets dragged out ridiculously until finally, at the 39-minute mark, we have our second Vegas-bound contestant.

We have to make up for lost time, now, so James Brown's "I Feel Good" leads us into a Montage of Triumph, featuring the successful acts of Black Fire Percussion, a drumline of young'uns aged 8 to 18; a "vocal percussionist" (beatboxer) named Anointed S; and the Unexpected Step Team, which is the coolest group name so far, and also true, as the cute, cheerleader-looking girls bust some very cool moves, but I hope they will lose the clown makeup and hair balloons (yes, I said hair balloons) before we see them again. Hasselhoff is relieved. "The talent has returned," he affirms, "It always does."

But don't get your hopes up too high, kids, because after the break, we meet Debbie Victor, who has been "perfecting" her talent for 50 years. Uh-oh; there goes the SuckDar. "People are amazed" at her act and "cannot even describe it". I bet I'll be able to describe it. I'll bet I can describe it before she even starts! The pinging of the SuckDar gets louder and more insistent. She says, "I am in a class all my own." "Did you ride the short bus to get to that class?" I snarl, as my SuckDar explodes. While I find replacement parts, Debbie surprises no one by sucking, making stupid animal sounds. She responds to each judge's No vote with another stupid sound, and continues to emit barnyard and jungle noises while leaving the venue. I wonder how much her coworkers at the law firm bet her to do that shit.

This vaguely animal-sounding person allows us a strained segue into actual animal acts, one of which sucks (Tommy and Diane Long and Sunny, a miniature horse who, although adorable, plays golf about as well as Ray Charles, who is too dead to sue me for making a tasteless joke at his expense), but one of which rocks, and that would be Tony Hoard and his Australian Shepherd, Rockin' Rory, who catches a series of Frisbees while leaping directly in the air, jumping off of Tony, and running around forward, backward and between Tony's legs. I'm so impressed by the intricate choreography and that Rory has memorized it all, not to mention how well he performs it, that for once I don't mind hearing "Play that Funky Music" by Wild Cherry. Rory catches Frisbees while spiraling around in midair, which looks particularly cool. It is a very professional-looking act, and of course they sail through to Vegas. The judges can't even pretend to be on the fence, this time.

Coming up: mayhem, foolishness and people having sex in circus equipment!

Katy Perry's "Hot and Cold" brings us to Seattle, which as you fans of SYTYCD will know did not yield a lot of talent, dance-wise. Let's hope we can find something this time. Up first is Brad Byers, who wants to quit his sucky job in Idaho and perform full time. Um, he is apparently an impressionist...no, what he is is insane. Brad Byers puts things in his nose. Things that should, under no circumstances whatsoever, be there. And yet, there they are. Brad puts a giant hook through his nose and pulls it out his mouth, then hangs an anchor on it and swings it back and forth. The judges recoil in horror. He runs a power drill into his nasal cavity. Nick Cannon clutches the drapes.

After Brad finishes giving us the biggest wiggins we've ever had in a well-lit house, Sharon asks what else he does, and as he recites a litany of horrors from walking on broken glass to putting out a propane torch on his tongue, Nick Cannon looks physically sick-you know that little cough you do when you're desperately trying to fight back your gorge from rising? That's what Nick does. Piers pronounces Brad without a doubt the most disgusting man in America, but loves him all the more for that. Despite being married to a man who has famously bitten the heads off of living creatures, Mrs. Osbourne has had quite enough of Brad and votes No, but Piers and Hoff think we need to be subjected to more carnival geekery, so Brad goes through to Vegas. Oy.

The theme from "The Munsters" plays as we are treated to more freaks, including EmpeROAR Fabulous (which is more fun to say than to write, what with the stupid capitalization and spelling), a singin' and strippin' drag queen (or, drag emperor, I guess); Leapin' Louie Lichtenstein, a dorky cowpoke who uses a lasso to ensure that a frisky suitcase doesn't get away; Kerry Christensen, an accordionist (sigh) who yodels (sigh) and clucks (WTF?); Cirkus Pandemonium, four people who like to make a human stack of rotating, fire-breathing purple spandex; and Johnny Bagpipes, who just sucks (and I like bagpipes); and then we get a classic quote from Sharon, "My goodness, this place is absolutely barking mad."

So, at an hour and seven minutes into the show, we have seven acts for Vegas, seventeen rejects, and a whole lot of filler, and I am looking forward to tomorrow's shorter show (and if you've managed to read this far, I am sure you are, too). We return from the commercial break to Seattle, also known as Freaksville, U.S.A.; to emphasize this, Rick James's "Superfreak" plays as we are forced to watch Noel the Freak hang things from his face while the Hammer Brothers smash them.

Time for a refreshing change, don't you think? Nick Cannon is ready, that's for sure. Well, here come The EriAm Sisters, who are Hayven, 11, Selena, 14, and Leandra Abraham, 15, who looks like a young Natalie Cole. When asked by Sharon, "Are you any good?" Young Natalie Cole responds, "We hope so," and Mr. Canary and I are psyched, because just as "original" and "unique"="suck"; humility = big talent. They sing "I Want You Back" by The Jackson Five, with Hayven taking the lead vocal first. The other girls sound kind of funky singing backup, so we are thinking there's only one good singer in the group, but then Selena takes the lead, then Leandra, and they are all pretty brilliant; they just can't sing backup. I guess that happens. Nick Cannon loses his mind with joy at the double blessing of people who are normal and who are also talented, and the girls are through to Vegas.

Kool and the Gang's "Celebrate" backs a welcome montage of talented acts, including The Jesse White Tumbling Team, who can fly; Urban Nation Hip Hop Choir, a high-energy group of about a thousand who actually sing "Celebration", setting up a weird echo effect with the music-over; and Draconik, who, unlike the previous fire act, have their shit together and do not immolate themselves. And? I have two words for you: flaming whip!

Next up is 30-year-old loan officer David Johnson, who looks like kind of a nebbish. He is shown nebbish-ing around with his guitar case and confessing his crush on "A character from Baywatch", which occasions a photo of hunky, hirsute Hasselhoff and busty blonde Pam Anderson. Of course, we are having a lot of fun with nerdy ol' David and his harshly-lit acne scars, and there is much Canary eye-rolling as he announces he will be singing an original composition (memories of the tiny, ridiculous man in the white cape and winged hat singing "I am your brother" over and over on American Idol spring unpleasantly to mind), but then the dude launches into an absolutely hilarious comedy song about his love for David Hasselhoff.

It takes the audience a minute to catch on and stop booing, and Piers and Hoff have already prematurely buzzed him, but soon everyone realizes how cool and funny David Johnson actually is and gets into it. The Hoff, of course, is particularly smitten, play-acting embarrassment but eating it up with a spoon, and Johnson, who is a pretty good singer, too, gets his rightly-deserved pass to Vegas, although Sharon, strangely thinking he will sing the very same song again, says No. I trust David Johnson has another song, or at least he will by the time he competes in Vegas, and I, for one, can't wait to hear it.

Still in Seattle, where I spot a portly young man I am pretty sure I saw get the axe from American Idol, we meet May-December couple Bruce and his sweetheart, Simone, the world's first female foot worshipper, who will be performing a double hoop act as card-carrying members of the "Aerial Army of Love". Um, gag. "Endless Love" serenades the couple as they pitch disgusting woo and we hear about Bruce's lovely man-feet. "We'll actually win this," Bruce confides, "It is written." Sigh. You know they're gonna suck.

But surprisingly, they don't! They are actually decent aerialists, even though their hoop rotates awfully slowly and they find it necessary to spend too much time sucking each other's tonsils to the strains of "Can't Get Enough of Your Love." There are also way too many shots of Bruce's "sensual face", but they have won over the audience, and Nick has got definite plans for Mariah involving a hoop and Barry White. Now, there's a sentence I'd better never have to write again.

Hoff demurs, but Sharon votes yes, and despite having buzzed them, Piers gets ornery and puts them through, ostensibly on the promise by Shazzer to do the hoop thingy with him. Bruce still manages to look shocked and delighted despite his prophecy, and he and Simone scamper off like lusty little nymphs to get some hot foot lovin'. They make out backstage in front of Nick, who makes fun of them.

Coming up: three black kids who sing like whoa. Commercials. And, hey, we're back in New York City, which, despite being the cultural and performing capital of the world and the home of Julliard, Broadway and Carnegie Hall, has had NO ACTUAL TALENT thus far, if you will recall. Goodness, is there someone, perhaps an adorable trio of wildly talented young'uns, who can rescue New York from its abysmal pit of suckitude?

Why, yes, there's some talent to be had, here: the NYC Gay Men's Chorus rocks out to Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" (that's the "put a ring on it" song) and features more gay men on the stage than probably exist in all of North and South Dakota. Things seem to be looking up for poor ol' New York, but then we meet Joseph Maracina, who claims he does impressions, but despite his reassurances to us about how awesome he is, every voice he does is Joe, as Piers puts it. Hoff and Piers are dismissive, but Sharon's afraid he's mobbed up and is exceptionally gentle with her No vote. Hilariously, the graphic under his name, which for other acts has said things like "fire act" or "dance troupe" describes him simply as "Unemployed", so I guess he can go back to his job as a nothing. The world is harsh, Joe. Man up and get your plumber's license, arready!

Up next are newlyweds Dave and Zoe, who comprise Paradizo Dance. They are as besotted with each other as the hoop people, but not nearly as icky. They're actually pretty adorable, especially as Zoe has managed to get robustly-sized Dave to wear a sparkly purple velour-and-mesh outfit, purple eye shadow, and inexplicable purple crayon eyebrows. It's either true love, or they don't realize Dave's true nature juuuust yet. I suspect this even more when I see how stiffly Dave kisses his new bride, and it's not the good kind of stiff, if you catch my Frisbee.

They perform to "No Air" by Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown, and Zoe is very graceful. Dave is rather laughably ungraceful, but he is strong, lifting tiny, perfect Zoe to do her lovely aerial poses. She's no slacker, either, lifting Dave a few times, despite the size disparity. The judges are fascinated by this, and Piers delicately addresses the weight difference. Nick, on the other hand, sums things up in a more direct way after they are put through, fussing at Zoe, "You didn't tell me you were going to lift his big ass up!"

We return from the final commercial break to the Big Finish that has been pimped all night: The Voices of Glory, a two-brother, one-sister singing group whom we already know will rock the house, thanks to all the damn spoilers, not to mention their placement at the end of the show (already? And I've only been recapping for three hours!). Michael, Nadia and Avery are ready to launch into "God Bless America", but Piers, obviously having been coached about their sad backstory, forces them to recount how their mother was in a head-on collision with a drunk driver and how they would sing at her bedside while she lay in a coma for eight months.

Fortunately, Mama has recovered enough to be in attendance, albeit in a wheelchair. There already isn't a dry eye in the house, so when the kids start singing in lovely a cappella harmony, the audience shoots to its feet immediately. They are passed through to Vegas on a wave of adulation, a standing O from the judges and all, and the glowing pride of their parents.

So, going to Vegas from tonight are the Voices of Glory, Footwork Kingz, Fake Obama, Black Fire Percussion, Anointed S, the Unexpected Step Team, Tony Hoard and Rockin' Rory, creepy nose-driller Brad Byers, the EriAm Sisters, the Jesse White Tumbling Team, Urban Nation Hip Hop Choir, fire act Draconik, Hoff-loving David Johnson, the hoop sex people, NYC Gay Men's Chorus, and cute, tubby and possibly gay Dave and tiny, adorable Zoe, also known as Paradizo Dance. Tomorrow, Miami! More singing, dancing, drumming women and break-dancing robots than you can shake a stick at! And a much shorter recap, thank God!