Generally, when he was allowed to choose his own songs, he went small. He covered Damien Rice and the Box Tops and, with a straight face, Matchbox Twenty. Offered fashion advice, he stuck to his guns, which is to say he smiled, then ignored. On Tuesday night, while the other finalist, Jessica Sanchez, was dressed for a pageant, Mr. Phillips was dressed for a kegger.
On Wednesday night he was named the winner of the 11th season of “Idol,†and only then did he drop his guard, or find his heart, abandoning his victory song midway through and collapsing into the arms of his family.
Mr. Phillips is the fifth fundamentally sensitive white male singer in a row to win, which probably indicates stagnation in the “Idol†voting base more than it does a resurgent interest in tepidity and middle-of-the-road rock. It is no small thing, and worth noting, that of these white men he is easily the best, not a dullard nor a mook nor a boy made good. He was steadily great throughout the season, never once in the bottom three, and even when he underwhelmed, he came off as a bored genius in a remedial class going through the motions.
Tuesday’s finale wasn’t a showdown so much as the convenient intersection of two arcs â€" Ms. Sanchez’s ascendant but flattening, and Mr. Phillips’s steady as he goes. With a mature but not deep voice, Ms. Sanchez, 16, delivered flamboyant performances throughout the season, but on Tuesday she appeared rushed, her gale-force vocals less overpowering than usual. She sang her three songs in the same, showboaty, effortful fashion: Whitney Houston’s “I Have Nothing,†Celine Dion and Andrea Bocelli’s “Prayer,†and “Change Nothing,†an “Idolâ€-commissioned song.
While she had Mr. Phillips beat in volume, and maybe also in commitment, he was lithe and sly, performing as if there were no competition. His take on Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me†was restrained and appealingly slippery, and on Billy Joel’s “Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song)†he let loose a roar near the end, a reminder that his modesty is just a pose.
In winning “Idol,†the rootsy Mr. Phillips, 21, has been saved from a likely future fronting some noodling band of the sort that might have played the old Wetlands â€" the Phillip Phillips Phancy Phunk Philibuster, or the like. For what it’s worth, his new song, “Home,†was notionally more modern than Ms. Sanchez’s, though only in that it recalled recent artists â€" say, the Glen Hansard of “Once†â€" who in turn recalled the folk-rock of the late 1960s.
Still, these new songs, which “Idol†finalists are burdened singing and which are their debut singles if they win: year after year, they are a reminder of how difficult a craft songwriting is. Ms. Sanchez was given “Change Nothing,†which at least avoided the typical “Idol†finale themes of accomplishment and uplift. But it was gummy and swingless, an insult to Ms. Sanchez’s towering voice.
“You have that Beyoncé kind of swag, you got urban in you, so to do just a straight pop song without having your flavor in it is often a little weird for me when you do it,†Randy Jackson, one of the judges, told her afterward, with signature circumlocution.
The leaden and plain “Home,†meanwhile, was an insult to Mr. Phillips’s intelligence, a weak number that used rusticity to stand in for depth, and that needed a marching band to prop it up during his performance. He looked immeasurably happier â€" happier than at any point this season â€" on Wednesday night, when he was able to sing a pair of songs with John Fogerty, who made the sort of music “Home†is a fifth-generation facsimile of. Ms. Sanchez was equally thrilled to sing “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going†with Jennifer Holliday, though Ms. Holliday often looked as if she would as gladly have shouted Ms. Sanchez off the stage (which she could have easily done) as perform a duet with her.
Apart from Mr. Phillips, the other winner on Wednesday night was Joshua Ledet, who placed third and was easily the most professional-sounding and downright invigorating singer in the competition. A tightly wound soul man transported directly from a 1950s pulpit, he was often astonishing, and delivered more emotional impact as the season progressed. In recent weeks, when he and Mr. Phillips were performing the contrived duets the show cruelly imposes on contestants (and viewers), Mr. Ledet looked as though he were singing for his supper. Mr. Phillips looked as if he were waiting for it to be delivered.
There was no prize for Mr. Ledet, apart from the knowledge that no one seemed more comfortable than he did during the Wednesday-night performances, which are merely ceremonial, meant to fill the two hours before the night’s only relevant information is revealed. He sang a fiery, unhinged version of Elton John’s “Take Me to the Pilot†with Fantasia Barrino, a former “Idol†winner, and during a Bee Gees medley (in honor of the recently departed Robin Gibb), he stripped the material of its essential fluff, delivering in a growl what had ordinarily been soft and winsome.
Early in the season Mr. Ledet appeared cowed by his gift, but he grew increasingly confident, to the point where he dwarfed not just the other contestants but also the competition as a whole. Many of the other competitors were gifted â€" maybe as many as in any season of the show â€" but their impressive technique was paired with little capacity for feeling. (Skylar Laine, the young country firecracker, was a notable exception.)
That may partly explain the huge dip in ratings the show experienced this season, as might the largely rote comments of the judges, who are the show’s only other real variable. On Wednesday Mr. Jackson’s penchant for saying great contestants can “sing the phone book†was parodied with a skit in which they did just that. Ryan Seacrest, the host, ribbed him, “Get some new material for next year.†Steven Tyler has retreated into a puddle of cliché and anodyne praise. Jennifer Lopez remains the most sensible and thoughtful of the judges, genuinely emotional and insightful. She is also the one who has publicly wavered about returning next season. But while she is essential to the show’s credibility, and maybe its true star, it’s not her ship to right.
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