What reassuring psychological heat this show has produced since 2003! Idol is far and away the most-watched programme in America, spellbinding inanity notwithstanding.
It is a talent quest, and on television, talent quests work.
But I am worried; this year's series isn't quite cutting the mustard.
Could it be the absence of judge Paula Abdul? The heavily medicated Abdul, who was comprehensible only every fourth week and once commented knowledgeably on a performance that had not yet taken place, is indeed sadly missed.
Replacement Ellen Degeneres knows little more about music than the ubiquitous Coke can in front of her.
But at least she isn't heavily medicated.
Conspiracy theorists - the ones who plead for actual voting numbers to be released - will be intrigued by the composition of the judging panel.
When the music industry, decimated by internal greed and external downloading, went to the wall in the late 1990s, experts claimed the industry would find a way to fight back.
Now there are just four major labels, and Idol judges Simon Cowell (Sony), Kara DioGuardi (Warner Bros) and Randy Jackson (Universal) are key talent-spotters for three of them.
Cowell also has a long history with the fourth, EMI.
So Idol has trimmed years of finding and developing an artist into three months with the company decision-maker not even having to get out of a chair.
Fame is instant - 2008 winner David Cook had six singles in the American Top Ten the week he won, just like the Beatles did in 1964.
Insane.
However, Cowell, token hated judge, will be gone after this series, walking away from a $NZ50 million contract.
Cowell may be a preening prat, but he understands the pap in pop, and consistently talks a whole lot of sense.
When he goes, the panel would be equally well served by four pigeons from Trafalgar Square.
After last weekend, we are down to seven contestants.
It has been a year of desperate back stories as contestants fight to get through.
Big Mike had the option of auditioning, or being with his wife for the birth of their first child.
Because American Idol is more important than life, he chose to audition.
Fortunately, the speaker on his cellphone was always turned on when the cameras happened to drop by, so we heard everything, even the anguished delivery.
Big Mike, huge, strong, 600lbs, wept like a weakling.
I suspect he is still getting votes for this reason.
My favourites both have numbingly fine names.
Crystal Bowersocks is a loveable earth mother, devoid of nerves, and overflowing with talent.
But Siobhan Magnus is the one.
As daft as tofu, Siobhan turns up with different costumes, a different persona and a different voice every week.
A classic mirror girl, she is also the best singer in the competition.
Incidentally, her dad is on YouTube, heavily tattooed and with bashed-in teeth.
He does an earthy House of the Rising Sun.
The rest? Lee, a rocker who can be sensitive, is scarily like the last two winners, very straight-down-the-middle American.
Please God, not again.
Aaron is just 16 and knows how to push buttons in a talent quest.
Lovely teeth.
Casey likes to have his his long blonde hair back-lit so he can look like an angel, but, despite a fine Jealous Guy two weeks ago, he is just a bar musician.
And finally the grinning Tim, worthless for weeks until on Beatles night he combed his hair like a young John Lennon and lifted the microphone up just a little like John used to.
Smart.
He is still improving.
Adam was tragically shafted last year.
The same may happen to Siobhan.
I pull my chair closer to the warm glow of the television and cross my fingers.
• Roy Colbert is a Dunedin writer.
