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    Idol Insider

    Nicki Minaj's hilarious feud propels American Idol to a new age: A sneak peekreveals plenty

    Tara Seetharam
    Jan 10, 2013 | 12:16 pm

    In 2002, Michael Jackson was dangling babies off of balconies. I was memorizing all the words to Nelly’s “Hot in Herre.” No one hated the Dixie Chicks. And a 20-year-old cocktail waitress from Burleson, Texas, won a little televised talent show called American Idol.

    That the cocktail waitress is now a platinum recording artist set to perform at President Obama’s inauguration is impressive. That the show that launched her is, nearly 11 years later, still as relevant as its biggest star is a television anomaly. Against the odds, American Idol has withstood shifting generations, rotating casts and a rapidly changing music industry.

    If the goal of Idol’s competitors is to create stars — and according to Adam Levine, it is — Idol is the professional in a room full of amateurs.

    But in pop culture, relevance can be lost in a Nicki Minaj z snap, all the more apparent in an era where singing competitions are a dime a dozen. This year, Idol is faced with a tricky mission — cutting through the noise of the show’s hipper, louder and increasingly popular competitors.

    No one understands this more than producers Nigel Lythgoe and Ken Warwick, who kicked off the Season 12 premiere event last night, recorded at UCLA’s Royce Hall and distributed via live feed to 11 theaters across the United States. I attended the Houston showing at the AMC Studio 30 on Dunvale, which didn’t have nearly the tingling energy of a Toyota Center Idols Live concert.

    Instead, the modest crowd of about 100 arrived quietly, loyalty to the show’s history and cautious excitement for the new season in tow.

    The producers delivered: Colorful, laugh-out-loud funny and focused all at once, the sneak peek of the two-hour premiere proved the Idol machine is, to quote the insufferable, in it to win it.

    Step one? Touting Idol’s resume. The episode smartly begins with a string of numbers: 250 million iTunes downloads, 370 No. 1 Billboard hits, 88 gold records, 19 platinum albums, nine Grammy Awards, 13 CMA Awards and one Oscar. Early winners Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood may be the torchbearers, but Idol’s success isn’t bottom heavy: Season 11 winner Phillip Phillips just went triple platinum with his debut single, “Home.”

    If the goal of Idol’s competitors is to create stars — and according to Adam Levine, at least, it is — Idol is the professional in a room full of amateurs.

    But the biggest story of Season 12 is its new blood: Minaj, Mariah Carey, and Keith Urban join Randy Jackson on the judging panel this year, replacing oddball pair Jennifer Lopez and Steven Tyler. The seeds of Carey and Minaj’s much talked-about feud are visible in the premiere, but, thankfully, that’s all it amounts to — an eye roll here, a hilarious Minaj stank face there, a few aggressive jabs sprinkled in between.

    “Your range is better than Mariah’s,” Minaj tells one contestant without blinking.

    For all the added flash, the new judges at least pump some identity into the panel, a welcome change from seasons past. Minaj straddles the line between grating and refreshing at any given moment, but her artistic vision is undeniable. Carey looks tame compared to Minaj, but her approach is nonetheless strong and consistent. And caught between the two is Urban, a steady, graceful force who shows the sharpest appreciation for the blend of technical and innate skills that make up the best artists.

    “Your range is better than Mariah’s,” Minaj tells one contestant without blinking.

    Time will tell if personalities can mesh for an entire season — “I feel like we gel well. Is that weird?” Minaj asks the panel in the premiere — but Idol has never been the sum of its judges. Unlike The Voice or The X Factor, when voting rolls around come March, the judges will be rendered irrelevant, and talent will drive the quality of the season. (I’m holding you to this, Lythgoe.)

    So what of the talent?

    The sneak peek featured one compelling audition and a few solid auditions from New York City and Chicago. Ashlee Feliceano, whose family adopts medically challenged foster children, sings “Put Your Records On” with spirit and a lovely tone. Sarah Restuccio’s take on Underwood’ “Mama’s Song” is serviceable, but when asked to sing a second song, the cowboy boots-sporting 17-year-old blazes through the rap portion of “Super Bass” with a much clearer personality.

    Minaj eats it up. Urban looks confused.

    Twenty three-year-old Griffin Peterson is the first WGWG of Season 12 (is it too early to call a winner?), but no discredit to him — his brief spin on Needtobreathe’s “Washed by the Water” is intriguing, though overshadowed by Minaj’s embarrassing fawning. “The single life,” Carey quips under her breath.

    And finally, we meet Lazaro Arbos, a 21-year-old Cuban native who moved to Florida with his parents a decade ago. Back stories haven’t kicked me in the gut since Danny Gokey ruined them for me, but this one does.

    Inhibited by a heavy stutter, Arbos has trouble even getting out the name of his song to the judges. The moment he starts singing “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” however, all traces of stutter disappear. His voice is a cross between David Archuleta’s purity and Clay Aiken’s tone, but its mark is open-faced vulnerability. Urban’s expression is priceless as he watches, as if to say, “Ah, this is why I’m here.”

    To that extent, the loss of Lopez’s sincerity isn’t noticeable just yet. Carey, Minaj and Urban may not be as nurturing as Lopez, but they each appear genuinely interested in contestants in their own way — be it via caustic honesty or emotional connection. If they can marry that to a critical eye in later rounds, you can’t ask for much more from a judging panel.

    A live Q&A session with the judges, hosted by Ryan Seacrest, followed the sneak peek of the premiere. The most telling aspect was the judges’ interaction (for Minaj and Carey, hardly any), but a few interesting bits surfaced:

    • Minaj’s final push to join the Idol team came from an unlikely source: Lil Wayne. Say what?
    • Minaj believes if you attach your dream to something bigger than yourself (for her, getting her family out of a bad situation), it’s impossible to quit the dream — the smartest cheesy advice I’ve heard in a while.
    • On achieving longevity: Urban says make art that’s relevant; Minaj says make choices you can live with; Jackson gives shockingly astute advice: “You have to be compared against yourself,” he says, noting previous true-to-self winners.
    • On finding an entertainer vs. a vocalist: Minaj thinks we’re in an era of entertainers; Jackson asks why can’t we have it all, and I agree with him for the second time . . . ever?
    • On the possibility of the judges performing together: Urban’s immediately in; the rest are suspiciously quiet.
    • On what it’s all about: It’s the moment when the television stops you in your tracks, and you ask yourself, “What is that voice doing to me?” Urban says. “The rest is just a crazy circus.” . . . “A good circus,” he’s quick to add.

    You can catch the two-hour premiere of American Idol Season 12 on Wednesday at 7 p.m. Chime in with your thoughts, and check back for more Idol coverage throughout the season.

    Get more of Tara Seetharam's pop culture musings on her website taraseetharam.com and follow her on Twitter @TaraAshley.

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    Creed concert review

    Creed serve up millennial nostalgia at pyro-packed RodeoHouston concert

    Craig Hlavaty
    Mar 11, 2026 | 11:54 pm
    Creed concert RodeoHouston
    Courtesy of Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo
    Singer Scott Stapp serenades the RodeoHouston crowd.

    Hello, my friend, we meet again.

    I’ve had a torrid relationship with Creed. As a circa-2000s punk rocker, it was implied that I was supposed to hate them. Nevertheless, I enjoyed those hook-laden Mark Tremonti riffs and Scott Stapp’s burly, Bono-grasping vocals, with just a hint of irony deep in the mix. I had “One Last Breath” on a burned mix CD, bunched in with Fugazi, Rancid, and Sham 69. I would skip it as quickly as I could, depending on who was in the car. Driving home from a long day slinging milk in the Kroger dairy cooler? Windows down, Stapp up.

    When I began my music journalism career 20 years ago (!!!), I began sticking up for them, much to the consternation of a lot of my fellow writers who were hung up on stuff that was supposed to be cooler and hipper. Creed’s pop-culture zenith came right as The Strokes and The White Stripes were thrust on us by the music press as a counter to post-grunge, which other music writers were categorically allergic to. Remember when our biggest problems in America were bands that were overtly influenced by Pearl Jam and Alice In Chains?

    In 2012, I interviewed lead singer Scott Stapp along the way for the Houston Press, and I distinctly recall Stapp being confused on our call that a guy from a smug alt-weekly wasn’t asking him stupid questions or making fun of his leather pants. The band was heading to Houston for a two-night stand at the Bayou Music Center in 2012 when they played 1997’s “My Own Prison” and 1999’s “Human Clay” in their entirety.

    Fun fact: “Human Clay” has sold over 20 million albums alone, besting Nirvana’s “Nevermind” and Pearl Jam’s “Ten” by only a relatively small margin. Creed moved more physical CDs when people actually bought music.

    Somehow, along the way, people stopped hating Creed and Nickelback, and the hate gave way to pre-social media, millennial high school, and pre-9/11 nostalgia. The similarly maligned Nickelback sold out the rodeo in 2024.

    On Wednesday, March 11, I saw junior high school kids wearing crispy new Creed shirts with their parents. Gen Alpha is beginning to get curious about what mom and dad were up to during spring break 2001, and Zoomers are rediscovering Y2K fashions. Haven’t you seen those “Mom, What Were You Like In The ‘90s?” memes?

    Creed has been sold out for weeks, drawing 70,007 attendees. If you had told someone 10 years ago that Creed would sell out RodeoHouston, they would have been skeptical. And yet here we are, staring down at a sold-out Creed show. These things run in cycles. Emotions fade. Annoyance turns into wistfulness for the days of Nokia brick phones and 99-cent gas. You can even go on a Creed Cruise now.

    Creed hit the stage just before 9:30 pm, an enviable bedtime for most elderly millennials, kicking off with the TOOL-chugalug of “Bullets,” with Stapp and Tremonti making the best use of their stage platforms, crucial devices for any major rock band in the 2000s. Unrelenting pyro shot from the dirt surrounding the stage every time Stapp lifted or flailed his arms like Elvis if he discovered cardio.

    The dirge of “Torn” — the second single from My Own Prison — was pyro-less, likely giving the cannons a few minutes to cool off. The sweaty Stapp, at just 52, looks to be in better shape than he did 20 years ago, now sporting a conservative haircut like he stepped out of his company’s stadium suite or finished a twilight run at Memorial Park.

    Stapp introduced “My Own Prison” with a preachery pep talk that wouldn’t sound out of place at an altar call at Sturgis. The crowd hung on every emphatic word. Maybe seeing two middle-aged dudes wearing Stryper shirts down on the concourse made more sense than I realized. Is Creed actually just TOOL that accepted Christ? The graphics behind the band could’ve fooled me.

    Stapp introduced “One” with a speech on commonalities and love. Looking back, Creed’s lyrics were much too earnest, hitting at a time when critics were still hungover from grunge.

    During “With Arms Wide Open,” the rodeo cameras would routinely cut to tattooed dads and rocker chicks in the crowd playing air guitar along with Tremonti and singing their guts out like they did the first time they heard it on 94.5 The Buzz. For a large segment of the crowd, they might have had a Gen-X parent jamming this stuff on the way to school in the morning.

    “Are you ready to get higher in here, Houston?” Stapp yells. The place erupts as “Higher” starts. Stapp was in his element, pyro shooting off, his silver jewelry dangling, taking in the crowd, like he didn’t expect such a response.

    Possibly the last true rock power ballad ever recorded, “One Last Breath,” got the biggest screams of the night; it might also be the Gen-Z “Don’t Stop Believing” as long as we’re making wildly controversial statements. [Editor’s note: Isn’t that Mr. Brightside? -ES]

    Welcome back, Creed, from pop-culture purgatory, and props for what might have been the loudest RodeoHouston show in years.

    SETLIST

    Bullets
    Torn
    Are You Ready?
    My Own Prison
    What If
    One
    With Arms Wide Open
    Higher
    One Last Breath
    My Sacrifice

    Creed concert RodeoHouston

    Courtesy of Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo

    Singer Scott Stapp serenades the RodeoHouston crowd.

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