By David Shapiro

For three years, the "American Idol" craze has appeared only in my peripheral vision via TV promos and newspaper headlines.

I'm a snob when it comes to reality TV and avoid it out of a belief that it degrades our culture, national spirit and sense of who we are. When you look closely, there's not much "reality" to it at all.

But last week, I was channel surfing and came across "Idol" just as Hawai'i's Jasmine Trias was performing her last song of the evening — and her last song of the competition, it turned out.

I stuck around for a minute to see what all the fuss was about and thought Trias' rendition of "All By Myself" was pleasing enough.

The show's judges didn't agree, however, and proceeded to pick her apart with snippy comments that Trias accepted with smiling grace.

Not only was the Hawai'i singer dissed, but one particularly fatuous English fellow suggested she made it as far as she did only because of strong home-state support — as if there was something wrong with that, as if our votes didn't matter as much as everybody else's.

I became so indignant with wounded local pride that I soon found myself madly battling dead phone lines and busy signals to speed-dial votes for Trias. I pumped my fist in triumph when I got through.

To me, there wasn't much difference among the final three singers. Vocal talent is entirely subjective, not something that can be measured like who's the fastest runner.

Why should anybody find it surprising that Hawai'i audiences would prefer a local-sounding voice we are accustomed to over the Southern-style offerings of contestants from Georgia and North Carolina?

My beef with reality TV is that it's a perversely false reflection of what Americans really do and who we really are.

Few of us engage in cutthroat competitions on desert islands where honor and friendship mean nothing. We don't forsake love to choose our life partners in meat markets. We seldom eat disgusting bugs for money, spy on one another or allow crass TV profiteers to tempt us to cheat on our mates.

"Idol" is relatively harmless unreality, but it cheapens the rich diversity of American music by producing homogenous pop stars who sing competently in a variety of styles, but lack the originality, flair or vision of our true musical idols.

Pop giants of our times — Louis Armstrong, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Bob Dylan, Aretha Franklin, B.B. King, Madonna, Norah Jones — wouldn't have likely survived an "Idol" competition where they had to sing Barry Manilow one week, disco another week and then some salsa.

But these American originals have always filled stadiums. Clay Aiken, the most successful product of "American Idol," fills tents at state fairs.

I laughed when a judge rapped one of Trias' rivals for not making the song she sang "her own."

How could she have when she was stuck with a moldy classic that someone else had picked for her, had only a few days to learn it and worked from a canned musical arrangement?

Let's be honest, this show is never going to produce memorable music and needs to take itself a whole lot less seriously. It's mostly about generating dollars for TV producers, record companies and concert promoters.

Hawai'i fans who have fun with friends and family while supporting the hometown girl have a lot more to do with its success than the self-important English bloke.

So give us our respect.

David Shapiro is a Hawai'i journalist who can be reached at dave@volcanicash.net.