On the ‘Idol’ roller coaster

IN warfare, there are great battles whose heroes echo across the centuries. Visitors to Gettysburg stand at Little Round Top and recall in reverence the tragic fallen, the spot where Civil War soldiers gave everything they had and the fate of the world was decided.

And then there are other battle fronts -- World War I’s the Battle of Verdun, or the Civil War’s Wilderness battle -- where on ground favorable to no one, troops desperately claw at each other until exhausted, the survivors slink from the field, no advantage gained on either side. No reputations made -- only many destroyed.

“American Idol’s” Latin night was a battle in the latter category. After a string of strong weeks, marked by flawless performances by the top tier, the contestants were just OK. No advantage gained or lost for any serious contender -- only Blake Lewis probably taking a step forward.

The constant whirlwind of emotions these contestants go through was brought home in a conversation with last week’s vanquished, Gina Glocksen.

Asked if she’s made peace with what happened, Glocksen responds with an unambiguous, “Noooooo ... it really hasn’t hit me yet. I’ve just been on the go.”

During her time on the show, it was clear that the super-gregarious rocker took the competition very, very seriously. As much as anyone, you could see Glocksen tense up during the judging. She says that she had no fear about her actual performances, she found the crucial moment of standing for judgment, “Very scary. No one wants to hear bad things said about them, especially when you know America listens to what they say and may react to how they respond.”

Offstage however, Glocksen confirms that the buddy atmosphere seen on stage really does exist. “There’s no fights; there’s no cliques. We all got along.” And that goodwill, she insists, extended to “Idol” antihero Sanjaya Malakar.

Glocksen vehemently denied my analysis a couple of week’s back that there was visible tension between the contestants: “I think what you were seeing was maybe a little envy toward Sanjaya. He just went out there and did his thing and didn’t care what anybody said or thought. We wished the rest of us could feel that way sometimes.”

Beneath the camaraderie, however, there was a constant tension, not at all the college fiesta environment that some might imagine. “Most of the time I went to bed by 10 .... It’s not a party atmosphere. We’re there for one specific reason and that’s the competition, and you try not to party at all,” she said.

Which finally is the paradox at the heart of “Idol’s” appeal. From the depths of obscurity, 12 are drawn and brought to the cusp of all the treasures American society has to offer, only, for most, to have them snatched away. They are locked away from society with only one another to turn to -- but with the knowledge that for one to succeed, others must fail.

Glocksen describes the elimination ritual: “Wednesdays were probably the worst days of my life. There are people you get so close to ... and the next minute they’re gone.”

But after the beheading, the Idols gather for one of the show’s less publicized rituals, but one that the contestants have apparently observed since the beginning. When asked what the greatest moment of her Idol journey was, Glocksen replies, “My kick-off dinner.”

Every Wednesday night, the remaining Idols dine together one last time. “We eat and we just tell each other what we think of them and why we love them and we congratulate each other on making it as far as they did.”

Glocksen is looking ahead to rejoining her comrades on the tour this summer, after which she plans to move to Los Angeles to make music.

In the meantime, other kick-off dinners await.

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richard.rushfield@latimes.com

Show Tracker follows television series through their highs and lows.