After a disaster, there’s usually a public outcry to place blame on someone, a name and face to associate with the tragedy and confusion we have all been forced to experience.

Reality television is our disaster.

It has taken over the airwaves, and blame must be placed.

This is all Bob Saget’s fault.

He wasn’t the first. Most would argue that he wasn’t the best.

But when “America’s Funniest Home Videos” debuted in 1990, Saget, armed with footage of baseballs to the groin and a sense of humor dry enough to turn grapes to raisins, ushered in an era of voyeuristic television the networks haven’t been able to shake for nearly 15 years.

But this isn’t about reality television.

Sure, most of it isn’t worth the pig intestines on “Fear Factor,” but the idea of placing real people in front of the camera isn’t an inherently terrible idea.

“Candid Camera,” which began in 1947 as a radio program and later became a television show, made real people into celebrities, if only for 15 minutes.

On the flipside, MTV’s “Punk’d,” hosted by Iowa’s own Ashton Kutcher (favorite line: “Back where I come from, we park our own damn cars … I could park an F-150 in the crack of your ass”), brings celebrity prima donnas like Justin Timberlake and Jessica Alba down to a believable human level.

Reality television becomes excessive when it oversteps its role as simply a television show, and unfortunately, the line was crossed when Kelly Clarkson, winner of last season’s “American Idol” on Fox, released her debut album, “Thankful,” earlier this month.

Perhaps she should have called it “Dumbfounded.”

In another demonstration of the public’s inability to distinguish between actual music and mass-marketed karaoke singers, “Thankful” topped the Billboard charts and debuted at No. 1.

Some might argue that Clarkson, whose winning was based on a phone-in vote open to the public, was elected by the American people. This is true — if you ignore the fact that the contestants were originally narrowed down by judges Paula Abdul, perfecter of the early ’90s dance-pop formula; Randy Jackson, producer of such “original” acts as N*Sync and Celine Dion; and Simon Cowell, whose work as a BMG record exec has helped the label sell more than 25 million albums.

Fair and unbiased? Of course it is — as long as you’re a contestant who’s between 16 and 24, attractive (or at least likable, such as current contestants Ruben Studdard and Clay Aiken) and can match the public’s perception of “the perfect popstar” — an image already established by the major record labels.

Essentially, “American Idol” is a documentary. Mainstream music is being decided upon in usual fashion — there just happen to be cameras rolling for this one.

This isn’t just a problem with bad music outselling good music. It’s been happening for years, it’s a flaw in the system, and nothing will change until the recording industry itself is restructured — and I don’t see Tommy Mottola handing over the keys to the executive washroom at Sony anytime soon.

This is a problem of television trying to invade another aspect of our lives without permission. Instead of allowing the public to make a decision about music for themselves, producers from one medium are spoon-feeding us their version of another.

As long as the music fits the mold of the popular music scene, television producers will continue to toot their horns over talentless performers. And the children watching at home will simply follow the piper.