This was The Weekend That The X Factor Got Nasty.
I think we can all agree that the auditions this year have sucked balls, hairy balls, hairy balls after the owner has foregone two week’s worth of showers and then been chased around Regent’s Park by a tripping Sharon Osbourne. Someone high up (and probably high) decided that the public didn’t like the embarrassment and humiliation that went along with airing the auditions of those with no talent/no future/no hope. Decided that we would instead like a dual audition format where they show approx. 14 good audition and 2 bad auditions of a Saturday, and then, come Sunday, show us those same 14 good auditions again, but better lit. That person should be fired.
And, I can only assume, has been fired, because this weekend was brutal.
It didn’t matter that these people had talent, and had already been approved. Oh no! Gone was Boot Camp Bonding and Audition Affirmation and Mutual Masturbation. Instead, before the cameras even started rolling, the 100 finalists in each category were cut to 50. And then each of those 50 got on stage in front of an audience and the Fabulous Four and sang for their supper. Or rather their seat – with six to fill for each category. But winning a seat guaranteed nothing. NOTHING except the fear of leaving sweaty butt print marks on the Primark plastic seating, for if another, better audition came along, they would be turfed, as if by a pregnant woman on the Tube. BRUTAL.
And also the best part – kicking off with the girls on Saturday night, Nicole was behaving like someone had spiked her cat nip, building people up and letting them down. To be fair, the girl’s category is pretty spectacular this year, but she pulled no punches and the tears flowed. Even if I don’t agree with all of her decisions (Relly seems to be there purely on the basis of her hair), I like seeing her with her claws out almost as much as I liked seeing her crump to the yodeler.
The Overs kicked in next, which I almost don’t want to talk about because I realized if I auditioned I would be an Over. An OVER. I can’t even talk about it. Sharon then sent home Jayson, arguably the best singer of the lot, but I forgave her when I got to watch the The Smiley Blonde Lady fist bump her child onstage. Joseph Whelan threw a hissy fit when Gary recommended that he be sent home, which I enjoyed, though he stayed to fill the Testosterone and Tattoos Quota. And Sam Bailey is adorable and if I ever commit a heinous crime, I want her to be my prison guard.
Louis’ boys – I remember almost nothing of these auditions because I was so delightfully distracted by The Child who Kept Weeping. He sang, got a seat, and then cried forever. He was like Alice in X Factorland, swept away by his own sobs. Every time the cameraman got bored he would cut back to his little wet cheeks in delight. I secretly think it is some kind of marketing genius/madness to ensure more TV time. I hope he wins, we need more male tears on television.
Gary’s groups were next, and this is always the most fun category, even if some of the harmonization makes me want fill my ears with Nicole’s hair extensions and wait for death. Kingsland were kind of gorgeous and I heartily approve of the return of synchronized dance moves. It harks back to my Backstreet Boys days beautifully. Rough Copy had VISA issues again, which feels like an over-played card. And the girls group, formed out of brutally dissected former groups, were awful, but looked liked shiny shiny toys, and so they naturally got through. SO SHINY LOOK SO GOOD IN HOTPANTS MUST BE A STAR.
You know what’s awkward? When an act RUINS a tune, and then they play the original, as it should be sung, afterwards. This happened frequently last night. Somewhere, Rihanna is snickering as she lights a giant joint from a $100 bill.
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