Ring Cycle

Right, something's gone horribly wrong - plans to subvert this year's X Factor by trying to get that Wagner bloke to win have come careering off the rails. What we need is coordinated action to stop something truly dreadful like that horrid Mrs Overall lookalike, Cher Lloyd, from getting the Christmas No.1. Unlike last year there's no set effort to stop Simon Cowell, and who would have liked to have punched him in the face last night as he sent Wagner home? (Not that I watch, of course). Really, I don't give a toss about the X Factor, if you're daft enough to watch it that's up to you, what I do give a toss about is music and Cowell's divine right to think he has to have the Christmas No.1 every year. So, here's what you do: from 7pm on Sunday 12th December, start downloading the song below from legit download stores, up until the following Sunday. Wouldn't it be nice to have a proper song at no.1 this Christmas? And just imagine the look on Cher Lloyd or Matt Cardle's fizzogg when they don't get the no.1 they 'deserve'.

Obligatory annual X Factor post

Have a look at these two videos:





Two fantastic songs, I think. My take on the Adele song is that it's told from the perspective of someone who has an unrequited love, an unrequited love for someone from a distance (have you ever experienced that? I have. Perhaps some of us are right now), nobody else knows. They want to keep it a secret, and because they want to to keep it a secret, ssshhhhh, they don't want to shout about it.

The second one is just a tender love song. From one person to another. You don't need to shout because they're there with you and you just want to let them know how you feel. I love the way Flack separates her words. For example there's a very clear division between the last 't' of 'first' and the first 't' of 'time'.

So why do these idiots on the X Factor have to go on and sing "TOOOOOOOOOOO MAKE YOU FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL MY LUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRVE!!!!!!!!!" or "THEFIRSTTIIIIIIIIIIIIIME EVERISAAAAAAAAAWWWYERFAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Ugh! it's horrid and needs to be stopped. Singing it like that doesn't make a better song, indeed for most people you're just spoiling the whole thing and making a bad atmos. Indeed I bought down the atmos at a friend's house I visited on Saturday night where it was on in the background, I mean I don't watch the bloody rubbish. I tutted and sighed all the way through it, and let me tell you, my drum tutor says he's never heard anyone tut the way I tut.
When is this X Factor thing going to stop? It's hateful, staged nonsense where Danni Minogue, that's right, Danni Minogue gets to tell people whether they're talented or not. That can't be right, can it?

Gordon Sumner. Again.

Now this really will just not do. If Sting doesn't start talking about how much he loves avant garde jazz played via the medium of banjo ukulele soon, then I'm in severe danger of becoming to like the tantric Tyneside tosspot. Get a grip, Sting, and start talking out of your arse again. Pronto!

Edit: Just watched last night's Culture Show while eating my dinner/lunch. Sting was on there singing a song called Snow That Melts the Soonest. It was lovely. Bloody hell! Time to call up Russians or Fields of Gold on You Tube I think just to get the Sting-hating levels back to normal.

Obligatory annual Britain's Got Talent post

Now I've realised the error of making a blog post about fucking mints, I thought I'd do my annual 'I hate Simon Cowell' post. I hate Britain's Got Talent, right? You knew that already didn't you? I've only had the misfortune to see this year a bloke who could blow up a hot water bottle and pull a Sooty van with his ears. In my book he's the winner, you don't need to see anyone else. Although as my mother pointed out "Do you think the Queen wants to watch that?" Well why not, I'd pay money to see that.

The only other acts I've seen this year, in a moment of extreme weakness, on Saturday night, there was a bloke making out as though he could recreate the sound of a saxophone using just his vocal cords, he couldn't; some old ladies knitting. Ladies, having a hobby doesn't necessarily make you all that talented; some bloke from Wales singing a song I've never heard of, and being remarkably mediocre. Well the crowd loved him, didn't they? Turns out, he's only got a back story. What a surprise! Not.

In this newspaper article he claims he "doesn't want to be this year's sob story". Well stop banging on about your dead missus then. Now I'm not that hard-hearted that I don't have any sympathy with a bloke who lost his wife at a young age, but this whole thing stinks of Simon Cowell getting in on the story and telling the press, while, no doubt, pound sign were revolving furiously in his eyes.

And why does anyone over the age of sixty who appears on that show merit a huge round of a-whoopin' and a-hollerin'? And what do Amanda Holden and that other git face Piers Morgan know about talent? Bugger bloody all, that's what.

Said it before, and I'll say it again, Cowell needs stopping.

By the way, I'm putting myself up for this vacant position. McGiffin and Nolan better be afraid, very afraid.

Beyond wizard's sleeve

I went out on the works do mentioned here on Saturday night. What a wash out, only four of us turned up, and one of those wasn't drinking. I've never been so depressed in all my life, well, not since Score with Ray Stubbs earlier in the evening.

I don't know whether I'm out of practise or what, but I can't seem to drink with the same amount of gusto which I once did. Must be my age I suppose, coupled with the fact that if I go out these days it tends to be to a restaurant, cinema or to see a band. Drinking pints of lager doesn't appeal to me in the same way it once did. Besides, drinking lots of beer these days tends to give me a wicked hangover; which is why I never moved off the settee until midday yesterday. I woke up with what Billy Connolly describes as 'feeling like you're wearing an internal balaclava'. I think I saw the whole of Something For the Weekend with that cock Tim Lovejoy.

The reason for the various no-shows were that a few of them thought the X Factor final was more inviting than coming out with me on a wet Saturday night. What's wrong with these people? I'd rather have a lobotomy than watch the X Factor, and I'm great company in da pub. I hate that show and I hate Simon Cowell - it's not about music it's about filling Cowell's bank account. I know I shouldn't be bothered about the Christmas no.1 but I am, and I'm getting sick of his merry band of mediocre knobsacks laying siege to the charts every Christmas. It almost makes me want Terry Wogan or Peter Kay to beat that song to no.1.

And have you heard Hallelujah? It's rotten, of course. There's a line near the start 'You don't care for music, do yer?' No, Simon Cowell doesn't, does he? They've put fucking drums and a bastard gospel choir on it. And why do people think that all those vocal histrionics add something to the song? It's all technique and no soul (A bit like a pathetic prog metal band I know called Dream Theater. "Whoah, dude, look how fast I can shred my axe!"). Did I mention that I hate Simon Cowell? I'm not a violent man, but I'd love to punch him in his Botoxed, smirking face. Repeatedly.

I. Hate. Simon. Cowell.

By the way, glad to see someone agrees with me about Deacon Blue, even if he is pleading for comments.

Ugh, I feel sick

I was unfortunate enough to catch the last fifteen minutes of that National Television Awards thingy last night. I'd never seen it before as anything voted on by the public usually ends up being shit. It didn't disappoint as Simon fucking Cowell was given some kind of Lifetime Achievement award (pointedly not voted for by the public). How can a man who, according to Mark Radcliffe, has been responsible for more shit records than anyone else, find himself winning a big TV award like that? I must be getting old.

To make matters worse, the man responsible for the second most shit amount of records, Pete Waterman, likened his shows to a Shakespeare play. Christ on a bike!

And if that wasn't enough, Piers Morgan was spraffing off about how he'd told Gordon Brown (Did you hear the clang when the name 'Gordon Brown' dropped there?) that he could take some lessons off Cowell. As if Brown hasn't got enough problems without that smarmy bastard telling him where he's going wrong and saying he should be more like the Botoxed, is-he-or-isn't-he shit magnet that is Simon Cowell.

I'm pretty sure that throughout it all, Cowell was sat there with the biggest erection he's ever had.

I'm off for a lie down.

Next year, why not give it to someone who actually deserves it. Like, off the top of my head, Tony Hart. Or the Australian 'video journalist' off my local news programme. He's ace.

Oh, and 'who's going to be the next doctor'? I don't give a fuck!