How to win the SeX-Factor

It doesn't matter how proficient we think we might be at bedroom gymnastics, no-one really wants to know the truth. We might occasionally ask "How was it for you?" but only because we know our sexual partner will soften the blow if we weren't quite up to scratch. So the idea of having a third party critiquing our talents is enough to kill wood quicker than a nasty dose of Dutch Elm.

That didn't seem to stop one overconfident couple approaching Simon Cowell in an LA restaurant with an indecent proposal of their own. Rather than whoring themselves out to the music mogul for a million dollars, they just wanted Mr. Nasty to sit in judgement as they demonstrated their best moves. And they were willing to pay him $150,000 for his input. Ever the gentleman, Cowell politely declined the offer, but happily related the story to a writer from the Wall Street Journal last week. It's clear that Simon doesn't get out of bed for that kind of paltry sum, so he's certainly not going to sit at the end of one for the same amount.

Catching an eyeful of Simon's furry chesticles mid-thrust, would ordinarily be enough to put even the most hardened porn star off their stroke. So I can only imagine that this outgoing twosome had done their homework, and knew how give it 110 per cent. Actually, if you've been watching the X-Factor, Britain's Got Talent or American Idol, you should already know how to get Cowell standing to attention at the end of your performance.

Make an entrance

Simon likes to enter with a burst of Carmina Burana. So if you really want to pop his shirt buttons, make sure that the moment of penetration comes with a melodramatic burst of O Fortuna. That's sure to get him Orff.

Bust a move

The best decision Simon ever made, was dumping Brian Friedman from the judging panel and appointing him as the X-Factor's creative director. Now, every performance is camper than Dale Winton in a nail bar - a multi-colour kaleidoscope of awkward choreography, laughable costumes and shoddily built sets. Cirque du Soleil, sponsored by Aldi. In order to catch Simon's eye, you'll need to be willing to move around and show him that you're the full package. And don't just settle for waving around your full package, feel free to accessorise with a few props.

Stand out from the crowd

Simon wants to see you making it your own, so repeated shouts of "who's your daddy?" will prove to him that you're fully in control. It's also important to think about what position you want to try out. Beware of anything too predictable - if you stick to the missionary or reverse cowgirl, he'll just yawn and tell you that he's seen it a million times before in hotels around the world.

But equally, don't go too far in the other direction. It's fine to demonstrate that you take your shenanigans seriously, but if you show off your enthusiasm for autopederasty (literally fucking yourself), he'll tell you you're being self-indulgent. And he'd have a point.

Be a team player

Simon enjoys nothing more than spontaneously creating bands from a bunch of underperforming individuals. So maybe start your session off with some half-hearted solo play, and when it looks as though you're losing his interest, bring in a third member and call yourselves a group.

Show some emotion

One of the worst things about porn is the dead-eyed stare on the faces of its stars. There's nothing erotic about watching someone getting stuffed every way to Sunday if it looks as if they're barely conscious. If you want to make it memorable you have to commit to the moment, and an emotional backstory is the easiest way to win Simon's favour. So don't be afraid to burst into tears as you're getting onto the vinegar strokes. Or you could take a tip from Katie Waissel and drop to your knees with a despairing "Oh sod it." Then, while you're down there...

Stretch it out

When it comes to over-extended running times, Simon is the king of filler. It should only take five minutes to deliver the bad news and announce who's going home, and yet the average Syco-produced results show stretches to about 90 minutes. If you're usually arguing over the wet patch less than quarter of an hour in, you really need to practice your breathing, or swot up on tantric techniques. Don't worry if there's only ten minutes of actual performance in a two-hour set - he's used to that.

Finish with a bang

Simon's a big fan of the explosive finish, having overseen more key changes than a chain of locksmiths. It's all about making those final thirty seconds count - when you feel your toes starting to curl, get into position to make sure that your partner gets drenched in a glittering shower. And don't worry if you're all out of silver ticker tape, I'm sure you'll come up with something appropriate.

I have a dream...

When Popstars first reared its mis-shapen head back in 1999, TV executives around the world struggled to comprehend how the cripplingly outdated talent show format had managed to come back from the dead. During the seventies, they were all the rage, giving anyone with a vaguely discernible ability a couple of minutes on stage to show off their skills, before being eviscerated by a panel of judges who would usually jeer from the Royal box like Waldorf and Statler. But the novelty died out, along with all the overweight comedians who were as famous for their hardened arteries as they were for their casual racism.

Put it down to fortuitous timing - the new generation of karaoke contests came along just as the world shifted from fleeting interest to insatiable obsession with celebrity. Not only did these shows give us the chance to flex our critical muscles from the comfort of an armchair, they also peeled back the curtain and gave us a new insight into how a star is born manufactured.

The format is now such a staple of the schedules that you can turn on the TV in any week of the year, safe in the knowledge that you're just minutes away from seeing a preternaturally confident 19 year-old giving it some serious Mariah. Molesting the notes with a veracity that should see them put on the sex offenders' register, these young over-soulers don't care about the song, so much as showing the world their epiglottis for fifteen seconds at a time.

We sat through Popstars and Popstars: The Rivals, we cheered on Pop Idol, grew to love American Idol, grudgingly accepted The X-Factor, and even found place in our hearts for (Insert Country Here)'s Got Talent. But our TV overlords must have found that last mystical hour of broadcast space that isn't currently filled with a line-up of wannabes, and a judging panel of used-to-bes. And they're determined to fill it with a new addition to the evergreen format.

No doubt inspired by the huge viewing figures pulled in by My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, TV bosses are now keen to showcase the many talents of the British traveller community. Speaking to the Daily Star, Jake Bowers of the Gypsy Media Company, has been busy plugging a property he created called 'Traveller's Got Talent'. Sadly, punctuation may not be one of the skills to be showcased.

Bowers says "Gypsy, Roma and Traveller communities are perceived to be guilty of many things, but capable of nothing. But the final and the regional finals that led up to it quash that myth. They have all demonstrated that Gypsy, Roma and Traveller young people, in particular, have talents, skills and abilities that are largely unrecognised by the world beyond their communities."

Hopefully, their abilities stretch beyond the world's most thorough caravan cleaning, and ordering a wedding gown so huge it needs planning permission. And at least when the successful applicants get invited to attend the national finals, the production company won't have to spring for hotel rooms during the finals. 

Given the criticisms levelled at MBFGW about how travellers were portrayed, throwing performers on a stage to be yelled at by an unforgiving audience is unlikely to help inter-community relations. Besides which, it's not as though the current raft of talent shows excludes travellers from taking part. Like any other minority community, acceptance has to come from integration rather than segregation. Travellers may well have talent, but it remains to be seen whether 'playing nicely with others' is one of them. 

You Can't Stop The Music

As Simon Cowell gets busy readying the US version of X-Factor for TV audiences Stateside, fans are left wondering about what will become of their favourite talent-fest. Since Simon's departure at the end of season 9, a big question mark has hung over the judges' table on American Idol.

Simon has always been the show's primary draw, despite the often incredible vocal talents on display, and his leaving has left producers with a major headache. It didn't help matters that Ellen DeGeneres announced that she won't be returning for the show's tenth season - citing her discomfort with shooting down young people's dreams. Lightweight.

Within a week, stories had begun circulating that the unpronounceable Kara DioGuardi had also been released from her contract, making a seat on the judge's panel seem about as secure as the passenger seat in James Bond's Aston Martin. Now only Randy Jackson remains, and since his comments are usually as incomprehensible as the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie, he's clearly expendable too.

So what's next for America's most popular TV show? Pretty much anyone with the ability to sit still for an hour and drink Coca-Cola is in the running, with bookies currently favouring Jennifer Lopez and Steven Tyler for the pane. But an interesting alternative candidate has also been suggested, who could change the dynamic in all kinds of ways.

Having contacted TV producers to put himself forward for the role, Victor Willis believes he could be in with a shot, since he staged "the original American Idol" in the mid-1970s. If you're wondering who Victor is, you're probably not alone. But it's safe to say that, for a while at least, he was one of the most recognisable pop stars in the world.

Victor was the lead singer of iconic group (and bad wedding disco staple) The Village People, and could usually be seen sporting a less-than-convincing police officer uniform. OK, so the band featured more crude caricatures than Rolf Harris' doodle-pad, but for a while they defined Disco.

According to Willis, the band was cast in much the same way as the TV show, "It's amazing how similar the current American Idol show is to what actually took place during the original Village People auditions. Many of the singers and dancers were absolutely horrendous while others were very good. Jacques [Morali] and I sat at a table and listened to each of them pitch their talent. And, just like Simon Cowell, Jacques had very little patience for bad talent. I was more laid back in my judging though."

Despite his self-belief, Willis is pragmatic about his chances, which is probably for the best. Although, as he points out: "Apparently they're looking for someone who the public would least suspect." In which case, he could be in with a shot after all.

It's the end of the world as we know it...

Excitement is currently building over in the US about the imminent release of the debut CD from this year's American Idol winner. When I say winner, I don't mean the guy who actually got to yell the winner's song while being shot in the face by a glitter cannon. I'm referring to Adam Lambert, the runner-up who has successfully managed to leverage his time on the ratings juggernaut into what could be a genuinely exciting career.

Admittedly, things didn't get off to the best start. As well as losing in the final of the long-running talent show, he was forced to dress like a Borg fan at Comic-Con to perform alongside Kiss, and won the approval of Brian May, a man who is to cool what Simon Cowell is to hipsters.

Since then, Glambert (as his imaginative fans have Christened him) has been on the cover of Rolling Stone, for an interview in which he spoke openly about his homosexuality, and recording with the likes of uberproducer RedOne and Lady GaGa. He's already popular enough to have his own stalker, and be pelted on stage with dildos by overexcited female fans, who at least wanted to give him something he could use.

The music industry is waiting with baited breath to see what the world makes of one of its first 'out' young artists, especially one who is proudly provocactive (rather than creepily asexual, like fellow Idol also-ran Clay Aiken). When the latter finally crept out of the closet last September after years of denial, his fans deserted him overnight, suggesting that America just wasn't ready for a gay pop star.

Confusing things further, Adam has also posed for a teasingly ambisexual series of poses for Details magazine, alongside a semi-naked female model. Perhaps understanding that, even when the truth is 'out' there, it's good to keep them guessing, Adam teased in the accompanying interview "I like kissing women sometimes. Women are pretty. It doesn't mean I'm necessarily sleeping with them."

After all the interviews, photoshoots and tour appearances, we're now finally able to judge what Adam sounds like as a recording artist, with the release of 'Time For Miracles' from the soundtrack of forthcoming megapocalypse movie 2012. The song itself is so overblown that it makes Aerosmith's 'Don't Wanna Miss A Thing' sound like a Elmo singing a lullaby, but it's sure to be a big hit, since the video crams in enough end-of-the-world footage that viewers won't actually need to see the film.

The best thing about all this, is seeing a prophecy fulfilled. Not the Mayan predictions which give 2012 its basic plot, but the fire and brimstone attitudes expressed by some ultra-right-wing nutjobs in the US, at the prospect of a victorious gay idol. Seeing Adam stride moodily through the artfully arranged destruction as the sky falls around him, it would appear that dreams really do come true.

Time For Miracles

Adam Lambert | MySpace Video

Singing a different tune

It's a sad time for fans of American Idol this week. Paula Abdul lowered her dosage long enough to construct a complete sentence or two, and took to Twitter to announce that after eight years of rambling incoherence, she was leaving the blockbuster talent show.

Despite the fact that her feedback to performers was often cryptic enough to headfuck Dan Brown, she was an instrumental part of the programme's unique appeal. While the other judges quietly contemplated their appraisals, Paula could always be relied upon to dance like a drunken secretary behind the table, and then disguise the inevitable bad news with a compliment about the artist's outfit. But alas, those days are gone.

The producers are remaining tight-lipped about their long-term plans for the show, except to say that they liked the dynamic of four judges and will be looking to recapture the magic. However, fans can at least take solace in the fact that bright orange, vocoder-dependent 'fashion designers' are ten-a-penny in Hollywood. Perhaps that's why Fox has already lined up pouting coat-stand Victoria Beckham to show up as a guest judge for one episode.

Once again the Daily Mail has set any sense of journalistic responsibility aside in order to trot out any old press release in the name of news. They've covered the story of Beckham's temporary signing in a way that implies she was begged to help fill the chair vacated by ex-choreographer and jewellery designer. According to the UK's most dubious news source "Simon Cowell has called [Victoria] to join him on the judging panel... for a rumoured £155,000." Strangely enough, no mention is made of the fact that the creator and executive producer of American Idol, Simon Fuller, is also the Beckhams' manager. This one-off opportunity may indeed be a 'favour', but I'd hazard a guess that it's Victoria who's the one to benefit from it.

Gay is the word

Whatever happened to the love that dare not speak its name? These days, people can speak of little else. It's big news in the States at the moment, since this week's shock American Idol result. In case you haven't been following it, the final saw gay Adam Lambert square off against missionary Kris, only for Kris' red-state, Bible-thumping, down-home fans to roll up their sleeves and defeat the man who was pretty much declared winner on the first live show. The morning-after press conference saw Adam agree that his 'sexuality' (without ever explicitly confirming what 'it' is) probably cost him the vote, but he didn't seem to be harbouring any sour grapes. However, that didn't stop another gay runner-up, Clay Aiken, from rushing in to criticise Adam's performances, only to then apologise a few hours later.

Meanwhile, over on another reality talent show, Nigel Lythgoe (once described by Charlie Brooker as looking like 'Eric Idle watching a dog drown') has been kicking up a brouhaha as well. Following in the well-trodden footsteps of Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell (whose painful 'gay panic' banter is now as much a staple of every show as the performance recaps) Nigel felt the need to make an issue out of the sexuality of two male contestants on So You Think You Can Dance. Having expressed discomfort at the way in which the men danced together, Nigel then took to Twitter to comment further: "The same-sex ballroom guys did remind me of Blades of Glory. However, I'm not a fan of Brokeback ballroom." Thanks Nigel, you transparent-skinned, yellow-toothed ghoul.

And then there's Jonathan Ross, no longer allowed to broadcast his radio show live because the BBC are terrified that one of his inappropriate comments will slip through the net and upset someone in Tunbridge Wells. The latest upset was caused by a comment that parents should put their (male) children up for adoption if they asked for a Hannah Montana MP3 player.

So much controversy and so little time. It’s funny to think that it’s not so long ago that gays were happy to settle for insults and negative portrayals, since visibility was better than nothing. But in a few short years we’ve reached a point where mainstream society has embraced the gay cultural vernacular to such a degree that people feel perfectly comfortable criticizing it, as if from the inside. ’Homophobia’ is an easy accusation to make, but it’s almost impossible to prove. So I’ll just cross my fingers and tell myself that I believe in fairies…

All hail the AntiChrist

Is there anything left to say about Simon Cowell? The porcelain veneers, snide comments and high-waisted pants have all been done to death already, so I'll try to avoid returning to such well-trodden ground.

Simon's been in the news a lot lately, with his finger in more pies than Mr Kipling. Eoghan Quigg's debut album, Alexandra Burke's US record deal, American Idol over-running, and of course the discovery of one-woman weep machine Susan Boyle, have all helped to keep Simon's profile higher than ever in recent weeks.

So it should come as no surprise that once again the knives are out for the supercilious A&R exec-turned media mogul.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a big fan. His mangled metaphors and repetitive analogies are matched only by his diffident rudeness in terms of irritation factor. In particular I find his all-too-evident indifference to the people involved especially off-putting - just watch how often he has to be told what was just said by a contestant, because he stopped listening the moment the camera was off him.

But despite all this, I can't help but feel the need to defend him when the other media figures go on the attack. This week, Jon McClure, lead singer of Reverend And The Makers branded Simon "Satan", accusing him of only being in the music business for himself and to make money. Which is a little like pointing out that Kate Moss is a little thin. He's an A&R man - his job (ever since it was handed to him on a plate by his Dad) has always been to find artists that will make money for the label. What he's managed to do is turn it into a role that people are willing to sit and watch him do. I'm just thankful he didn't choose a career in colonoscopy.

The problem with people like Jon McClure is that, whilst integrity and a life on the fringe are all well and good, a career in music is still a career. It pays the bills, it covers the mortgage, and if you're really lucky it'll buy you a whole lot else besides. Plus, there's something astonishingly arrogant about anyone who can breezily dismiss all of these shows and their contestants as "soulless". On behalf of Kelly Clarkson, Jennifer Hudson, Fantasia and Leona Lewis, I'd beg to differ. Similarly, when commenting that the "winner of his shows just meet certain criteria" he shows just how clueless he is. Of course there are criteria - most popular, highest audience vote...

It seems that people just want to cast Simon as the bad guy, and his shoulders are broad enough to carry the label. TV presenter, actor, singer and professional gay John Barrowman was interviewed on Digital Spy this week and happily concurred that Simon's shows place the emphasis on humiliating people. But do they? Sure, the cameras are there, and the editing team are on stand-by to find the best stories, but I've never seen anyone holding a gun to the contestants' heads. No-one's forcing them to be there. They've got their reasons, and they're there on that stage (or in that conference centre) because they're drawn to the bright lights like deluded mosquitoes.

There's an unspoken contract here - their dignity in exchange for whatever degree of fame or infamy they can secure off the back of their appearance. It's not really a theatre of cruelty, so much as a set of Do-It-Yourself village stocks. And every once in a while, as last weekend proved, someone surprises us by turning the tables and making us feel like the idiots instead.

Simon isn't the villain here. It's all a circus, and he's the ringmaster, clown and lion tamer, all rolled into one. And I can't think of anyone better to play the part.

Has America grown up?

Is anyone else following American Idol? They all seem to merge into one now, with the usual round up of nerds, divas, punk grrrls and white-bread R&B wannabes. But there's someone standing out this year, and it seems like our friends across the pond just don't know what to do with themselves (which reminds me, isn't it time for another Burt Bacharach week?)

His name is Adam Lambert, and he's a fantastically talented showman, combining the thick-set good looks of Brendan Fraser with the voice of Axl Rose. He's made some weird song choices, he's got a rockier edge than you'd expect and he can be self-indulgent at times. But from the first of the live shows, he's quite rightly been earmarked as the one to beat. However, there's a hitch - it seems Adam might be one of the 'boyz'.

Here in the UK, we wear our 'not that there's anything wrong with that' with pride. Hell, we even voted one as our first Pop Idol, although he rather cannily waited until after he'd won to announce it. So what will America do? It's tempting to think that, since they managed to vote an African American into the White House, things have changed for the better. But don't bet on it.

Think of Clay Aiken, who came second in season 2. He weathered countless veiled references to his 'theatrical' style, but he was expected to keep 'that' side of his life a secret. When he finally came out last year, his fans were not happy. One vocal blogger commented that they would no longer listen to his bestselling Christmas album, saying "I can't listen to him singing O Holy Night, knowing that he desires unholy nights".

The difference with Adam is that he seems to be unapologetically gay. Currently, it's big news that there are photos on the internet of him kissing guys. Shocking, I know. But the reaction of right-wing blowhards like Bill O'Reilly, tells us why Adam will have to fight to achieve what should be a foregone conclusion. After showing a coyly cropped version of one of these incriminating photos, O'Reilly asks whether Adam's gayness "will have an effect of the program." The answer is, of course not. But let's not forget that someone else has a hand in all of this.

Take a bow, Rupert Murdoch. The ruthless media mogul owns News Corp, which happens to own the Fox News Channel (which Bill O'Reilly calls home) and Fox, the channel that broadcasts American Idol. Incidentally, News Corp also recently tried to initiate a boycott of Home & Away in Australia, outraged by the prospect of a lesbian kiss. I guess Rupert just doesn't like the gays.

So let's just hope that for the second time in recent memory, democracy manages to trump right wing media influence.