Simon Cowell’s legal battle over the X-Factor format has underlined once again that this reality TV thing is a licence to print money.
“X Factor probably is indistinguishable from Pop Idol in principle but you can tell that to the judge, Fuller, you shitbag.”
X Factor probably is indistinguishable from Pop Idol in principle but you can tell that to the Judge, Fuller, you shitbag. You both make far too much money and the fact that you pair of bastards are doing your mud-wrestling act in public, wasting the time and talents of our judiciary says everything about your squalid little existence. With your breath stinking of Baby Spice‘s piss,
“‘X Factor returned in bullish mood, confident of a winning formula. And well they might be – they stole it from Pop Idol after all.”
Still, after last year’s thrilling finale between G4‘s classy poperatics and the cheeseball stylings of Steve Brookstein, (booed at his first gig after emerging victorious, who says this doesn’t lead to success?) X Factor returned in bullish mood, confident of a winning formula. And well they might be – they stole it from Pop Idol after all
Having whittled away the lunatics, no-hopers and nearly men, the judges were left with the 12 grateful finalists. It was a Who’s Who of Who’s That? Something Aerial Telly is glad to help out with
4Tune – The lantern-jawed yankophiles were the band of the year. Unfortunately, the year was 1991.
Addictiv Ladies – A missing vowel and a missing chromosome did for these generic R&B turds.
Andy Abraham – He’s a smooth dustbin-swinging brother with a voice like liquid gold.
Brenda Edwards – Gigantic flagcracker who sings the arse off everyone each week.
Chenai Zinuku – Attention-seeking crybaby who thinks the world owes her a living because she reached boot camp stage last year.
Chico Slimari – Laughably poor Ricky Martin wannabe with feet of clay and tonsils of tin.
Journey South – Twin pronged blandathon, all vocal harmony and rousing choruses; will go far.
Maria Lawson – Talented but suffered from being black, female and married. Got voted off by evil Oirish mafia Godfather Louis O’Walsh to save The O’Conway Sisters.
Nicholas Dorsett – The worthy heir to chin beast Craig David, sang like a tit when it mattered.
Philip McGee – Utterly clueless rabbit in headlights; quickly put out of his misery in the finals.
The Conway Sisters – Spent approximately 0.13 seconds in tune in their last performance, a personal best.
Shayne Ward – known by millions as “that boy off the telly”, Shayne is Justin Timberlake‘s retarded kid brother who they kept under the sink until he was 15, masturbating in a big nappy listening to Boyz II Men records.
“Shayne is Justin Timberlake’s retarded kid brother who they kept under the sink until he was 15, masturbating in a big nappy listening to Boyz II Men records.”
Ostensibly, this is where things get interesting between the acts but the key battles take place between the judges. They spend most of their time undermining the others’ abilities as mentors and in fatuous point-scoring – which is terrific fun, of course.
Simon Cowell speaks the truth but his “sounded a bit karaoke to me” insults are becoming a touch played out. It’s nonetheless been funny to watch his increasingly bemused reactions to the Cult of Chico Time (Slimari’s contrived catchphrase and debut single).
“His pussying out in picking the O’Conway Sisters ahead of Marie was as spineless as a performance from a judge as you could imagine.”
Louis Walsh, on the other hand, is a hopeless people pleaser, way too concerned with what the audience think of him. His pussying out in picking the O’Conway Sisters ahead of Marie was as spineless as a performance from a judge as you could imagine. What a hapless ponce he is.
And Sharon Osbourne couldn’t play more shamelessly to the gallery if she were Freddie Mercury – not once does she go against the general audience feeling, an audience consisting largely of the act’s families and friends. Way to defeat the whole purpose, Sharon.
You can’t help thinking that her experience managing her husband is not particularly relevant to assessing talent. A commercial metal act like Ozzy couldn’t miss in America in the Eighties. Crank up the camp horror nonsense together with wild man of rock antics and triple platinum was practically guaranteed. Good fun though she often is, being nearly killed by your main act is hardly a recommendation. It makes you long for those days before irony when Judge Geri Halliwell would tell people they needed to improve their singing voices.
“It makes you long for those days before irony when Judge Geri Halliwell would tell people they needed to improve their singing voices.”
As we approach the finishing straight it looks like it’s most likely between Shayne, Journey South and Andy. Like Steve the Cheeseball they won’t have much of a career. Brenda probably deserves to win. She definitely won’t. Cowell will win his legal case and all be well in the world of X Factor. Don’t fight it – some things were simply meant to be.
The best thing about it: The judges’ shameless treachery.
The worst thing about it: The judges’ shameless sycophancy.
The verdict on X-Factor: New Faces with ‘tude.
Marks out of 10: 7