Well, put on a baggy suit and call me Dermot. X-Factor.
I missed the grand opening to the show due to the fact I had left it late to take the necessary medication required watch a whole episode of this stuff.
No doubt it involved Gary’s strop and the ejection of MILF, rendering the programme completely redundant for all men over the age of 40.
We kicked off with Jahmene, the singing android, who had been sent away to be fitted with a new personality card. However, the giggle has not been rectified but Jahmene has been given the rudimentary programming for basic flirting with Nicole. A difficult project, akin to trying to make Dr Rowan Williams a sex symbol.
Nanny’s Fairy Chris Maloney was up next, having been dressed up like an undertaker and wailing his way across the stage. Usual shaking and symptoms of an impending nervous breakdown followed.
Union J are well and truly established in the X Factor machinery, with Louis issuing at least two of them with the corporate haircuts worn by One Direction and JLS. To make it even more confusing and incestuous, they sung ‘Bleeding Love’, made famous by another of the high waist banded one’s factory, Hackney howler Leona Lewis and written by American Pop Idol Ryan Tedder from One Republic. All the judges approved, even though in true X Factor style, the bequiffed boys sang most of the right words to a completely different tune.
Jamie Douglas, erstwhile cheap Jarvis Cocker, is being transformed into a nerdy version of Professor Green. He received a call from Mary J Blige, who told him that he was by far her favourite on X-Factor. Yes, I’ll give you a moment to digest that. I’m finding it hard to imagine Mary J Blige spending her Saturdays sitting on the sofa with a big bag of Maltesers watching X-Factor UK. Anyway, she read very well from Darth Cowell’s crib sheet. More alarmingly, he droned through a song I didn’t recognise until very near the end, when I realised it was ‘No More Drama,’ the incredible Mary J Blige song. The result was similar to Ikea trying to make a Chippendale chair; they are good at what they do but shouldn’t overstep the mark.
“You took that song to a whole ‘nother level,” Nicole said. Quite.
Lucy Spraggan – Sad news for Victoria Wood was pounced upon by X- Factor stormtroopers, with Lucy’s grief over the death of her nanny being filmed in close up. Dear Charlie, my lovely nephew, not an X-Factor aficionado, watched her perform ‘Gold Digger,’ before commenting. “She reminds me of a young George Formby,” he said, a pretty good description. Lucy was surrounded by four female dancers, who, to be honest, were quite boobalicious for regular dancers. There curvy figures swayed and gyrated around the stage, gently brushing against … sorry. Distracted again.
“I bet you enjoyed having those dancers with you tonight,” commented Nicole. I wonder what she could be implying?
Nando’s answer to Boyzone, District 3, were given more advice from Nicole, who was really on form tonight. Yes, Gary managed a critique about harmonies, which was hilarious, but Nicole outshone him. “You need less cheese. I think a sprinkle of Tabasco and some baby oil would help.”
Goodness knows what Lewis Hamilton is subjected to in the privacy of his own home.
Jade Singlemum, her daughter now forgotten and in the hands of St Simon’s Home for Wannabe Pop Stars’ Children, went to see TuliSa at work.
“Now you can see what being a pop star is all about,” gasped TuliSa. Certainly. It involves standing about a lot doing nothing. Cut to Jade on stage, fighting against the enormous weight of the earrings she’d borrowed from X-Factor reject Amy, reconstructing an Amy Winehouse classic.
Mk1, now safely having their image transformed into a children’s TV version of gangster rap, tried a version of ‘I Want You Back,’ the Jacksons song. The little blonde boy, Charlie, was ok with the singing bit, but Sim, the rapper wasn’t, mainly because The Jacksons didn’t rap. This meant that Sim was pretty much redundant, merely reading out the words. It was awful, but the judges didn’t flinch. Sorry, but I have to comment on the video that preceded the performance, where Louis tried on Sim’s glasses and cap. It changed his image into one he really, really could do without.
Kye the chimney sweep tried his best with a mash up of Dido and Rhiannon songs associated with Eminem. I felt a it confused and musically disorientated in a Louis Walsh way. He promised to show us ‘an artistic side that we’d never seen.’ I watched really carefully, but at no point did he show any of his etchings or watercolours.
Rylan’s pre- song video promised he would come out fighting and he wasn’t lying. He fought very hard to keep a tune, not that he could be heard over the thumping dance track. By this time, I’d consumed one or two bottles of beer, so please forgive me if I imagined this version of his performance: Rylan, dressed as a camper, sparkly Undertaker in a city centre nightclub, twirled, minced and tripped around yelping, surrounded by dancing fashion pandas. Louis was enraptured. “That’s entertainment with a capital… (pause) … E!” he claimed. You could almost hear his brain going ‘A, B, C, D, ah!’
Gary managed to put down the sniper rifle for a moment and diss Rylan. Rylan managed a suitably lisped retort. I was too dazed to listen properly, wishing for the return of the boobalicious dancers.
Shouty Fairy finished off the evening’s travesty, singing a song whilst wearing a shirt with very long arms. I was expecting her arms to get longer as the song progressed, but no luck. Again, promising comments from the famous four, a quick hug from Dermot and Wilkinson’s answer to Barbara Streisand was gone.
You may have noticed I missed out Dead Granddad Girl. This is for a very good reason. She’s the only one who can sing.
“Why don’t they just let her sing 11 songs?” asked Dear Charlie.
“What about the rest of them?” I responded.
“Well, they could dance and be judged on that,” he answered.
I don’t know about you, but I could never see a dancing competition working on telly.
Until next time.