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.

Better in time

Here's something a little different for all you p0pvulture regulars - a concert review. Yesterday I received no small amount of stick for stating on facebook that I was going to miss England's first World Cup match because I was at the O2 watching Leona Lewis' first arena tour.

As it turns out, I had the far better deal, since the game sounded about as enjoyable as trawling around the B&Q paint department with a handful of swatches, asking the 'paint technician' to colour-match a batch of emulsion, taking it home and painstakingly redecorating the entire house, and then watching it dry.

Meanwhile, I got to see the full effect of three years of 'stagecraft' training on possibly the best singer to ever be discovered on a TV talent show (apologies to Michelle McManus who was pipped at the post, because she ate it).

There were snorts of derision when Leona's tour was first announced. Not because they thought she couldn't handle the live vocals - that's one element that she had in the bag - but because she had, to date, shown all the flair and dynamism of a soiled hospital gown.

Given her reputation as a balladeer, it was fair to assume that the most she'd need in the way of props and set-dressing would be a box of tissues, a half-bottle of chardonnay and a duvet. But no - we had sets, dancers, aerialists, lasers, hydraulics and some pretty cool projections, as well as Leona herself stomping all over the stage in some thigh-high pleather boots (she's a vegan) and throwing herself into the choreography.

According to the ridiculously expensive programme (priced as if Leona herself was painstakingly hand-printing them on an old piece of Letraset kit) the show was inspired by her favourite movie - Jim Henson's Labyrinth. Thank goodness she's not a big fan of The Killing Fields.

It's hard to identify exactly where the influences from Labyrinth took hold, aside from the Bowie-esque leggings on some of the male dancers, but the show hung together pretty well. It was divided into four themed sections - gothic, spacey, forest glade and disco - which technically made it more 'Crystal Maze' than Labyrinth, but now I'm just being picky. It also meant that there was a handy transition period between each segment, allowing Leona to change into an increasingly elaborate series of outfits.

Of the 18 songs which she performed, only four or five could really be considered ballads - the rest had been cleverly reworked into more uptempo numbers. As well as giving the dancers something to do, it also meant that the audience could get on their feet and shift awkwardly from side-to-side.

But above it all there was that voice. An amazing instrument, breathtakingly controlled and awesomely powerful.

Unfortunately, it was often drowned out by the over-zealous backing singers, a mixing desk controlled by Marlee Matlin, and Leona's annoying habit of turning her mike on the audience and commanding them to "sing along". I hate it when that happens, it's like going to a restaurant and the chef asking if you wouldn't mind julienning the carrots.

Nonetheless, she didn't miss a note all evening, and when she sang The First Time Ever I saw Your Face there was an audible 'ping' as 23,000 pairs of arms erupted in goose-pimples. With everything else that was going on, it was easy to forget just effortlessly she tackles those enormous notes and elaborate runs.

It would be churlish to expect her to compete with Lady Gaga or Madonna in terms of a stage show, but she pulled out all the stops to give her die-hard fans something they weren't expecting. Starting with a glimpse of some personality.

There are much worse ways of spending an hour and a half. And over the next few weeks I'm sure I'll be experiencing them first-hand. England vs Algeria anyone?

Remember me?

I guess you can blame Leona. Once she took to the stage in the X Factor back in 2006, Simon forgot all about everyone else he was supposed to be working with. He was bewitched by those corkscrew curls and a voice that was more flexible than Madonna's yoga instructor. Poor old Shayne Ward never stood a chance.

He'd shot to fame the year before, when he won the show and, in the process, reassured Simon that Michelle McManus and Steve Brookstein were just temporary aberrations. With his earthy good looks (like Justin Timberlake with an ASBO) and powerful falsetto, he was an entire boyband compressed into one comely package.

His debut album managed to shift over half a million copies, with each new track carefully designed to follow the template of the more established songs he'd performed on the show. There was one that sounded like 'Unchained Melody', one that sounded like 'If You're Not The One' and one that sounded like 'Cry Me A River'. Given that he'd started out in a covers band called Destiny, it seemed that he hadn't progressed that far after all.

By the time Leona's world-beating album arrived at the end of 2007, Shayne was little more than a squeaky footnote in TV talent show history. His second album sold well, but the singles didn't do much to cement him in the public's consciousness.

Last year it was announced that Shayne's long-awaited third album would have to be even more awaited, as it was pushed back to May 2010. His fans took to the streets of Manchester in their tens to protest Simon Cowell's callous indifference, sporting homemade banners that wouldn't look out of place in a prison canteen riot. Voicing their fury, they sang "I don't know what I've been told/Wardy's album's still on hold/This just isn't good enough/We want him to do his stuff."

So they'll be delighted to hear that Shayne is finally taking control of his own destiny. With absolutely no ulterior motive, Shayne has thoughtfully posted a video clip on YouTube to try and raise awareness of the plight of people in Haiti. Speaking from the heart, and definitely not trying to raise his profile the cheapest way possible just weeks ahead of the release of his new album, Shayne said "I would just like to stress how devastated I am by the tragedies that have happened in Haiti. I urge everybody to donate as much as they possibly can to help the people out there."

Phoebe and Joey once had a heated debate about the nature of altruism, because Joey believed that there was no such thing as a truly selfless act. I think Shayne's thoughtful and considerate appeal for charitable benevolence should settle that argument once and for all.

She just wants to be... Happy

With a career that depends on a combination of the genetic lottery and the popularity of someone you'll never meet, you float about like a feather on the wind of fame.

Despite this, some people manage to turn the fact that they're a living Tussaud's exhibit into a decent living. They open supermarkets, appear in sponsorship idents on cable channels, and occasionally get to wave at drunken teenagers in nightclubs. OK, so it's not exactly the high life but I'm sure it beats price-checking tinned meat in ALDI.

Unfortunately, not every dead ringer manages to turn their freakily familiar features into a lucrative career opportunity. So spare a thought for Sasha Gordon, whose life has been ruined by her "remarkable resemblance" to Leona Lewis.

Critics might quibble that Martin Lawrence looks more like Leona, when playing the eponymous character in Big Momma's House, but that would be a denial of poor Sasha's troubling life experience. According to the Daily Mail, Sasha "finds herself mobbed and pestered for autographs whenever she goes out in public" - a claim that would only be half-believable if she spent her entire life working in a school for the blind.

Stuck in Penge with no boyfriend and the employment prospects of Kerry Katona, Sasha is more than happy to blame the X-Factor songbird for her misfortune. "My family are all heartbroken about the way my life has turned out.The first problem came with my boyfriend - at the beginning he thought the fact I looked like Leona was fun. However, he soon got fed up of me being pestered by autograph hunters when we went out. It caused so many rows that we split up."

Of course, the cruel irony is that Sasha attempted to find work as Leona's lookalike, but soon discovered that opportunities as scant as the likelihood that anyone would actually mistake her for the multi-platinum popstar. Since Leona has the personality of a low-fat yoghurt, there aren't too many calls for someone to turn up and tell crowds of nightclub patrons that "it's really amazing to be here."

But what about non-celebrity jobs? Well, no-one wants her for those either - "Every time I go for an interview people comment on how much I look like Leona. You can see them thinking that taking me on might be too much of a distraction." It's unclear why, exactly, she thinks anyone might be distracted, unless she had a habit of practising her scales every time someone order a nine-piece box of McNuggets.

If things don't get better soon, Sasha may need to take drastic measures. "In my darkest hours I have even thought fleetingly of having cosmetic surgery to change my face." But there's really no need to spend all that money - I'm sure it's only a matter of time before someone with mental health issues (and maybe a well-trained Labrador) smacks her in the face. That ought to do it.

Showing them how it's done

JLS and Alexandra Burke are here to do a weird mash-up of their big singles. Alex is singing live this time - so it sounds very different to the last time she performed in the guest slot. It's a very strange duet but it sort of works, in a "we figured this out in our bedroom this afternoon" kind of way.

The boys really don't have strong voices at all, but they look so happy to be pop stars with ridiculously large boots that it's hard to begrudge them their success. Alex kept thumping Aston's chest with her fist a little too vigorously, he looked like he was ready to slap her back. They're all being so nice to each other, it's quite sweet. They're hoping for even more success next year, so let's keep our fingers crossed that Pete Waterman's predictions of pan-flashery don't come true.

To remind everyone what can happen when you're genuinely incredible, here's Leona Lewis doing her epic version of Stop Crying Your Heart Out. She's spending a long time in her low register, but she's gonna rip it up in a minute, so hang onto your hat. If you're wearing a hat that is. The background VT of the girls rushing to embrace Dannii has been cropped to remove Rachel's hilarious pratfall. Shame.

Her song's finished but they're leaving her standing on the coffee table - probably just as well. She's fantastic at the singing but I think we've all heard her say "It's been amazing, thank you so much" enough to last a lifetime. Simon gave her the thumbs up, as if to say "That'll shift another 50,000". Which is his way of showing he cares.

Olly's here to sing The Climb and it sounds shaky - it doesn't help that the song is a Miley Cyrus album track, and therefore about as low as music gets. I don't think Leonard Cohen wrote this one. Simon's giving it a bit of face-palm. Is he genuinely worried or faking out the audience? Nice addition of some clanging Christmas bells deep in the mix, to remind people that they're going to be hearing this right through the festive period.

No X please, we're musicians

With two weeks left to go before the new X-Factor champ is crowned in a flurry of glitter and bombast, it's time to start thinking about life after X. Viewers have a four-week respite before switching over to ITV2 for the next series of American Idol, and this year's contestants will be knuckling down for a grueling 52 date tour.

But what about life after that? Irrespective of who wins, several of the final 12 will release albums in the next twelve months which will likely follow the same inauspicious path of Eoghan Quigg, who must have set a land-speed record in his rush to the bargain bin.

That's the problem with the X-Factor - it's a soap opera rather than an effective A&R strategy. Viewers get caught up in the drama, they vote for their favourites, and they boo the cartoon villains. But they never actually express a desire to buy the musical output.

The true measure of whether or not someone has the X-Factor, lies in the audience's willingness to support the acts outside of the glare from Simon's teeth. Thankfully, one ex-factor alumnus has a plan to help contestants cope with the post-traumatic stress of anonymity. Ben Mills, the gravel-voiced rocker who was beaten by both Leona (understandable) and Ray Quinn (unforgivable), intends to open a 'sanctuary' for the show's runner-ups.

Like Windsor Safari Park with a mixing desk, the rehab-meets-recording studio concept will be "somewhere that people who have been on a show like X Factor could come...and talk about what they've been through." I guess the first step towards recovery is admitting that you're not very good.

Ben's intention is to look after reality TV contestants who are "struggling with their fame". Or lack thereof. He's even planning to have "some llama and a few kangaroos." Seriously, I am not making any of this up. 

But what about the rest of the music industry? How will it cope in a post-X-Factor world? Not well, if The Guardian is to be believed - pop music is dying as a result of Simon's ratings juggernaut. In an article filled with loftily arrogant statements about the idiocy of the masses, various commentators come forward to condemn both the format and its audiences. Alan McGee who signed Oasis and managed the Libertines, claims "If you are stupid enough to watch it that is what you get, you deserve it. I have no pity for you."

The rest of the article rehashes the same old arguments - pop music as commodity versus indie music as art, singer-songwriters being inherently more worthy than vocalists. But popular music doesn't have to be high art. And no-one ever dismissed an orchestra for only ever doing cover versions of other people's compositions.

The most annoying quote, however, comes from Jon Savage who wrote England's Dreaming, a history of punk. He describes X-Factor viewers as "people who aren't passionate about music. And there's always been a huge market for people who weren't passionate about music." Maybe you're not authentically passionate about music until you've stood in a Camden basement watching Amy Winehouse bleeding from the toes.

If nothing else, the X-Factor is now the last format standing for getting music artists in front of a mainstream audience. With no Top of the Pops, no Chart Show and no CD:UK, this is the only music-specific TV show left. Even if the audience wouldn't know 'real music' if they fell over it. 

Leona gets the upper hand

Ever since she first appeared on The X-Factor, Leona Lewis has been unfavourably compared to Mariah Carey - the reigning queen of the mellifluous mega-ballad. As well as having a similar appearance (sufficient for early tabloid coverage to refer to her as a Mariah-lookalike), Leona's way with a warble suggested that she was keen to follow in Carey's stilettoed footsteps.

But it wasn't just the papers that seized on the comparison, other performers also saw a similarity that compelled them to speak out. Demonstrating a crushing lack of self-awareness, short-term starlet Jamelia was quick to condemn the Hackney princess as "a poor man's Mariah Carey. Leona may be talented, but she's not worked as hard as me or others in the industry - fact!"

When Leona's debut album was released, the comparisons continued, especially since the CD seemed to have been carefully compiled to match Mariah's mid-nineties output, from the sappy, inspirational ballads to the mid-tempo R&B tremblers. Through it all, Leona changed keys more times than an amnesiac locksmith and showcased her world-class pipes to international acclaim.

Her success didn't go unnoticed by the octave bothering uber-diva either, although 'Mimi' was less than delighted with the prospect of competition. Showing all the kindness and compassion of Myra Hindley with a migraine, Mariah loftily claimed "I only heard her once and I didn't really hear a true similarity, particularly in the style of music. It is what it is and critics have compared me to so many people who are not really singers, and they're certainly not writers."

Interestingly, in the last two years, Leona has proved herself as more than just a pretender to the chaise-longue. And although Mariah still rules the roost in terms of sales, Leona is snapping at her mule-clad heels, not least in terms of vocal dexterity.

Whilst Leona could still score a number one by singing the Scottish Premier League scores, Mariah's live performances sound like she's just received an emergency tracheotomy involving a stanley knife and a biro. Her recent appearance on Good Morning America saw her making sounds that would normally be associated with a demonic possession - that famous five-octave voice reduced to a scratchy, screeching air raid siren.

But this week, the Godzilla vs Mothra-style battle of the balladeers took a couple of unexpected turns, as the two titanic talents had very different brushes with their fans.

At a Las Vegas concert, Mariah played the role of matchmaker by inviting two gay fans up on stage so that one could propose to the other. Not only did Mariah interrupt the performance to show her support, she even knocked back the celebratory glass of champagne, without needing an underling to position a drinking straw in her mouth.

Meanwhile, here in London, poor Leona had a rather less auspicious brush with the great unwashed. At a book-signing to promote her new autobiography 'Dreams', Leona was punched in the face by a man who had patiently queued to have his copy autographed. According to eye-witnesses, the unprovoked attack saw Leona rushing from the Piccadilly branch of Waterstones in tears. Shortly after, a scheduled appearance on The One Show was cancelled.

This cruel and unprovoked attack must have come as quite a shock for mild-mannered Leona - especially since she has carefully constructed a persona that's about as controversial (and interesting) as Ryvita. But maybe there's a silver lining to go with the bruised skin here - one that will see her finally assume her rightful place alongside the 'Imperfect Angel' herself.

Perhaps this altercation will give her the impetus she needs to start distancing herself from reality, and acting like the diva she has always had the potential to be. After all, if Mariah can learn to be gracious and considerate, maybe Leona can forget.

Now that's a party

We've all had the "what I'd do if I won the lottery" conversation. Some people want to buy their parents a new house, some people want to travel the world and then build a guitar-shaped swimming pool, and others want to give it all to a cats' home. The thing is, until you experience that kind of wealth, it's impossible to know how you'd really spend it.

Simon Cowell, on the other hand, has had the best part of decade to get used to the kind of wealth that even lottery winners can only dream of. We occasionally see glimpses of his fleet of supercars, or get to see the inside of his property portfolio when he brings the X-Factor wannabes to his home for the final selection process. But aside from that, little is known about how the flat-topped media mogul chooses to splash the cash.

This weekend however, the world was treated to a glimpse of the kind of bash you can stage with a £100 million-plus fortune. Arranged by his friend and business partner Sir Philip Green (and his wife Tina) the 50th birthday party boasted a wide variety of tacky but costly novelties, from baby sharks in the bathroom to 'Simon's Chicken Soup', which spelled out the birthday boy's name in pasta shapes. Velvet chairs, waiters wearing Cowell masks and Simon's image depicted on a fake Michelangelo ceiling, helped to complete the party theme. All in good fun, if not taste.

Reading like the index page of a celebrity gossip magazine, the guest list included Ryan Seacrest, Cheryl Cole, Dannii Minogue, Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell, Gordon Ramsay and Leona Lewis, plus pre-recorded messages from the Beckhams and Jennifer Aniston. But one person who clearly wasn't invited was poor old Daily Mail columnist Amanda Platell, who is in danger of becoming a p0pvulture regular.

In yet another spiteful screed, the hateful hack lays into every aspect of celebrity culture and manages to blame it for all the world's ills. Displaying an almost forensic hunger for details, she outlines every vanity-mocking element of the party, whilst choosing tactically to overlook Simon Cowell's notoriously self-deprecating humour and pragmatism - no doubt the real reason for the 60ft projection of the guest of honour or the army of Cowell-faced servers.

The article itself is arrogantly entitled "My verdict on Cowell birthday party... Vulgar, crass and so tacky" - as though anyone gave a shit about her opinion (unless of course she's deciding whether she would like to be drowned or hanged for her crimes against journalism). Picking her targets with all the precision of a five year-old firing a machine gun, Platell takes lazy pot-shots at every element of the party, missing no opportunity to condemn Cowell as a life-wrecking, narcissistic bully with a poor taste in friends.

Having expressed her distaste for the guest list, which she dismisses as "a sad reflection of Britain's 'Get-Rich-Quick' values" the postulating puff adder asks rhetorically, "Is it any surprise that a survey last week revealed that the aspiration of today's youngsters is to be the next Leona Lewis... or Wayne Rooney." As if this was a bad thing. Both her examples have made multi-million pound fortunes by their early twenties, based on talent and determination alone - I struggle to see how anyone could dispute their value as role models for the youth of today.

It's also unfortunate that Amanda misses the irony of critiquing the very culture that sustains her own career. Whether she's skinning them alive in her column, or eviscerating them on one of the many 'pop culture countdown' shows, Amanda's never happier than when vomiting into the hand that feeds her. She may lament the existence of these 'celebrity creatures' and 'shallow beasts' but they're the source of all her evil powers. Here's hoping someone drops a house on her before she finds someone else to write about.

It's not right, but it's OK

Great news for fans of throaty, ballad-bothering divas - the queen is back and she's sounding... well, she's sounding a bit average actually. Whitney Houston, believed by many (including American Psycho Patrick Bateman) to be one of the finest singers of her generation, has finally got her life back on track and is ready to reclaim her rightful place at the top of the charts.

Unlike most model-turned-singers (Naomi Campbell for instance) Whitney exploded onto the music scene with a 13-times platinum album and three Grammy nominations. More importantly, she had a voice that could cause tectonic plates to shift involuntarily. By the time her follow-up album emerged, she was the most recognisable African-American face on MTV (Michael Jackson doesn't count, since his face wasn't recognisably African-American).

Not everyone was happy about Whitney's cross-over appeal, with some black critics suggesting that she was selling out her soul and gospel roots with generic radio-friendly pop. Whitney disagreed though, stating "if you're gonna have a long career, there's a certain way to do it, and I did it that way. I'm not ashamed of it."

The hits kept on coming, and in 1992 Whitney proved that she was more than just a set of industrial bellows with a voicebox attached. She appeared opposite Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard and managed to turn in a reasonably competent performance as a chart-topping singer/actress - clearly a dramatic stretch. However, exploding speedboats and Gary Kemp aside, the real legacy left by the movie was a cover version of Dolly Parton's classic 'I Will Always Love You'. Here, Whitney took a gentle ode to an unsustainable friendship, and turned it into a gut-wrenching, ear-hammering love song that lasted longer at number one than some artists' entire careers.

And that's when it all went a bit crack-pipe shaped. Whitney's marriage to Bobby Brown became a drug-addled nightmare of rumoured domestic abuse, parental interventions, and the dirtiest bathroom outside of Trainspotting.


Aside from a lazily produced album in 2002 that felt so rushed it could have been recorded in real time, Whitney disappeared off the radar. In the meantime, her record label churned out a never-ending supply of compilations to keep fans satiated and remind them that she was still around.

Finally, in 2008, a new track leaked to YouTube. Called 'Like I Never Left', the song was rumoured to be the result of new studio sessions for a freshly divorced, detoxed and made-over Whitney who was ready for a proper comeback. Cleverly acknowledging her diminished profile in recent years, the song claimed that Whitney had always been around, and was ready to pick up where she left off. Photos also emerged of a clearly rejuvenated Houston that thankfully eradicated the memories of her painfully thin and sweaty appearances in 2001.

So now, here we are on the eve of Whitney's first new material in seven years. Early reviews are in, and they're looking pretty good. Although everyone's going out of their way to apologise for the lack of guts and throaty gravel in her once-signature sound. Yesterday, Whitney also gave an exclusive 'comeback concert' broadcast on Good Morning America, and fans were dismayed to discover that the voice isn't what it once was. According to reports, she struggled to hit the notes and at times had to call upon the enthusiastic crowd to fill in the gaps.

Sadly, this is what happens to big voices as they get older. Mariah Carey's voice seems to have broken into two pieces, making her high notes sound as though she's swallowed a dog whistle. And Whitney's aunt Dionne Warwick now just talks through her biggest hits rather than try and sing them.

There's a silver lining here though. As young wannabe singers line up to audition on shows like The X-Factor and American Idol, they'll continue to tackle the songs made famous by the big-voiced divas, and come off worse for the comparison. But at least now they can take solace in the fact that there is a gap in the market. It's one Leona Lewis, and more recently Alexandra Burke, have capitalised on. Whitney may not be the one to beat anymore, but surely her legacy is sufficient enough to ensure pop immortality.

The meaning of Diva

VH1 has announced that it's going to be interrupting its highbrow programming (including 'Charm School with Ricki Lake' and 'Megan Wants a Millionaire') to bring back an old favourite. After a four year absence, we can finally start looking forward to the 2009 edition of VH1 Divas.

Airing back in 1998, the first VH1 Divas concert was staged to help raise money for the channel's "Save The Music Foundation". Despite the impressive names in the line-up, most people actually tuned in to see how any venue could possibly house the titanic egos of some of music's biggest names. Sharing a stage (but presumably not a dressing room) were Shania Twain, Celine Dion, Gloria Estefan, Carole King, Aretha Franklin and Mariah Carey.

Particular attention was paid to Carey, who has a well-documented reputation for diva-like behaviour, and Franklin - the biggest diva of them all (in circumference as well as talent). Thankfully, the only histrionics on the night were the vocal kind, and VH1 were sufficiently happy to make the event an annual one.

Over the years the show played host to the biggest female names in music, including Patti LaBelle, Tina Turner, Whitney Houston, Diana Ross, Cher, Mary J. Blige, Donna Summer, and (weirdly) Elton John. At the time people questioned Elton's eligibility, only to be reminded that, in contemporary terms at least, he was the quintessential diva - a vast talent dwarfed by shrieking demands and a complete absence of humility.

Now with the concept being dragged out of early retirement, the carefully tweezed eyebrows of the entertainment business are being raised once again. But this time it's not the gender of the acts that are causing consternation, more the status. So far, only four stars have been named, with Kelly Clarkson considered the veteran of the group that also includes Leona Lewis, Adele and Miley Cyrus.

Given that Adele and Leona only really found fame in the last 18 months, and Miley has yet to graduate beyond the Disney channel (come to think of it, she hasn't even graduated high school), it's hard not to feel that the true diva is a dying breed. Being a great singer is one thing, but the appeal of the diva lies is to be found in the inaccessible prima donna, not the quality of the live vocal. Grace Jones is a diva, even though her voice sounds like the belch of dishwater disappearing down the drain.

As great as I'm sure their performances will be, I can't help but feel a little underwhelmed by the idea of an all-star show where the talent just gushes about "How amazing it is to be here". The show's called Divas, so we want people who refuse to leave their dressing room until there are enough humidifiers to create a thundercloud. Still, they've got a couple of months to turn into monsters. My money's on Leona.

Poor me

Yesterday I wrote about the pressures faced by young performers who take to the stage in search of their fame and fortune. Questions have been asked (even at government level) whether these youngsters have the where-with-all to handle the pressure that comes with appearing on the nation's favourite talent shows.

But it would seem that the same questions need to be asked about the grown-ups who appear on these shows. There's a whole slew of them who, smelling the chance to raise their profile for a few more minutes, have crawled out of the woodwork to stick the knife in to Simon Cowell. It helps that Simon is already in the firing line, thanks to the British press refusing to accept any culpability for Susan Boyle's recent breakdown. Apparently, it was the unacceptable pressure of a Saturday night variety show that prompted her meltdown, and not the daily (and highly dubious) coverage of her every move on the front page of every tabloid.

Now here's Niki, Steve, Ben and the MacDonald brothers looking for a belated sympathy vote for the way they were treated by Simon and co. First up is Niki, who alleges that show producers forced her to grieve for her father publicly. There's no evidence for any of this, just the bitter rantings of someone who entered the competition fearful that this was her last chance to accomplish a career in music. If there was something objectionable or distasteful about the production crew's methods, she could always have quit. But that's the problem with fame - it's so enticing that people will happily surrender their morals and values in its pursuit. So there's no point complaining about it after the fact.

And what of Scotland's finest - the MacDonald Brothers. Their selective memories have clearly blanked out the fact that their performances were so terrible they almost insired the second Battle of Stirling Bridge. Despite the fact that Simon signed them and released their (reasonably successful) debut album, they're bitter that they didn't get a five album deal.

Ben Mills (long hair and the voice of a cruise ship Rod Stewart impersonator) acted like he was too good for the X-Factor. He spoke out recently claiming that his mentor Sharon Osbourne tried to force him into storming off the show to score some press coverage. Yet despite such a negative experience, Ben passed up a contract with Polydor to sign a five-album deal with Simon's label instead. Did he sign for the artistic integrity or the value of the deal I wonder...

But my favourite bitter ex-contestant featured in the Daily Mail's 'expose' is Damon Scott. He complains about missing out on a 'lucrative career on Cowell's record label', despite the fact that his act involved a dancing glove puppet called Bubbles the Chimpanzee. Damon's shocking conclusion? Simon's in this for the money. Clearly, Damon is in it for the art - which is why he's complaining about what he missed out on.

In the end, these are TV shows, not a sustainable method for sourcing long-term musical acts. Every once in a while, a genuinely remarkable talent will rise to the surface and capture people's imagination, but they're the exception to prove the rule:



The rest of the time, it's an interactive soap opera, full of drama, twists and the occasional villain. Those who take part must do so knowing that the best they can hope for is a flash of fame, a quick buck and maybe a one-off album recorded on the cheap. Anything more is a bonus. And when they complain about it, it just sounds like sour grapes, however good their pitch might be. Taking a pop at Simon Cowell is a little like Cinderella attacking her Fairy Godmother, because her new glass slippers weren't Louboutin.