Posts Tagged ‘ candy rose ’

x-factor episode 5 – the hooker and the pimp

Firstly, I must begin with some terrible news – I have been banned from Digital Spy for 48 hours because I asked someone why they were up at 03.45 writing eighteen paragraphs about Phil Mitchell’s crack addiction on Eastenders. Apparently that’s not in the spirit of the site. Being banned from DS is like being told you can’t frap with your left hand when you normally use your right. Devastated as I was, I have soldiered on, and – a little bit later than normal – here is this weeks X-Factor review.

Only it’s not. It’s a bloody two-parter! So here is the first part of the Simon Cowell show, reviewed for your pleasure. Now, I know I say this every week but this time, I’m just going to review the acts in handy little chunks. Where there is a snappy bit of television in between the acts, I’ll mention it – but I’m just trying to keep it concise for y’all. Y’all, really? Too much watching The Middle. Anyway, here we go.

So we’re in Manchester, and with Cheryl ‘MEET US BY BYKAH METRUUURGH PET’ Cole up in court for fiddling incapacity benefit since her malaria episode, we’re joined by Nicola Scherzinger from The Pussycat Dolls. She seems inoffensive enough, but looks distractingly like a very good looking ladyboy. The obligatory shots of the judges arriving to, weirdly enough, Rhythm of the Night sang by a jaunty choir. I spot it straight away since I’ve downloaded a 90s Pop Classics onto my iPhone, and it’s  amazing. ANYWAY for fucks sake, I’m distracting again. ACTS:

Rachel Chu – singing Saving All My Love For You by Whitney Houston.

Ding ding (that’s me, not her sister) – our first hilarious act of the evening. You know as soon as she speaks that she is being set up for the ‘Haw haw, let’s all laugh at the Chinese girl singing’ joke, and I’m right. She says she is 44 (Beef Chow Mein). Dermot O’Twat stands backstage asking her family if she can sing like HE DOESN’T ALREADY FUCKING KNOW SHE CAN’T. Yeah, she’s terrible, and Simon dismisses her out of hand, saying she was screaming her way through the song. To be fair, Simon, she’s probably taken one look at your japs-eye-haircut and been petrified. It’s a no.

John Ashmore – singing Relax, Take It Easy by Mika

You can tell he is going to be bad from the moment he walks on. Remember Gareth from The Office? It’s him with slightly greasier hair and offensive teeth. His high notes sound exactly like my bum-sighs when I’m trying to be polite. Nope. Louis compares him to a helium balloon. Cheeky Irish tinker, it’s my job to do the comparisons.

John Coy – singing Angel by Shaggy

I burst out laughing when he came on the stage because his face looks like all of his features have slid into the middle, leaving a good three inches of blank face all around his head. Imagine if someone drew a face of a rapist on the side of a party balloon, tied it outside and you looked at it after three days of hot weather? That’s what his face looked like to me. Anyway, he sang Angel like he’d just had a stroke, and it was a no. Get off the stage…but first…I have to draw you!

Divided – singing Russian Roulette by Rihanna

Didn’t we already have a Divided already? Aside from one who looks like Ben Mitchell (gotta be careful, I’ll set someone off writing again on Digital Spy and get banned once more!), they’re ineffectual to the point where I yawned whilst drinking my coffee, which is hard to do. Nope.

Nicola: ‘Manchester is a freaky place’. Peh. Get the tramp down to Alert! You ain’t seen freaky til you’ve seen a row of leather-clad slaves with their mouths held open by dental devices acting as urinals in the gents. Mmmhmm!

Candy Rose – singing When I Grow Up by the Pussycat Dolls

Pfft. The Tricia Goddard Lookalike Society take the easy route of choosing one of the judges songs but it’s a no, even though I actually thought they were pretty decent. I long for the days when a duo decides to sing one of Simon Cowell’s other acts in order to suckle from his hairy nipple, and choose Zig and Zag. The sight of two men singing whilst being fisted by some cruel puppetmaster would be hilarious. And doubtless reminiscent for Louis.

Break – together with a new advert for Playstation Move. Oooh, you can realistically shoot targets in Archery (like the Wii), box (like the Wii), play table-tennis like a pro (like the Wii) and look like a complete twat doing party games (like the Wii). However, somewhat unlike the Wii, you’ve got to hold what looks like an enormous cock in your hand whilst doing it. Now THAT’s original.

And oh Christ, a trailer for Phil Collins – One Night Only. If that night is spent lowering him into a power-blender I’ll be happy. If, however, it is spent listening to Anthony Cotton screeching at him about being his biggest fan and having to listen to his shitty, shitty music, then I’d sooner die, thanks. Back to X-Factor.

Aiden Grimshaw – singing Gold Digger by Kanye West

Here is our supposed ‘Hunk’ for the episode. He’s 18 and from Blackpool and I bet he’s been taken up the tower many, many times. He’s all stonewashed denim and a little poncy-scarf for his neck, which gives him the unfortunate appearance of a particularly butch ‘fan of tennis’. We see the gayest ever 12 year old performing in Grease on a proper school and then met his relatives. Now listen. I’m not going to be mean for the sake of being mean but time has NOT been kind to Gillian McKeith, who has come along as Aiden’s grandma, Mary. Seriously. She’s got enough lines on her face that you could use it to direct an articulated lorry to the motorway through the town centre whilst avoiding the congestion charge. Blah – there’s enough reason to give up smoking. Aiden has decided that the most sensible facial hair he can do is to shave everything but a little strip under his chin. It looks daft and I want to warn him about the Velcro effect – if that gets caught on a hairy scrotum it’ll never end well. Simon asks what he has done in preparation for today, and I’m surprised when the answer isn’t ‘a delicate Evian douche’ but ‘a few gigs’. He sings, everyone screams, it’s a yes from the judges.. I don’t know why though – when he sings he looks impossibly self-satisfied and he’s doing that fucking awful slurred singing that seems to be big…never. A writer better than me pointed out that swing artists never sang in that rancid way where you drawl and it’s very true. A breath of fresh air? Oh fuck off Louis. He sounds like Eoghan Quim who sounded like Leon Jackson who sounded like Ray Quinn who sounded like every other unoriginal bastard that has ever swaggered through the door clicking their fingers like a super-smug dick dressed in whatever was on special in River Island that week.

OH – and this needs a mention too – his mother REALLY needs bigger trousers because her camel-toe is off the scale, despite her gunt trying to hide it. Seriously – I can almost make out the DNA sequence of her last gentleman caller. That is one HUNGRY MARY.

Nyom Nyom Nyom

The Huhas – singing Upside Down by Paloma Faith

The two girls found the lead male singer after a quick search on Facebook. They were lucky what appeared to be a denim-dressed lampshade turned up and not some obese 50 year old who lives with his mum and has egg on every cardigan he owns. They’re through.

Ade Bhadmus – singing Never Too Much by Luther Vandross

Hang on, isn’t this that Paije fellow from last week, just in Woody Allen glasses? He doesn’t need any more time devoting to him! Ade isn’t bad actually, got a pleasant, strong voice, and I’m glad he’s through.

John Wilding – singing Run by Leona Lewis

Now I’ve got three problems IMMEDIATELY with this little scamp. First, he looks like Kurt from Glee and ifuckinghateGlee. Secondly, he’s got eyes that can see both ends of a bus at the same time. And third – it’s Run by FUCKING SNOW PATROL – that stupid bassett hound of a woman covered it. It’s not her fucking song. Just because she caterwauls her way through it does not mean she owns in. GAH. Not sure how I feel about this one – he does sing well in that he sounds like Leona, but, his lips wobble too much like a fish flapping out of water, he does the ‘pushing back an invisible door’ thing with his hand, and sounding like Leona isn’t good – it’s like saying he’s got a fabulous moustache, just like Hitler. Anyway, he’s through.

Sharon Osbourne – singing Simply The Best by Tina Turner.

Mad drag act from Blackpool is next – Hazel Jackson who has come dressed as Sharon Osbourne, but she’s as rough as a two-pound handjob. Simon has the audacity to take the piss of her clothing, which is rich as he’s come in his grey t-shirt and stacked heels again. Obviousy, as Hazel is the ‘mad act’, she can’t sing, and they let her continue for far too long to really rip the value from her. She fancies Louis – that’s not going anywhere, Hazel love, trust me. The guy mines the Marmite like the best of us. It’s a no. Simon tells her they’ll be queuing at the door after the auditions – presumably with her pills and an ambulance ride back to the home.

Savannah Hammond singing Angel by Robbie Williams

Louis loses it over the fact she likes bellringing. I love Louis, even though I rip the piss out of him on here – he’s got a brilliant laugh and I think he would be a lovely person out of the studio. The correct term for a fan of bellringing is a campanologist, or a Simon. Anyway, Savannah and her mouth like a torn pocket warble their way through the song and bless her, it’s not good. Nope.

Valerie Roberts – singing (I think) Evening Falls by Enya

Second token mad act. Such a long shot but she looks like Nadine Cross from the end of The Stand, all white hair and tiny-faced. She’s wearing a superb t-shirt though – one of those ‘wolf’ shirts you see advertised in those magazines that drop out of Sunday newspapers, advertised alongside portable urinals and at-home-pile-poppers. Crazy bitch – it’s another no.

Stephanie Akakezi – singing I’m On Top Of The World by The Carpenters

PART-TIME legal secretary? Pfft. She wants to try doing it hardcore. She sounds like her microphone is fucked and makes Louis laugh, so I’m off. Right, we’re getting a run of bad acts, so just you wait, there will be a BRILLIANT act soon. She’s out.

Some fluff piece about how Louis fancies Nicole, including languid shots of them eating fruit (too easy) and admiring each others clothes. You can try to fool us but it won’t work.

Yuli Minguel – singing Falling in Love by Tina Turner (and Ike)

FINALLY an act I really like. Although she’s clearly come wearing every dress she owns (and she owns a lot, considering she runs Lisa’s Fashions – it’s Lisa from Sister Sister – HEY RAAAAY!) and she sucked up to Simon from the off, she sings tremendously and looks like a barrel of fun. Bingo-wings a-flapping and fingers a-clicking, she’s through! Excellent. My favourite act of the show so far. I have to confess, I did think at first that Audrey Chawner had minstreled up daughter Emma to get her onto the stage, but then I realised the only minstrels in the Chawner house come in packets. Or troughs. FATTY FATTY BUM BUM.

Here’s 10 minutes of Sister Sister for comparison.

Connor and Gabriel – singing Through the Grapevine by Marvin Gaye

Too easy to make an Ebony…and Ivory joke. The guy on the right is entirely pointless as all he does is click his fingers and look gormless. The guy on the left is your generic soulful singer. The backstage area looks like a student debating club. Meh. Through.

John Connolly – singing Haven’t Met You Yet by Michael Buble

DON’T PUT HIM THROUGH. There is nothing original about him except for the fact he’s a PE teacher and he ISN’T abusing children. He’s brought with him a proper politically-correct fanbase – there’s a girl in a wheelchair, black boy, white boy, effeminate looking one in a tight cardigan (Dermot)…just needs a butch-looking black woman on crutches and he’s got the full set. Still there can’t be worse.

Only there is.

Much, much worse.

Chloe Victoria Mafia – aborting Summertime

Where the FUCK do I start with Chloe Victoria (Mafia). I’ve got her face paused on the TV to type out her name and I’m speechless – I have genuinely never seen someone look so astonishingly unattractive. Hair like a gypsy’s pony. Eyelashes like she’s had her mascara applied by a drunk driving a roadsweeper. Teeth like an abandoned cemetery. Voice that makes you wish for death. Two black warts on her face drawn on using a Sharpie. A one woman advert for using contraception, coat-hangers paint-thinner or basically anything to make sure it will not happen again. She’s got a tattoo around her belly-button that says ‘I am nasty’ and probably another on her back that says ‘Available for hire, competitive rates’.

ARGH. I honestly can’t bear girls like this – common, trashy girls who have had their wombs scraped more times than an Artex ceiling. She says she takes three hours to get ready and I can well believe it – it takes me at least an hour to paintpod my living room, and I can imagine putting on that nuclear-orange foundation takes the same time. She says she dresses and looks like a star – you fucking don’t love, you look like Rosie Webster after four years of crystal meth and three years of hepatitis B. On stage, she says she wants to be more like 2Pac – well, get yourself down to the leather tanners for a couple more coats and you’ll be halfway there. Asked how she prepared for the audition, she says she hasn’t, but I BET she’s washed her clopper and hung a Magic Tree from her clitoris ring in advance.

Brilliantly, she’s singing Summertime. Now, I’m immediately biased against her, because I’ve had Summertime mooed at me by a drunken Juuuuuuurdie and it sounded terrific, even after the 47th time I heard it. Chloe is shit, so another song is chosen – a Shakira number. Simon cancels her and she kicks off, saying she hasn’t got a CD player to practice with (bet it’s pawned at Cash Converters). That’s alright love, just ask one of your punters to turn the radio on whilst you’re noshing them in the layby by Wakefield Prison and sing along – it’ll set you up just right for working with Cowell. I know she’s going through but here we go – she gets a third fucking try.

Oh here we go, the fake drama. Louis says no (he’s playing THE BAD JUDGE), Nicole says yes, and Simon thinks there is something there. Aye, probably yesterday’s load sliding down her leg. What a fucking joke. This just shows the show for being a pantomime even more so than normal. She can’t sing, she looks like a car-crash in Boots, and she’s through, whilst good singers get turned away.

Here, you want to see how trashy this repugnant, nasty cow is, watch her on Snog, Marry, Avoid. Burberry clad baby. Shithole of a house. Gigantic pram. Every stereotype about chavs rolled into one Red Leicester tinged mess.

Next act in this shitstorm of a show – Rebecca Ferguson singing A Change Is Gonna Come

The sob-story starts – single parent, always wanted to be a singer, means the world, sob sob, had to put it all on hold because she got knocked up, sob sob, people started saying she was useless, sob sob. Worse still, she’s from Liverpool. Ah, the money shot – tears! That’s it love, cry on camera, let us linger on your tears. Mmm. Whaddya know, she’s good, she manages to sing her ENTIRE song with some autotune, and she’s through. The whole thing stinks – it’s clear they have added this singer on the end to try and take the bad taste away from Chloe’s bit of the show, but it doesn’t work. Wrap the show up, guys.

That was terrible. The shows are getting worse – 75 minutes to show 18 auditions sounds good, but when at least 10 of those auditions are the bumpers between the ‘big acts’, you realise how much time is wasted. The next show is tonight but I can’t review it until later in the week as I’m off tonight and I’m a bit X-Factored-out. Feel free to publicise this on Digital Spy for me saying as I’ve been banned!

Oh, and finally, the Chawners are mobilising. Could they be getting an article of their own on here on Thursday or Friday next week? Could well be…