It doesn’t take long
for sparkly newness to be replaced with flaccid familiarity, does it? We’re
less than six hours into this make-or-break series of The Voice, and already
I’m greeting it with a sense of tired resignation. The blind auditions are a
great concept, but five weeks in, I feel I’ve seen enough button pushing and
chair spinning to last a lifetime.
Tonight’s first
auditionee is Steven Alexander, whose Auntie Max was on the last series as one
half of a pair of overweight middle-aged women. They’re giving him loads of
advice, presumably on how to get quickly voted off the show. Steven’s
performance is as breathless as it is tuneless, but it’s enough to get Kylie
and Tom to turn. Tom doesn’t so much offer feedback, as talk through the last few
minutes of his life. Then, when Steven name-checks his Auntie, Tom’s eyes widen
like he just sat on a proctologist’s ice-cold speculum. In the end, Steven
picks Kylie because, well, he looks like he knows all the words to Step Back In
Time.
Fiona Kelly gives us
an extended skit about cheating on her husband with a horse. It’s supposed to
be a cute and daffy portrayal of a middle-aged woman, but I’ve seen enough
grainy VHS in my life to envisage a far more grim scenario. As for performing
in the studio, Fiona wants to “Grab it with both hands and make one of those
chairs turn,” although I think she might struggle with the mechanics. Her voice
is thinner than one of Kate Moss’ shits, and she sings in a weird semi-
operatic style. That would be bad enough, but paired with Gary Barlow’s insipid
Rule The World, it’s downright wretched. None of the judges turn, so we’re
forced to listen to them as they take it in turns to patronise her. Ricky tells
her he could lead her down a very dark path, and she gets momentarily excited –
sounds like Bob the packhorse might have some competition after all.
Chris Royal is Toadfish
off Neighbours in a bobble hat. “I’m not working no more,” he tells us,
explaining that he moved to Walthamstow from Manchester to pursue his dreams. He
does a slow, mournful version of Wake Me Up, but until the beat kicks in
halfway through, it’s more likely to trigger narcolopsy. The tuning is all over
the place, but several of the judges turn anyway. Kylie’s surprised: “You
seriously didn’t expect anyone to turn around?” which begs the question, why
the fuck did he show up in the first place? She offers to sit and go through
his record collection with him. Maybe it’s because he’s from Manchester, she
feels she needs to go the Tracy Barlow seduction route. Ricky compares The
Voice to a catapult (don’t ask) and Chris decides that the Kaiser frontman is
his best option: “Maybe he can pull something out of me that I don’t even know
is there.” I’m not sure, but he could be talking about a Guinea worm. Marvin’s
on hand to ask him whether it was worth packing up and moving to London,
oblivious to the fact that he had to come back up to Manchester for the fucking
audition.
The next two acts were
on last year’s show and are back for a second chance. Nick Dixon talks about
his heart pounding and hitting rock bottom – dramatic stuff for a man who
resembles a tarpaulin thrown over a pile of dumped tires. In fact, his
performance is pretty good; he’s singing Home Again and there’s a lovely tone
to his voice, but he projects zero charisma when he sings. None of the judges
turn for him, but they happily accept one of his business cards, that looks as
though it was printed in a batch of 100 for a fiver at a petrol station.
Elesha Paul Moses was
formerly part of a duet, and made it as far as the duels. She wants to
establish her own identity as a singer, but it would help if she could find the
right key. After the judges spend half her performance complaining that it’s
too low, she switches it up, and it doesn’t really help matters. As she stands
on the stage in her denim shirt and leggings, she looks less like a pop star,
and more like a company member in the touring production of Prisoner Cell Block
H The Musical.
Lucy Winter’s based in
Cyprus, where her husband is in the armed forces. Apparently she used to sing
in the Cypriot bars which helps to set our expectations suitably low. As it
happens, she’s surprisingly rocky with a nice throaty edge. She pushes her
voice without ever losing the melody, but it’s all a bit incongruous with her
image – like one of the Andrew Sisters in a cocktail dress and denim jacket. The
judges all thought she was trying to hard, but she takes it well.
Max Murphy is a
full-time judo athlete, which has me picturing him trying to enjoy a drink down
the pub without punching someone in the neck. With his sturdy build and
monotonous voice, he’s a bit like a sentient tree, but he’s being cheered on by
his coaches Brian and Gary (think the Mitchell Brothers with mild head
injuries). His rendition of Electric Feel is like a volcano belching, but it
seems to work for Ricky. Kylie sees him, and hitches down the shoulder straps
of her top. Subtle work, Minogue. Ricky explains “We’re gonna pick songs you want to sing,” making this
coaching lark sound like a piece of piss.
Joe Keegan has been
Irish dancing for more than half his life, and looks like he can’t wait to
escape his controlling Dad. As he makes his way to the stage, he manages to
look like Ant and Dec all at once, before squinting like Michael Sheen eating a
grapefruit. He starts out pretty weak, but he gets better in time to win a spin
from Kylie and Ricky. Kylie falls back on her slightly contrived seduction
technique, but things get confusing when she crosses streams and directs her
full force flirting at Ricky by mistake. At this rate it’s going to be like the
orgy at the end of Perfume.
There are confused
faces all round when it comes to our next act. The VT is designed to make us
think we’re getting another female singer, until the rug is pulled Crying
Game-style (without the cock shot, thank goodness) to reveal that our young
hopeful is James Byron. It’s unclear whether he identifies as transgendered –
he certainly dresses and acts like a woman, but answers to James and is
referred to as ‘he’ by his family. When he starts singing (very well, as it
happens) Tom’s asks his fellow mentors, “Is it a boy or a girl?” If he thinks
he’s confused now, they’ll have to up his dosage once he’s facing the stage. Will
turns just in time, and manages to recover from his initial shock by pretending
his wide-eyed reaction was because he thought his latest team member was called
James BOND.
As if to hammer home
the ‘appearances don’t matter’ message, we get a quick montage of pretty
singers who failed to make the grade, before finally moving onto one who
does. “This is about the voice,”
warns Sir Tom, “It’s not about the way you look,” he says, sneaking a peek down Kylie’s top. Here’s Jade
Mayjean Peters, wearing a dress slashed so high you can see her shoulder blade.
Looking like the dictionary definition of sophisticated, circa 1987, she’s here
to remind us that Gabriella Cilmi once happened. The judges all turn, and react
predictably to her leggy loveliness. The boys are all staring at her, like
she’s a large cartoon ham, and Kylie comments “You’re kind of like me, but
curvier.” Since Jade obviously left her mace in her handbag, she picks Kylie
just to be on the safe side.
Because this is the
good old BBC, we have to end on an uplifting note. Femi Santiago tells a tragic
tale of homelessness and suicidal thoughts, before revealing that he’s now
happily married with a baby. He’s doing My Cherie Amour and he’s got probably
the most straightforwardly appealing singing voice and richest tone we’ve heard
all series. Although the last note wobbles, Will turns on it anyway. Meanwhile, Tom says he almost went
for his button, but he could well be talking about the medical alert one, in
case he has a nasty fall.
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