by

Jansen Estrup

My wife is interested in the arts and watches “America's Got Talent” - I watch with her, occasionally, initially because it was grammatically challenged, as Britain's version of English often is, but catchy. It is a spin-off of BBC show, after all. And it seems very much an example of the current trend toward disconnectedness.

Sometimes I saw some people who had honed a variety of skills – magic, acrobatics, light shows and musical acts - excellent. I also saw a lot of junk and self-deluded contestants. There must have thousands more I happily missed.

The big prize is $1 million and a contract in Las Vegas. Of course many ambitious folk are attracted to so much money, fame and promise - and they gather from all over the world.

A few nights ago ten finalists gathered to hear what America thought of their lifelong ambitions and talents, a vote in which there seem as many options as contestants. Most of them cost money and enrich telephone and internet corporations, not to mention sponsors and the four celebrity judges and master-of-ceremonies.

The judges had been instrumental in selecting the finalists but now became just part of the glitz while fans waited to cheer their favorites. Would it be the married couple adept at mind-reading, a football star with magic skills or an Eastern European who juggled and bulged like a comic-book hero? Perhaps a young female contortionist who soared above the crowd like an angel. There were a fourteen year old operatic star and a twenty-one year old celebrating his birthday with a voice Sinatra would have loved to have at that age. A freaky comic made mime seem fresh and funny, and an inner-city foursome worked hard to win votes.

The finalists were a twelve-year old girl, a very good magician, and a couple who specialize in mind-reading tricks. Two tricksters and a child. These had been chosen America's top talents.

So which wannabe did America pick? The couple who had worked so well together for many years? The slight-of-hand expert who could baffle thousands with simple misdirection? No.

They gave the prizes to a twelve-year old singer-composer who sang something which sounded (to me) akin to gibberish in her squeaky voice. Her song, I don't know my name had already gone viral on the internet and children from all over the world are strumming ukuleles and singing the unintelligible lyrics. These young Americans had spent their precious votes and awarded a million bucks to a child who wouldn't even be old enough to appear in Vegas for nine more years, long after her new fad will have gone out of fashion. But maybe not.

To be fair, perhaps hers is simply a new wrinkle on 'skat' or a creole dig at those who insist that English be spoken here. Maybe it is real protest and I, with my old ears and ridgid sense of rhythm, simply have not danced in far too long.

Even the judges were left open mouthed and disbelieving. But, like political hacks over the past several decades, they have no one but themselves to blame. As with deregulation fanatics in the economic sphere, AGT producers had lowered the bar, indeed removed it completely. They have deregulated meaning. Facts don't count because we've been unlinked from reality and can choose our own fantasy. At last, anything goes, and for far too many, everything has already gone.

There are no longer any rules for success - no long years of hard work, no following past examples, no high-rise goals to attain. You can blame the judges and critics for that, for our disconnectedness from reality. You can blame us, too. In our need to simply survive the Trickle-down rat-race we've left our children alone, without care or direction, adrift.

The winning performer was Grace Vanderwaal, and her song's lyrics include these:

“I don't know my name/I don't play by the rules of the game/I'm lost/So you say I'm not trying/but I'm just trying to find my way/ ...”

On second thought, now that I've read and understand the lyrics, relinked to meaning, I think that is a good thing.

©2016