There are few
certainties in life. Toast will always land butter side down. A dog will lick
its nuts, simply because it can. And X-Factor movie night means Bryan Adams and
Celine Dion. So here we are, listening to an aggravating mix of movie
soundtracks as Dermot overdoes his spin and almost falls on his arse. As the
judges take their bows, Nicole looks like she’s on her way to a red carpet, and
Gary looks like he lays them. And Louis, bless him, could be in rehearsals for
The Bucket List 2. Sharon’s doing some tough talking on the VT, telling us “I’m
not going down without a fight.” Or a muscle relaxant.
Getting the show off
to an ignominious start is Rough Copy; still trying to make those man skirts
happen. Gary’s trying to hit on one of the boys’ mums, telling them “I’d love
to meet her. Bring her to my dressing room – I’ll clear it with security.” Save
it for the tour bus, Barlow. The boys are doing Everything I Do, I Do It For
You, and Gary thinks it’s an amazing choice because no-one’s going to expect
it. Apart from all the people watching this footage right now. Individually,
their vocals are stronger than usual, but the harmonies are predictably
shocking. Thankfully, there’s a choir, LED wall and dramatic lighting rigs to
drown all that out. Nicole slurs “That’s the way you kick off a show,” – looks
like someone’s been helping themselves to Sharon’s sippy cup. Louis reprises
his weekly assertion that there’s a gap in the market, as if he’s managing the
stalls in Walford.
Sam is still on a high
from last week, because he wants to get comments on his voice rather than how
he looks. So I’m not entirely sure why his entire VT focuses on a shirtless
photo shoot, followed by his appearance as Heat’s Torso Of The Week. Louis has
more good news for him, telling the long-faced teen that he’s off to the
premiere of “Tortoo”. The publicist for Thor: the Dark World is going to be
getting a kicking on Monday morning – “You had one job, and that was to get
them to say the proper name of the movie.” Sam’s a nice enough looking lad, but
his skin-tight jeans only accentuate how short and stocky he is. Pair that with
all the fake tan, and I’m surprised his song doesn’t start with “Oompa Loompa,
do-ba-dee-doo”. He’s actually croaking his way through All I Want Is You, but
apart from a nice falsetto at the end, it’s strictly amateur hour. Sharon
wanted more edge, Louis blinks in disbelief that anyone would criticise it, and
Gary thinks Sam’s voice was a little exposed. At least it makes a change from
his cum gutters. Sam tries to be diplomatic about the negative feedback, but
gives up when even Dermot weighs in to say that the song was too big for him.
Hannah and Nicole have
an awkwardly staged chat about life before X-Factor. Still buzzing from her
trip to ASDA with Jahmene last year, Nicole can smell another opportunity to
play dress-up in a tabard and hairnet. So it’s off to Greggs they go. Who knew
stuffing sausage rolls into a paper bag could be such a hoot – these minimum
wage, zero-hour pastry monkeys don’t know how lucky they are. It’s up to Hannah
to reinject a little glamour into proceedings with a bold rendition of Skyfall.
She’s been styled like a Nina Simone tribute act, but on a song like this it’s
only the voice that counts, and she does a great job. Unfortunately, she keeps
patting her stomach through the song, as if her chicken tikka lattice is
threatening to make a reappearance. The judges gush about her, but Hannah
scowls through their feedback. Nicole, on the other hand, says Hannah’s singing
makes her want to get up and act like an idiot. At least that’s one mystery
solved.
Louis seems surprised
that his little ‘Tartan Titan’ Nicholas has heard of Angel by Sarah McLachlan.
Given that Westlife covered it, and it seems to get performed at least once a
series, it’s hardly on a par with a George Formby b-side. Nicholas’ thrilling
VT shows how excited he is about learning to wash and iron his own T-shirts.
For a moment, I thought I’d sat on the remote and switched over to Hotel of Mum
and Dad on BBC Three. Angel is a downbeat song at the best of times, and it’s
not helped by a bunch of dancers having seizures on school chairs. Still, he
does a fine job with the vocal, but I’m not convinced the silver-flecked dinner
jacket is doing him any favours. “How old are you again?” asks Sharon
hilariously, after about 400 references to the fact that he’s only sixteen.
Even Dermot’s getting sick of it, and he’ll put up with any old shit. Attention
is drawn to a man dressed like Russ Abbott in the audience – I’m sorry, people
in comedy wigs and kilts should only be allowed into TV studios if they’re
holding one of those enormous checks on a piece of foamex board. Gary scores a
point in X-Factor bingo, by imploring Nicholas to act his age a little more. It’s
a good effort, but tonight belongs to Louis, who manages to cram four of his
favourite clichés into a single sentence: “You’ve got a natural recording
voice, and that’s what this show is all about - I think you could go far in
this competition, and I hope everyone in Scotland votes for you.”
Hold onto your hats
folks, it’s time to shake this mother up, with Abi and her spectacular…
ldknjnkdklnvk;sdk.vmmmsld;;ls;lsv;lklxil. I’m sorry, what? I think I must have
just nodded off there. Last thing I remember, Nicole and Abi were pretending to
have a sleepover in the lobby of a Holiday Inn. Now she’s perched on a stool,
accompanied by an acoustic guitar, and dozing her way through a low-key version
of Moon River; which was hardly a Miley Cyrus banger to start with. It’s so
dull, she could euthanize dogs with her performance. Even the judges have taken
to stabbing themselves in the thigh with a biro just to stay awake. The
negative feedback upsets her, so thank goodness the camera operator stayed
awake long enough to zoom in dramatically on a tear as it plops down her cheek.
Dermot attempts to console her, telling her how he hates to see her upset. He
might, but the producers fucking love it. Quick, someone tell her that her
Grandma just caught fire.
After last week’s
drama, it’s nice to see Miss Dynamix back on form. SeSe gets upset that they’re
being prejudged, because they got a free pass to this week. Gary tells them to
stop going on Twitter, so instead they do their best to show how united they
are; snuggling up on sofas and bunk-beds like the Brady Bunch. It’s about as
convincing as Sharon’s rictus grin, which we see plenty of, during their
En-Voguey take on Gabrielle’s Dreams. They’re all fine singers individually,
but they’re just not gelling as a group – a point so obvious that even Louis
notices. SeSe is already making excuses for their poor performance, so we
shouldn’t be too surprised if they end up the bottom two tomorrow.
Dermot appears to be
introducing Sam Bailey from a Perspex viewing box, prompting audience members
to make various inappropriate hand signals across the bottom of the screen –
thankfully the camera pans away before someone goes all ‘Gareth Hunt Nescafe’.
Sam is still humblebragging about how ordinary she is, and can’t believe she’s
in the final ten of X-Factor. She’s singing My Heart Will Go On, and tells a
hilarious story about singing it on a cruise ship during a storm. It’s actually
not funny at all – I guess you had to be there, washing the sea-sick out of
your hair. Tonight, she’s wearing a very tall dress, that looks as if she’s got
Shelley’s old scissor lift stuck up her gusset. Gary gives it some serious sex
face as she skilfully tackles the key change, although he overeggs it slightly
by telling her she sang it better than Celine Dion. Sharon says, “I hope Simon
Cowell is watching this show,” proving once and for all how disconnected the
Dark Lord is from his flagship property.
Just time for some
quick bants with Little Mix, which ends with Dermot saying “See you next week”
to Leigh-Anne tits, before we move onto Kingsland Road. They’re pretty sanguine
about last week’s sing-off, telling us “The flash vote shows anyone can be in
the bottom two.” Yes, if they happen to be shitter than everybody else. They
decide to rewatch last week’s performance, so that they can give a nice plug to
YouView. Although, I’m not sure who thought it was a good idea to promote the
digital catch-up service by adding a crappy horizontal lining effect, like those
news reports on RoboCop. Their performance of Pretty Woman is a health and
safety nightmare, as they come swinging in on a huge piece of rigging. They’re
trying way too hard with the vocals – this is supposed to be a sugary chat-up
line of a song, but it’s more like they’re shouting sexual epithets at a nun.
Nicole tells them she wants them to rain their cheese over her, so I guess the
aggressive approach works for some.
Luke still can’t
believe that people at home are picking up the phone and voting for him;
they’re usually contacting Rentokil, concerned about an infestation. He takes a
trip to a fancy hair salon, where the chief hairdresser begs to wash his hair.
I thought they’d just plunge him into a sheep dip, but they use a regular sink,
albeit one that looks like a dirty protest when they’re done. Not to worry,
Louis is on hand to offer some really focused advice to his dreadlocked
protégé: “Be careful with the vocal. You must get the vocal right.” Strumming
his guitar with a tourniquet wrapped around one arm, it seems as though Luke
may be a modern-day Samson. Half a bottle of Pantene and suddenly he’s lost all
his uniqueness. Louis point out that the X-Factor is all about standing out,
but it’s worth remembering that there’s a fine line between individualism, and
every body else just staying upwind.
The last of tonight’s
performers is Tamera, who’s here to make us all feel ancient. She made a video
when she was 12 of her singing Beyonce’s Listen. Great, that was four years
ago. She looks every inch the popstar with her new blonde hair, and she gives a
great performance. Unsurprisingly, she loses control of the vocal as she
clambers up onto a piano, but she’s streets ahead of anyone else on the show.
Sharon keeps mispronouncing her name (Tamaaaaaaahhhra), and Louis tells her to
work hard – is this a clue that she’s being difficult behind the scenes?
After fourteen recaps
of the last 90 minutes, Dermot lets the girls, boys and Sam Bailey off the
hook. To no-one’s particular surprise, Miss Dynamix received the lowest votes
tonight, and could do with a few lessons about remaining gracious under
pressure.
The results show kicks
off with another miserable group song – Bruno Mars’ Locked Out Of Heaven. It’s
even worse than last week and, to be honest, I’d lock the lot of them out of
anywhere with a working sound system. Miss Dynamix have come dressed as
Nicholas’ novelty Scottish supporters, and Abi is smiling like a lunatic. I
wonder if someone got a telling off for being a mardy arse last night.
The Wanted – possibly
the most bitterly ironic band name of all time. For all their fake rivalry with
One Direction, they’ve contributed precisely nothing to the world, with the
exception of that song about Rihanna’s walk. Nathan (thanks Google) is taking
the lead vocal tonight, but that’s because he wrote the song himself.
Personally, I’d be keeping that little detail quiet – does the music industry
have an ‘Alan Smithee’ equivalent for people who want to disown something? The
rest of them give good singing face, but are just there to be mildly attractive
and ineffectual.
Thank God, then, for
Lady Gaga: A busload of crazy, dressed in flesh coloured underwear and some
stick-on sea shells that give up the ghost 30 seconds in. As most of Twitter
wonders if she left her kit at home, she gurns and stomps around the stage,
leaving no-one in any doubt that she’s performing the vocal live. It’s weird
and strangely wonderful, stepping up a notch when she whips off her wig and
launches into Do What U Want. At least this one sounds like a song, rather than
something she might perform as a dare.
Results time and Rough
Copy, Abi, Luke, Tamera, Nicholas, Sam Bailey, Kingsland Road and Sam are all
safe. That leaves Hannah and Miss Dynamix to go head-to-head.
Hannah’s ‘save me’
song is Read All About It, triggering a nationwide case of Emeli-apathy. It’s
unusually flat and lifeless, unlike her hair which has been coiled into a giant
fecal pretzel. Overcome with emotion, she just sobs her way through the last 30
seconds – always a vote winner, that.
Miss Dynamix take to
the stage to show off their nail art – SeSe in particular looks as if she’s
been rummaging through a toy box with sticky fingers. Their verson of Don’t You
Worry Child is three solo performances that accidentally happen at the same
time. So it’s no surprise that they’re the ones going home.
Next Saturday it’s
Disco week, so Louis will be in his element, and I’ll be in Spain. God be with
you all.
No comments:
Post a Comment