Is anybody else watching The Sing Off? Everybody in the world should be watching The Sing Off. That is what I am doing at this very moment, as it happens, with my beloved Daniel and my tolerable Samantha, in the comfort of Daniel’s high-ceilinged sublet. There is Neapolitan ice cream. There is snark. There are hipster glasses the likes of which have perhaps never been seen before. And there is a universal consensus that Nick Lachey needs to buy his shirts just one size larger than he currently does.
Anyway. I love how smart this show is, musically. The judges are all serious musicians who know their shit, but are also constructive and goofy and fun, and the focus of the whole thing is actually talent. I mean, there are the standard reality-show sob stories, but they don’t seem to play any role in the actual decision-making. Hell, one of the first groups eliminated was a bunch of deeply-religious refugees from various war-torn areas of Africa. That’s audience-sympathy gold right there. But they were kind of lame, so off they went. Sorry, guys. We need those harmonies tight; you can’t leave room for Jesus in there.
(OH MY GOD. “SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY.” THIS IS THE BEST THING YOU’VE EVER DONE, DARTMOUTH AIRES. LISTEN TO THAT BASS-LINE. GODDAMN.)
Crap, it’s almost midnight. Well, off you go, little post. Our time together was brief, but intoxicating.