Premiering late last fall to millions of hits, Best. Cover. Ever. became the latest entrant competing for eyeballs midst the ever more hectic whirl of musical reality programming. In the broadest outline, the Ludacris-hosted contest takes its cues from the modern blueprint first popularized by American Idol back before the turn of the millenium. Viewers are expected to tune in to catch the easy banter of music industry bigwigs – a murderer's row including Demi Lovato, Katy Perry, Flo Rida, Backstreet Boys, Bebe Rexha, Charlie Puth, and Keith Urban – and then grow emotionally invested in the individual stories of plucky neophytes angling for the bigger stage.
Unlike the majority of such series, though, the talent auditions aren't kept separate from the celebrity cavalcade but instead become an inegral part of the starmaking process. In every episode, the recording legends themselves select their favorite entrant from the bounty of clips submitted over the course of the last year. Oddly enough, the ten part first season earned rave reviews in large part because the format embraced a genre-spanning diversity rare among reality programming. As happens, even such precisely-marketed artists as Keith Urban preferred cover versions whose styles veer far afield from the originals while the internet platform should (theoretically, at least) ensure greater inclusivity.
In an interview with Billboard last October, Ludacris found the selection process surprisingly emotional because “you don’t realize how hard people have been working and how hard they’ve been struggling to make ends meet to continue on with their dreams.” Since the admissions process for Best Cover Ever (or any tv on the web) strikes even the poorest candidates as significantly easier than the gauntlet of cross-country talent auditions demanded from the established programs, the pool of applicants widens accordingly.
It's easy enough to argue the wider net thrown by television on the web would help promote standout performers otherwise less apt to try their luck against the presumably more-polished competition flocking toward the starrier climes of network franchises. More to the point, any hint of greater desperation should only heighten the allure. “This is not only an opportunity to live out one of their dreams with their favorite artists,” Ludacris continued, “but to continue to try to catapult them to superstardom and give them that little boost that they need.”
TV On The Web & Stars In Their Eyes
Beyond the inherent suspicions always lurking around a newly minted format yet to prove its legitimacy, its a difficult time to launch any singing-based television series – online or otherwise – as Best. Cover. Ever. enters an increasingly crowded marketplace. NBC's ratings juggernaut The Voice roars onward with stalwarts Alicia Keys, Adam Levine, and Blake Shelton joined by Kelly Clarkson, and ABC has sculpted a new American Idol featuring Katy Perry, Lionel Richie, and Luke Bryan. FOX, meanwhile, has called upon the ever-so-slightly-dimming wattage of Meghan Trainor, Sean Combs, Fergie, and DJ Khaled to elevate recent debut The Four: Battle For Stardom – "a groundbreaking new singing competition series that challenges performers to fight for their life to be the best."
Even though the American appetite for talent show competition seems unquenchable, media pundits have become increasingly concerned that the raw talents supposedly mined for stardom are in actuality little more than disposable plot contrivances instilling purpose among our actual jukebox heroes. Writing about the Voice phenomenon for the Hollywood Reporter, Paul Brownfield found that “the show’s greatest use (despite the pleasure in seeing unknowns succeed, or fail, in assorted renditions of cover tunes) has turned out to be something else: taking established artists and making them bigger -- much bigger -- while showcasing a celebrity chemistry using high-caliber names that usually don’t tread in prime-time reality.”
It's a more and more common complaint from cultural arbiters less than pleased with the current direction of our reality-obsessed times. Comparing the excitement that greeted the first wave of Idol sensations to the successive non-entities foisted upon an uncaring public by the Voice, Brownfield further argued “the idea of small-town-kid-discovered-on-
In all honesty, though the evolving platforms themselves inspire dizzying realms of possibilities, it's become depressingly clear that most high profile reality-themed projects will stick close to the stars 'n scrubs cover-happy Idol playbook until some new venture changes the game in a demonstrable profitable fashion. At this point, each series' rush to stock their judiciary with headlining heavyweights far outweighs the drama you'd ordinarily expect from a talent show competition. Weirder still, while every series seeks to replicate their putative formula, Randy Jackson and Simon Cowell were utterly unknown to the American public (and Paula Abdul well past relevance) during the first flowering of Idol-mania.
If we are, as a nation, reaching peak talent show levels, might not the answer be refreshing the material? Imagine how dreary the Top 40 would seem if each act were summarily forced to rely upon newly-voicing the hits of their predecessors. Nebula, a forthcoming webcast venture from super-producer Graylan King, isn't by any means attempting to re-invent the wheel through their own take on making-the-band -- “the 'helping hand' … by which guitarists find their rhythm section or songwriters gain their voice" -- but, by asking viewers to vote in a songwriter as well as a singer (and guitarist, bassist, etc), the program at least aims at something new rather than rehashing yesterday's novelty. After all, no matter how famous the celebs judging best new covers, isn't it past time we chose a new book?