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That's what a number of contestants said after winning a ticket to Hollywood last night. Not that I've been woodshedding, my dream is to be backed up by Jeff Beck and Jim Keltner, to jam with John Mayer, but that if all goes well, I'm going to make a lot of money.

Somebody's going to win. But how much money is he or she going to make? In an industry where the true stars are thrilled to reach a two million sales plateau and most people have no idea what the number one record is?

American Idol is a television show. First and foremost. It's bigger than any contestant. It's glorified karaoke at best. But it's fascinating to watch because it perpetuates the myth that there's a singular filter, a gate, which if you can pass through, solves all of your problems.

This used to be getting a record deal. If only a label would sign you. You'd hound A&R men to come to your showcase, even though, over time, they didn't even have signing power. But if you got a major label deal that meant someone believed. It was like being in elementary school and getting a gold star on your paper. You walked proudly and felt that the company was going to take care of you. Now the company can't take care of its own employees. Wall Street is reeling. They don't care about you. Labels sign very few acts, want a ton of rights and most fascinatingly, break very little in a world where few are paying attention.

So you turn to American Idol. You'll go straight to the people, plead your case. And your case is usually, I'm beautiful, I can sing like Mariah Carey, this is America, I get a chance, don't I? I'm ENTITLED to my chance!

The English bluesmeisters, who still do sell-out business today, spoke through their instruments, because they were so shy, they could barely speak themselves. Sure, they took up playing to get laid. How else would they connect? You've got to ask someone for a date, and keep up conversation, they couldn't do that. And it was the only way out. The factory or top of the pops. And if you did make it to the top, if your record did go to number one, it was just a momentary thing. Then back to your hometown, to watch some football, drink a beer in the pub, go to your day job.

But music blew up. Not only can Paul McCartney still play music for a living, but the Stones and Peter Noone too. It was a magical time. The music came to represent the time. Records told you which way the wind blew. Bob Dylan would be laughed out of an AI audition, but he set the course for so many in the sixties and beyond. You had to say something.

It's hard to say something if you don't write the material. You're just grist for the mill.

That's what everybody is fighting for on "American Idol", to be grist for the mill. Please, use me, abuse me, make me into whatever you want. This is the opposite of classic rock, the sound that is still filling arenas. Classic rock was about doing it your own way, giving the man the middle finger. But now Simon Cowell gives the middle finger to you. Now the businessman is the star. And you've got to hand it to Simon, at least he's honest. More honest than anybody appearing in front of him.

The rest of the judges? Thrilled they're along for the ride.

Randy Jackson can stay off the road and pitch lame reality shows to MTV.

Paula Abdul can forestall a life of boredom in the San Fernando Valley.

Kara DioGuardi can finally be famous. After failing as a performer and writing utterly forgettable songs.

We used to have Doc Pomus. Leiber & Stoller. Now we've got Kara DioGuardi? Can you envision a "Smokey Joe's Cafe" of Kara's tunes opening on Broadway ten or twenty years from now?

Hope you didn't ruin your computer screen by spitting up your morning coffee.

You see Kara DioGuardi is part of the myth. That statistics make you famous, make you not only worthwhile, but legendary. She's got tunes on forty five Top Ten albums! And those are..? Maybe at best, chest-beater Celine Dion's?

But Kara's a good judge. She's not quite the new Simon, but she adds some life to this TV show. Where they manipulate the people and the interactions to generate audience reaction. Yes, AI is not reality, not even a facsimile, but an entertainment. Fake, just like America specializes in. Rather than show the nitty-gritty, we'll pull your heartstrings, will make you laugh, you had a good time, right?

But it's like eating a Twinkie. You think you want one, but it's never as satisfying as your desire. You desire something more real. But there are playlists to fill, tours to sell, we've got a whole industry that refuses to put on the brakes and ask if we're going in the right direction. We're Detroit, with just a lot fewer zeroes.

And the plethora of people who line up to play our game, to be contestants on American Idol, delivers the hope that people still care. But they don't, because winners on the show become fourth rate celebrities that most people just don't care about. Kelly Clarkson made it when MTV was still a viable hitmaking machine, she could be sold far and wide (and she was the beneficiary of a great Max Martin/Dr. Luke track.) Carrie Underwood is living in the old fading sausage factory known as country music. Where titans with tight fists believe terrestrial radio and CDs will rule forever, however deluded they might be. But the newly-minted idols, they're entering a world where train-wrecks are posted all over the Web, almost instantly, and are then forgotten.

If you want to last, you've got to build slowly. You've got to be selling something beyond your desire to be rich and famous. You've got to get fans yourself. And, you've got to be satisfied when you can give up your day job, because today, even if you're on the cover of "People", you may still have to work 9-5. Being famous is easy. Making people care is much harder.

So American Idol is a perpetuation of the nineties. It's as if TRL didn't go off the air. As if boy bands still ruled the earth. As if albums still had diamond sales. Contestants want some of that nineties fame. But it's the twenty first century. And to the degree that old paradigm works, it's marginal, it's a very small mainstream. But there is no new mainstream. So people hold on to the old. But true seers, performers who want to survive, are trying to figure out the new world, trying to become the new classic rock acts, famous for their material and their chops, however difficult that may be. They're like the Claptons of yore. They're driven to do this. They just want to survive. They'll be stunned if they ever become rich and famous.

Because if you put being rich and famous first, you've got nothing that makes you attractive, that makes you desirable. And we need more. A pretty face is not enough.