Green eyed monster

Authenticity is a rare beast in the world of pop music. Sometimes, it's young pop tarts trying to maintain their virginal image whilst grinding suggestively in a way that would make Elizabeth Berkeley blush. Alternatively, it's kids who've spent a few years in the Brits academy, only to emerge with an R&B swagger straight out of South Central Camberley.

The latest graduate from the school of hard rocks is Jessie J, a one-time West End child prodigy who's now topping the charts singing about the "ka-ching ka-ching, b-bling, b-bling". Having written hits for singers like Rihanna, Justin Timberlake, Christina Aguilera and Miley Cyrus, she's clearly got a decent pop pedigree, but even she finds it hard to figure out what kind of recording artist she wants to be.

With her star firmly in the ascendent, she's been comparing herself to a number of her contemporaries and finding that she's coming up short. Although she's confident in her musical ability, she's concerned that she doesn't have the cover girl image of stars like Cheryl Cole and Rihanna - "I try not to worry about my looks, but they're so beautiful it's hard to compete."

She's also got Lady Gaga in her sights, adding that the star's pret-a-porterhouse stylings have made things difficult for the artists that follow in her footsteps. She told OK! "She's literally made normal artists and music boring, which bothers me. It annoys me when people say Leona Lewis is boring. No, she's not. She's got a sick voice and being normal is cool."

Given how worried she is about her music industry competition, perhaps she should focus on a star who's going to be easier to emulate. Someone like Beth Ditto, who recently told reporters that on a recent night out, she managed to throw up and piss herself. It might not generate as much publicity as when she was rumoured to be a supporter of the Illuminati, but all it takes is a couple of bottles of Merrydown. And that's the kind of accomplishment you just can't put a price tag on.

The finish line is in sight

So here we are again - another night, another couple of hours set aside to line Simon Cowell's pockets and speculate about the state of modern pop music. The good news is that at least we'll be spared any more awkward guest appearances by people attempting to steal the contestants' thunder. Try not to think about all the things you could do with the next two hours instead of watching this crap.

Time for a group sing-a-long, although they've got to do it live since, well, it's the final. As usual One Direction couldn't find the harmony with a metal detector and a treasure map, and Rebecca's choosing random notes to show that she could blow all five of them off the stage. Matt is still under the weather, so let's hope he pulls it together later.

Screeeeeeeeeaammmmm! It's Take That in the world's least surprising guest appearance ever - joining our finalists for a rousing chorus of Never Forget. It sounds pretty horrible because they're all over the place - with more random keys than a locksmith's back office. Unusually, Howard Donald is handling the lead vocals for Take That, inspiring Zain that he doesn't necessarily have to look forward to a lifelong career as a bookend.

Time for recaps of last night's 'excitement' - lots of up-the-nostril camera shots of Simon and Cheryl racing down the corridor for a sneaky smoke during the ad-break. Cheryl claims that thinking about how big One Direction could become is "literally mind-blowing" - although this is Cheryl's mind we're talking about, so not such a big deal. She also says "the fight is on" so the toilet attendants of London had best be on their guard...

Smoking guns

As the X-Factor reaches the mid-point, it's clear who's tipped to win. Better head down to your local William Hill and place your bets now. I'll put a tenner on Simon Cowell - he's got this one in the bag.

Not with his hopeless attempt at resurrecting the age of the manufactured boyband - One Direction have all the charisma and vocal skills of nursery school pantomime. With slightly less body hair.

Simon's laughing all the way to the bank because once again, those timely 'leaks' from 'unnamed sources' have ensured that the X-Factor has dominated every tabloid front page for the last six weeks. In fact, I don't know why Syco even bothered launching 'The Official X-Factor Magazine' when the Sun or Daily Mail could have just redesigned their masthead and fitted the bill perfectly.

Sadly, the majority of the viewing public accept every bulletin, exclusive and revelation as though it's the gospel truth, and willingly subject themselves to the constant press maniupulation. This week it reached its nadir as Cheryl Cole refused to send one of her acts home, leaving the show's producers to go to a majority vote.

Unfortuantely, a brief interview with the Sun about how the show is put together, led tabloid hacks to proclaim that the show's host Dermot O'Leary had given them the smoking gun with which they could prove that the entire show is rigged.

The Daily Mail claimed: "One of the most controversial X Factor shows ever was last night exposed as nothing more than a charade. Presenter Dermot O’Leary revealed that Cheryl Cole’s decision not to vote when two of her acts were up against each other to escape the axe had been planned all along."

Except that's not really what happened at all. As Dermot explained (and then re-explained on Twitter for the hard-of-thinking audience), producers had briefly conferred about how to proceed if Cheryl refused to participate. Rather than casting a vote to take the decision to deadlock (which then reveals the lowest audience vote), Cheryl abstained completely. This way, the producers had a pre-prepared contingency to add a little more drama to the proceedings - in effect punishing Cheryl for non-participation.

Hardly a conspiracy to rival '9-11 was an inside job'. Assuming for a second that these mindless journalists actually believe any of the trash they print, how do they think a live show gets made? Does Dermot make it up as he goes along, with someone waving at the back of the studio to let him know when the time's up? Perhaps next week they'll uncover the name of the show's Stage Manager and use that as evidence that the show is planned ahead of time. 

The press want us to believe that Simon Cowell wants Katie to win, when nothing could be further from the truth. At best, she's good value to the X-Factor because the press are obsessed with her. On the rare occasion where they and the public are aligned in their distate for someone, it legitimises their love of bullying and gives them carte blanche to proceed without caution. 

The fact is, Katie can shout "sod it", drop to her knees and beg people to vote for her, like she did in last week's sing-off. But the audience have made it quite clear that she's a taste which none of us have acquired.  She, like Wagner, is only in the show for one reason. And winning isn't it. 

If audiences are genuinely furious about being manipulated, maybe they need to stop mooing long enough to question the bullshit they consume everyday, and remember that ultimately, it's a singing contest. The moment you make it any more than the sum of its parts, people start getting hurt. But you can bet that Simon Cowell won't be one of them. 

Protesting too much?

Oh Nadine!

It should have all been so easy. She's got the voice, the swishy hair, and legs like a pubescent giraffe. Her solo career should have been a no-brainer.

Unfortunately for the Chupa-Chup chanteuse, she's the no-brainer in question. Why else would she have decided to sign an exclusive deal with Tesco for her debut album? I can picture the scene now: "I'm just popping to the supermarket to pick up some Toilet Duck, Mini-Kievs and the new Nadine Coyle CD."

Now, to hear Nadine tell it (in an accent that could warp a copper kettle), it's all about the music. In looking for a home for her solo career, she claims that she turned down all the major labels, in favour of the one with 'value' on it.

Describing the bidding war that sprung up when Nadine announced plans to branch out on her own, her manager claims "It wasn't just waving cheque books at her. Tesco has a massive marketing campaign, which is innovative. It uses every aspect of Teco's canopy of services: the entertainment section, the cosmetics... Tesco card holders...Nadine is putting the launch of the rest of her life in the hands of a company that she trusts. And we will get their undivided attention." As long as there's not a recall on frozen sausage rolls.

He has a point. Whilst her bandmate had to settle for a full-scale production in front of 15 million TV viewers, lucky old Nadine was invited to perform to a bunch of Tesco executives at their annual management conference. Score!

Last Sunday it was revealed that Nadine's debut single Insatiable had limped to number 26 in the charts, as Cheryl's second CD entered the album charts at number one. But Nadine's not bitter, her lips are just naturally pursed.

She told Star magazine "To be honest, I'm happier doing what I'm doing now, no matter what the sales are like. I'd rather be singing in pubs for 50 quid a night and be happy than doing something that I wasn't really interested in or passionate about. For me, it's not about money or fame or getting on big television shows - it's about being happy with myself."

I'm not sure exactly which 'big television show' she's talking about. It must be yet another passive-aggressive dig at the Nation's Sweetheart. Because she couldn't possibly be referring the Irish edition of Popstars which she lied about her age to take part in. Or Popstars: The Rivals, which saw her win a place in Girls Aloud. That would be like biting the hand that feeds her (then sticks its finger down her throat).

But it's hard to know what Nadine means. She's not exactly consistent when it comes to talking about her life or career. She can claim that it's all about being happy, and yet in the next breath she says that she's "absolutely gutted" that she only just scraped into the top 30.

Cheryl might have "the power of The X Factor and Simon Cowell behind her", but she also has the goodwill of the nation. And that's worth more than the other two put together. Nadine may have the better voice, but she's also got a massive chip on her shoulder. Not that she'd ever dream of eating it.

Bully for you

Being a newspaper columnist must be a piece of piss. Flick through the papers every day, find a few snippets of news to comment on, and then email 800 words off to the editor on a Friday afternoon. Other than that, just stick a bulldog clip on the back of your head every couple of years and pose for a new headshot.

Which explains why Amanda Platell always looks so smug. Every week she gets to round up a few people she doesn't like (it must take her five days just to draw up a short-list) make a few ad hominem attacks, and then laugh all the way to the bank. Not that I imagine hers is a life with much laughter in it.

In today's edition of the Mail on Sunday, the Wicked Witch of West London takes potshots at Wayne Rooney, Cheryl Cole, Paul Gascoigne, Katy Perry, Russell Brand, Kate Moss, Evan Davies, Nick Clegg, Gordon Brown, Charlotte Church and even Ann Widdecombe. It's not so much an editorial as just throwing a handful of darts at a rolodex.

I wouldn't mind so much if the writing showed any kind of incisive insight. Unfortunately, what we get are gems like "Cheryl Cole proudly poses beside her Madame Tussauds’ dummy and says: ‘It’s mind-blowing, it looks so real.' I’m not so sure. One of them’s got lifeless hair extensions, painted-on tan, improbably pert breasts, acrylic nails and an expressionless forehead.
And the other one’s a waxwork." Someone give the woman Noel Coward's dressing gown - she's earned it.

Maybe it's just yesterday's post weighing on my mind, but I can't help feeling that Amanda is just another malicious bully, although with a slightly bigger vocabulary than the average wedgie-giver. As a die-hard conservative, she longs for simpler, more gentile times when people were nice to one another. But she has to admit that she fully embraces all the ugliness and cruelty of what she dismissively labels 'Planet Celebrity'.

Here's hoping that someone takes pity on Cheryl, Wayne et al, and records an uplifting YouTube video for them. Hang in there guys and don't worry - It gets better.

With friends like these

As the Nation's Sweetheart© Cheryl Cole/Tweedy battles malaria in a London hospital, she must be relieved to know that her loved ones are rallying around her. Bandmate Nadine Coyle is relying on Tweets from fans to update her on the plucky Geordie's status, estranged husband Ashley is picking up trash in LA like a brand new Dyson, and X-Factor alumni Jedward are already planning her send-off.

In an interview with the Daily Mirror, Edward Grimes commented (unironically) "She hurt herself. Two great people hurting themselves… It’s going to be a big funeral." Two great people? A.N. Wilson must be feverishly redefining greatness for any future historical projects.

They may have all the talent and appeal of a poor-man's Milli Vanilli, but Jedward are certainly making the most of their time in the spotlight. Their debut single made Mr Blobby's novelty Christmas number 1 sound like a Radiohead B-side, and they were promptly dropped by Sony Records, who must have won their contract in a bran tub.

But even that wasn't enough to keep the terrifying twosome down - they were snapped up by Universal within 24 hours. Someone, somewhere has a chalky pentangle and a heap of dead goats.

Since the X-Factor final, the tall-haired twins have been sharing their unique take on music with bemused audiences across the country, first on the X-Factor tour and now in a series of torturously shambolic live performances. This weekend, they took to the stage at the T4 On The Beach concert in Weston-super-Mare, only for the back end of pop's pantomime horse to misjudge a jump midway through their 'interpretation' of Ghostbusters.

Edward landed badly and tore the ligaments in his knee. Ever the professional, he smiled through the remainder of the performance, but was rushed to hospital as soon as they finished the show.

With one foot already out of action, Grimes chose to stick the other in his mouth with his ill-advised remark about a joint funeral. Despite having an identical sibling, he even managed to reveal a lack of understanding of familial genetics, commenting "I'm like Cheryl's twin because I hurt myself." Because that's how it works.

It's not all bad news though. Edward also told the paper "In hospital they said I might not be able to dance again and needed surgery. If I couldn't dance again I'm not sure what would happen, so I am a bit worried. The show is about dancing and performance." At least he understands that it was never about singing.

Thankfully, the dream isn't over just yet. There's always MRSA.

It shouldn't be Aloud

Everything comes at a price, just ask Girls Aloud. Sure, they've got the famous boyfriends, fabulous frocks and all the lollies they can grab from a bathroom attendant, but their fame isn't without its downside.

In the eight years since they trounced Pete Waterman's hopeless 'vocal harmony group' One True Voice in the race for Christmas number, they've found themselves constantly scrutinised by the press over their ever-diminishing weight.

They might have scored more hits than Mike Tyson, but all anyone really cares about is their dress size. Being in the country's favourite girl band means there's an expectation that the five of them will never weigh more than their own carry-on luggage. But each time they stage another sell-out tour there's a worry that the audience might mistakenly applaud the microphone stands before the girls even take to the stage.

Just a couple of weeks ago, Nadine Coyle (the one who sounds like Rev Ian Paisley with a mouthful of marbles) was splashed all over the tabloids as she negotiated some steps in a pair of uncooperative shoes. The pictures made her look like an ungainly cartoon ostrich wearing heels for the first time.

Nadine was quick to respond that, contrary to journalistic opinion, she'd actually put on weight whilst recording her debut solo album. Understandably, the press scoffed at this, given that she could feasibly double her BMI by simply putting on a hat.

Cheryl Cole has also been steadily shrinking, even as her celebrity continues to expand. By the end of 2010, it's likely that she'll be so famous that people will be seeing her face on burritos and pizzas, but she'll be small enough to borrow clothes from her own doll.



When they first auditioned for Popstars: The Rivals, none of the girls were concerned with anything other than securing a place in the band. At no point did any of them express a desire to play role model for a generation of girls. Unfortunately, it's a responsibility that comes with the territory.

So it's disappointing to see Sarah Harding, who has the voice of a diva and the liver of Oliver Reed, advocating weight loss, so soon after her band-mates have been hauled over the coals for their shrinking statistics.

Then again, maybe the coals were her inspiration, since it turns out she's been munching on charcoal to help her shift the weight. Unwittingly confirming every worried parent's fears about setting a bad example, Sarah says "I crumble it up and put it on my food. I found out about it on a fashion website. It has a strange texture, but it doesn't taste of anything and apparently absorbs all the bad, damaging stuff in the body." Well, that certainly sounds scientific to me, even if parmesan is easier to grate.

It might sound extreme, but Sarah knows what she's doing: "It's not the regular charcoal you put in fires, though - I'm not that mad! I get it from the health food shop and I think it's good for hangovers, too." Suddenly, her bizarre diet makes a lot more sense.

Oh Mickey, what a pity

There's always been something of a double standard when it comes to gender issues. Sexually aggressive women are all too easily dismissed as sluts, whereas men are proud to declare their propensity for promiscuity.

So give it up for Mickey Rourke, whose Lazarus-like comeback continues, with the announcement that his superstar virility saw him bed 14 different women in a single night.

Despite the fact that his ill-advised foray into boxing and a hunger for reinvention have resulted in him resembling a partially defrosted meatloaf, Mickey knows how to attract the ladies, and has a voracious appetite for the 'nasty' that would put Caligula to shame.

Just let those numbers sink in for a minute. 14 women - one night. Chances are, they were lined up outside his hotel room, like supermarket customers proudly brandishing their deli-service tickets.

I'm prepared to bet that it wasn't quite the night to remember for most of them. In the words of Evelyn Waugh, the last few to be serviced by the Kwik-Fit of sexing would be lucky to end up with a 'handful of dust'.

There was a time when Mickey Rourke was a thing of beauty, with a dark, brooding sensuality that practically leapt off the screen. But a self-destructive streak that made Robert Downey Jr look like Chris Martin got the better of him and he spent the best part of a decade making direct-to-video movies, hitting his lowest point in a TV movie about Shergar.

Thankfully, directors like Robert Rodriguez and Darren Aronovsky saw past the bloated face and stretched features that made Mickey look like a bad Sky News reconstruction of himself. Now he's riding high on a different kind of reinvention, having bagged a plum role as the lead villain in Iron Man 2.

Although Mickey may have the constitution of an ox, and the genitals of the Duracell Bunny, even his appeal has its limits. It turns out that glamour model and, erm, I'm not sure what else to describe her as, Abi Titmuss, found that the word "no" was in her vocabulary, when she rejected the lumpen-faced lothario's advances.

Still, let's just be glad that there's currently no Mrs Rourke. Because, as Mickey himself recently admitted, even "WAGs get an easy time - they should try living with Hollywood hellraisers." Cheryl and Toni, let that be a lesson to you.

Poetic justice

Back in the sixties, Rod Serling's The Twilight Zone made TV history by surprising viewers every week with its ingenious concepts and morbid sense of humour. The trademark of the anthology series was its twist endings, which usually came in the form of a bitterly ironic pay-off designed to show each episode's protagonist the error of their ways.

Although this old black and white show looks like a grainy historical relic now, many of the allegories and parables it depicts have stood the test of time. From The Sixth Sense, right up to this month's Shutter Island, the box office has shown that we never really grew out of our love for a good twist in the tale.

So it's to be hoped that someone, somewhere is taking notes, because the Ballad of Cheryl and Ashley would be a dead-cert ratings winner if the Twilight Zone ever makes another comeback.

Just imagine - the domestic bliss of a young, successful couple is exposed as a sham. Despite outward appearances, the husband is a serial philanderer, who uses an unregistered mobile phone to keep in touch with a string of would-be mistresses.

Wary of being caught out, he decides that the safest bet is to send texts and MMS picture messages to his 'happy slappers'- that way he can conduct his affairs right under his wife's nose. The affairs continue until his cover is blown, when the seemingly trustworthy mistresses go public with the gory details and pixelated pictures.

But then his phone rings one last time. It's another text, but this one doesn't come with a video-taped audition for Television X. It's from his wife, and it simply reads "Move out. It's over."

Forget about disappearing limps, retrograde amnesia or Raquel Welch posters, that's how you end a story.

However, I still think Cheryl missed a trick. After all, she made it so easy for us to conjure up headlines featuring 'Fight For This Love', it's just a shame that she couldn't also find a way to dump Ashley in 3 words.

She'll fight for this love

Given that 2010 is a World Cup year, we shouldn't really be surprised that the papers are full of action packed stories of our most celebrated footballers. It's just a little depressing to discover that none of the stories are actually about football.

If the papers are to be believed, most premiership players prefer to warm up for the big game by spitroasting a glamour model, rather than jogging around the pitch. It doesn't help that John Terry has gone from England Captain to a one-size-fits-all punchline for any joke about marital disharmony, in a matter of weeks.

According to American sports sociologist, Jeff Benedict, "Almost across the board, professional athletes have a warped perception of women because of what they are exposed to: women approaching them, offering to have sex with them, sending them their underwear in the mail." I guess sometimes the temptation is just too great.

Look at Ashley Cole (if you have to). He's already managed to elevate his wife to the status of 'national treasure' by cheating on her once. With the revelation that he may be playing away from home yet again, Cheryl is likely to be made a Dame of the British Order before the year is out.

This time around, he's been taking pictures of his little striker and sending it to a 'glamour model' called Sonia Wild. The only thing more unlikely than Sonia's conveniently saucy surname, is Ashley's preposterous explanation of how his extremities ended up on someone else's phone.

Apparently, Ashley took the pictures just for fun on an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone, then gave it to a friend to use up the remaining credit. He just forgot to mention that the phone's memory was full of low-resolution amateur porn. Like you do.

This inconsiderate pal discovered the gallery of images, and decided to send them on to a topless model from Hull. Turned on by the fact that she was getting pictures from a 'soccer star', she reciprocated: "I sent back video footage on my phone of myself naked and doing sexy things. At the time it was a laugh and a bit of a thrill for me." Almost as much of a thrill as going to the press with an SD card full of celebrity wang.

Whether you choose to believe Ashley's imaginative explanation is of little or no consequence. It's Mrs Cole that the foolhardy footballer really has to answer to.

Cheryl has forgiven Ashley before, and successfully leveraged her broken heart into a career-making accessory. But hell hath no fury like a woman scorned second time around.

She may be little more than a Girls' World mannequin who talks like Paul Gascoigne, but Cheryl packs a mean punch - as bathroom attendant Sophie Amogbokpa can confirm. Suddenly, that ankle injury is the least of Ashley's worries...

And so it begins again...

Hello, good evening and welcome. Thanks for coming back again. I thought it was important to cover tonight's show otherwise the job would only be half done.

Looks like the pyrotechnic team are using Dermot's introduction to practice, and someone seems to have left the dramatic backing music playing while he's trying to get the studio audience all wound up. Dermot's promising "world class surprises" - which can cover a multitude of sins. Speaking of which, Cheryl's wearing a long gown loving crafted from a murder of crows.

The X-Factor final twelve are back - they're looking fresh faced. I jest of course - it's a kiddy choir, because Louis needs someone to be mean about. Miss Frank are sounding good, although the rest are a bit nondescript. Jedward are using the whole show's autotune allowance, and they keep rocking up on their toes, as though they're being goosed from behind. Louis, stop that.

Boring recap of all of last night's "action" - they do have two hours to fill after all. Joe headbutts the wall and says "I just sung with George Michael - does it get any better?" Skin up and meet him in the dressing room if you really want the answer to that. Well, that's the first fifteen minutes done, wonder what other pleasures await...

Putting the issue to bed

Well, it looks like the BBC can finally close the lid on the whole Anton De Beke racism fiasco, since the followers of Saturday evening talent shows have a new controversy to contend with. And once again, Simon Cowell finds himself laughing all the way to the BARB Christmas party.

If you watched the first live final of the X-Factor last night, or caught up on all the action here at p0pvulture, you'll know about Dannii's somewhat tactless comment to Danyl. The judges are clearly miffed that one contestant has outshone all the others since his very first appearance, and they weren't letting anything stand in the way of bringing him down a peg or two.

Louis told Danyl that he needed to be more likeable, an example of irony so epic that pots and kettles across the country are fearful that their iconic idiom status is now under threat. Cheryl, meanwhile, claimed that Danyl was in danger of becoming over-confident. Of course, her feedback may have been different if she'd been granted her original wish and had Danyl in her group. Unfortunately, Dannii threw caution to the wind machine, and decided to open up a whole can of worms with a comment about lyric-changes.

Changing the words to suit the singer is nothing new on shows like the X-Factor - I've lost count of the times that 'Lady Marmalade' has been rendered incomprehensible by changing the lyrics to 'voulex vous chantez avec moi', turning it into the story of a whore who offers singing lessons. All that happened on Danyl's performance, was that the gender of the person being sung about was changed to suit a male singer.

Dannii clearly felt that she was being clever, commenting on this by saying "No need to change the gender references, if we're to believe everything we read in the press." This was followed by a staggeringly painful silence, long enough for Dannii to realise that her flippant remark had crashed and burned. Danyl looked shocked, babbled something about not being ashamed of anything and Simon went into full-on indignant mode, as his protégé's enormous eyes filled with enough tears to drown Rebecca Adlington.

Within minutes, the entire internet was sagging under the weight of all the people taking to the message boards to decry Minogue Jr's supposed slight. Cries of "Sack Dannii" echoed around the forums, with Digital Spy scoring 48 pages of comments on the subject, by lunchtime today.

But was Dannii really being homophobic? She certainly denies it, making her apology on her blog and pointing out that she has spent her entire career supporting the gay and lesbian community. Indeed, she's as much of a Mardi Gras staple as overpriced lager or the stench of amyl nitrate.

In her own way, Dannii was probably trying to show solidarity by encouraging Danyl to be true to himself when performing. Let's not forget that it was Danyl who gave the interview to The Mirror shortly after his first audition, telling the world that he is bisexual. Although strangely, the Mirror has forgotten, since they were today accusing Dannii of 'outing' the young teacher.

The sexuality of talent show contestants has long been a hot potato. It's not that we've ever been short of pink contestants, but with the exception of Alex Parks (whose career showed all the longevity of warm milk) none of them have ever 'come out' - at least until after they'd won. Unfortunately, it works a little like the US military policy of 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' which yesterday President Obama promised to end.

Dannii's real mistake was to openly reference the love that dare not speak its name on prime-time. If she'd had more than seven seconds to make her remarks, she may well have been able to articulate herself more clearly. It also didn't help that she made her comments with what looked like a sneer, but this could simply be because she has only recently regained control of her facial muscles and seems a little out of practice.

Perhaps it's for the best that tonight's results show is overshadowed by the untimely death of another out gay performer, Boyzone singer Stephen Gately. I was going to write something about Stephen's death, but I think PopJustice says it better than I ever could.

X-treme makeovers

As the X-Factor hopefuls prepare for the nerve-shredding terror of boot-camp, press attention is once again returning to the judges. But aside from the usual questions of who hates who, and who's got which category, most of the articles published in the last week or so seem particularly obsessed with the judges' ever-changing appearances.

For a start there's Cheryl Cole, who in the space of 15 months has transformed herself from scrappy Geordie battleaxe into national feminine treasure (which admittedly makes her sound like a gold-plated tampon).

She's been talking up the importance of good hair, which makes sense, given that hers constitutes a good 40 percent of her body weight. Cheryl considers her hair a 'safety blanket' although, given the amount she displays every weekend, there's probably enough for a mattress and a couple of pillows too.

Dannii Minogue, who's changed her appearance so much she must struggle to pick herself out in a group photo, has decided this year to finally ditch the Botox needle. In previous years, her face has been as immobile as a hotwired BMW, but she must have grown tired of having to express her emotions with hand gestures.

Given that she's only had one expression for the last three years - the glare of horrified surprise as modeled by Lee Remick in The Omen - it must be a blessed relief to finally be able to do 'jaunty'.

But the biggest shocker this year is Louis Walsh, who has finally given in to Simon's malignant influence and subjected himself to a little nip and tuck. Thanks to a dose of Botox and some surgery on his eye-bags, the little Irish pixie is looking a million percent (copyright Louis Walsh) better than he did last year.

Admittedly, Louis Walsh having surgery is a little like pasting go-faster stripes on a tortoise, but one has to applaud the effort. At least now, Louis can look in the mirror and recycle his favourite line again: "Louis, you look like a diva, you sound like a diva."

What would you do if I sang out of tune?

Kiss your Saturdays goodbye, The X-Factor is back and this time it means business. Still flush with the success of Boyle-ageddon, Simon has tweaked his other talent show to introduce the live audience element. Presumably this is to help with the YouTubeification of the best auditions, since the crowds' reactions are part of the appeal.

Last night's premiere episode was a fairly inconsequential affair, with few breakout stars and even fewer psychoses and delusions. We were however treated to the return of Emma Chawner, who obviously decided that the third time was the charm, having unsuccessfully auditioned twice before. This time, she brought her older sister Samantha, announcing "I’ve learnt I can sing better with my sister than on my own." Sadly, this wasn't quite the case.


Taking to the stage looking freakishly like Coleen Nolan and Kerry Katona wrapped in a kingsize duvet, the spherical duo butchered a Mariah Carey song to hoots of derision from the baying crowd.

Thankfully, there was also some talent on offer, thanks to a single mum from Dagenham and a permagrinning teen from Cheryl's home town of South Shields. However, the producers smartly saved the best for last, in the form of eye-wateringly hot teacher Danyl Johnston.

Delivering a barnstorming performance of Joe Cocker's take on 'With a Little Help From My Friends' he was winking, grinning and leaping all over the stage, marking himself out as the early favourite. Not only did he win a standing ovation from all four judges, Simon declared it the best first audition he's ever seen, clearly sensing another viral hit in the making.

Danyl aside, this was still a frustrating show, thanks largely to the producers' insistence on recycling and repeating filler footage, rather than showing us the actual auditions. Last night's show boasted more endless crowd scenes that The Lord of the Rings trilogy. This series we can also expect to see thousands more shots of beefy sound technicians at the mixing desk, and anonymous nobodies screaming at the camera that they have the X-Factor.

The relative cheapness of the concept and changes to the format don't seem to have put anyone off, with the show pulling in 9.9 million viewers. And as the series gains momentum, it's likely that those numbers are only going to increase. I guess resistance is futile.