Their song is now familiar

The Times’ pop music critics’ take on “American Idol”:

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IT’S time to start thinking about a world beyond “Idol.” Oh, hush -- if “Law & Order” can hang on, you can be sure that next year will see another bunch of crooning and shouting fashion disasters prancing through Simon Cowell’s field of vision.

The prospects for this finale simply make me cringe, however, because without Melinda Doolittle it will be a travesty, and with her it will be a contest between her deep musical charisma and the chameleon sheen of her juniors, and that’s not a pretty fight. So I’d rather focus on where the final troika will be in a year’s time.

Jordin Sparks’ sassy and savvy admission that she loves Hanson’s “MMMBop” predicts her future. Anyone who’s watched the Disney Channel recognizes that Jordin is so Raven -- like that network’s Raven Symone, she’s a super-wholesome baby role model whose image can easily be milked for a product line.

She’ll use that adequate voice and wonderful personality to become the parent-approved American Girl doll she’s already dressing like when she sings ballads like “I Who Have Nothing.” A few years from now, she could grow up and get interesting.

Blake Lewis, briefly seen Tuesday night beat-boxing with Seattle’s only rap elder, Sir Mix-A-Lot, is at the forefront of a surprising mini-movement from the historically less-than-urban Pacific Northwest.

Blake could use his newfound fame to champion the cool, interracial hip-hop scene there. If not, he’ll do fine pushing Maroon 5 off their white-boy-soul throne.

And Melinda ... Melinda, Melinda. Would you not love to hear the voice she’s now fully revealing blasting out of radios and hard-drives everywhere? It’s classic; it’s deep; it has character. She doesn’t abuse melisma, and she never sounds generic (though her outfits are straight off the rack).

Of the three still standing, hers is the only voice I’d recognize in a blindfold test. Unfortunately, that’s not what matters most in today’s mainstream. I dream of her letting go of her nice-girl past, discovering the retro-soul underground and hooking up with producer Mark Ronson. What he did with Amy Winehouse he could do double with her.

Ann Powers

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IT was a dizzying night.

Jordin seemed a bit off trying to jazz up her show-opening number Tuesday, but Reba McEntire was at her folksy best emceeing. Then Blake came to life, while George was Strait-laced as ever, and if Carrie Underwood sounded a little pitchy in her big number, Simon was uncharacteristically generous with his critical kudos.

Yes, for music fans torn between keeping up with the fates of the would-be stars on “American Idol” and the real-life ones vying in the 42nd annual Academy of Country Music Awards, reality TV suddenly turned into surreality TV.

Especially in the 8 o’clock hour, when the two went head-to-head and it became a thoroughly through-the-looking-glass adventure, with “Idol” grad Underwood and last month’s guest “Idol” vocal coach Martina McBride both singing on the ACM show.

The whole channel-hopping adventure left me thinking: Toby Keith, you were OK, dog, but I didn’t think it was your best performance this season.

-- Randy Lewis

ann.powers@latimes.com

randy.lewis@latimes.com