X Marks The Scrot

In the future everything will be decided in the same fashion as the new look X Factor. The plain terrifying sight of thousands of whooping maniacs booing weak performers off the stage, combined with judges who can’t hear each other and even more filler guff than ever before makes me wonder how this enormous brain fart was allowed to proceed. It makes the Brian Freedman decision seem like a stroke of genius. And where have they got all of these backing tracks from? Whatever happened to the auditions being all about the voices? Incessant cheesy backing tracks, nauseating crowd noise and occasional bursts of vocal seems to be the order of the day here.

As the really rather splendid Charlie Brooker pointed out on his Twitter feed, the constant crowd noise makes it all a bugger to edit and, as a result, the editing’s buggered. In particular, the ‘chit chat’ that the demonic wet-fingers-in-a-plug-socket-hair-and-twattish-personality twins had with the audience was cut with all of the efficieny of an eplieptic with some scissors.

All of the above said, it was nice of Triple Trouble to almost manage to coordinate themselves. The lad had a purple top on under his blue hoodie, but forgot to ditch the hoodie. Still, their tops went together better than their voices. Did a lot of good in terms of proving that teenagers aren’t all violent thugs… by threatening Simon and throwing his microphone on the floor.

It says a lot that a man with a chicken hat on mocking Louis Walsh can still seem to be making quite a salient point. Although, as one random girl group pointed out, “maybe there’s something wrong with the mics.” The girl with Terry Duckworth glasses and drawn on eyebrows was perhaps more engaging than most of the vocal performances although all was forgotten when everybody’s favourite from last year, Dwain, (nope, no idea) returned to belt out a bit of ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough‘ which was, amazingly, ok but which wasn’t current enough for Simon ‘St Michael T Shirts’ Cowell.

Amazingly, there were lots of bad performers  but then, out of the blue, the last performance of the day was astonishing. Who would have guessed. I enjoyed the man who appeared to call Bon Jovi ‘Anchovy’ even though the rest of the montage was carefully laying the foundations, judges staring at the floor, increasingly depressed, for the knockout wunderkind. And, just to ensure that anyone playing X Factor Bullshit Catchphrase Bingo ended the show completely smahed, Simon, seemingly without irony, said, “I actually don’t want to do this any more.” Luckily, a plucky type with a nice smile came in and did an impression of a chap singing whilst sat on a washing machine. Still, he got the crowd waving and, increasingly dirty old woman, Dannii going. Louis was nodding too, although that may have been the medication wearing off. And to think that he was the last performance of the day. After all that. The very last. What are the chances?

No. Really. What are the chances?

Plus, as a teacher, presumably he was able to explain to Louis and Cheryl that ‘a million, million percent yes’ and ‘two million percent yes’ don’t really work as concepts.

Oh, and I do hope the Daily Mail start a campaign to ban the show now that Simon halts every performance with a Nazi salute.

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