The Sloppy Dog's Best of 2009: Albums

As if our recent Turkey Cull column wasn’t already an indication that Christmas is well on the way, our definitive End of Year lists are finally ready, which means tacky paper hats and copious amounts of meat and alcohol are on the horizon. We start on a positive note, with the Best Albums of 2009.

Most years, we find ourselves frantically whittling an abundance of choices down to just ten, whereas this particular exercise has proved rather difficult even reaching seven or eight albums worthy of a placing here. Assuming the pattern continues, it doesn’t bode too well for next year, does it? Nonetheless, we’ve finally compiled our conclusive selection of 2009’s greatest albums...

10. Franz Ferdinand – Tonight: Franz Ferdinand
We begin with an energetic, spritely collection of tracks which make up the third LP from Franz Ferdinand. Ranging from the archetypal to the experimental, the comparatively more subtle refrains only add to the album’s shelf life, with each listen making way for a new cluster of adroit hooks and fervent beats.

9. Lady Sovereign – Jigsaw
While it doesn’t boast quite the same defiant zest as debut Public Warning, there’s still a scruffy charm present on Jigsaw yet to be harnessed by any other artist. Sov’s sore underperformance on these shores is even more of a question mark off the back of Jigsaw, but as long as she carries on making the same mix of inventive and uproarious material, she’s keeping at least one blog very happy.

8. Alex Cornish – Until The Traffic Stops
Captivating, haunting and atmospheric, the Edinburgh singer-songwriter has truly defined his niche on Until The Traffic Stops, finding a rare balance between calming and vivid (whilst carefully avoiding wrist-slittingly morose territory). Additional so-called props must go to single Untied in particular, truly demonstrating an authentic stroke of genius.

7. Red Light Company – Fine Fascination
Each year, there’s guaranteed to be an album we’re waiting for what feels like years to be released, and 2009’s painstakingly slow effort was Fine Fascination by the amply gifted Red Light Company. It proved to be very much worth the wait too, boasting a modern glam-rock allure across ten highly-engaging tracks.

6. Hockey – Mind Chaos
Mind Chaos failed to disappoint following its lead-in from the dancefloor-rushing ingenuity of debut single Learn To Lose. Arguably one of the best new artists to emerge in 2009, Hockey demonstrate how a nod to house, a dash of vivacity and a touch of imagination can reinvent classic indie brilliance.

5. Muse – The Resistance
There’s a real irony in a band whose main consistent factor is their innovation, particularly as no-one could’ve seen The Resistance coming. An imposing, adventurous collection of head-scratchingly uncommon compositions, the unthinkable fusions of orchestral wonderment, glam-rock pomp, and future-facing audacity cement Muse as true national treasures.

4. VV Brown – Travelling Like the Light
The antithesis of the long-tired electro-bandwagon, Travelling Like The Light relies on instantaneous melodies, Sixties sparkle, and a sizeable dose of charisma. Sidestepping the occasional dollop of filler, it’s overall an indication that VV Brown may be formidable far beyond her critics’ expectations. And of course, the whole thing is heightened by the fact she’s batshit fucking crazy.

3. The Temper Trap – Conditions
The debut album from Melbourne-based indiesmiths The Temper Trap demonstrated without a doubt that their flair runs far deeper than just breakthrough single Sweet Disposition. An exhilarating assortment of sweeping, thunderous anthems, Conditions is concrete proof that The Temper Trap are a band whose career is undoubtedly headed skywards.

2. Friendly Fires – Friendly Fires
Granted a new lease of life via an August re-release to accommodate the showstopping single Kiss of Life, the debut offering from Friendly Fires provided a work of stereo-hogging genius. Cohesive without being repetitive – not an easy thing to execute – whilst constantly absorbing, inventive and addictive, there’s simply not enough hyperbole in existence to recommend this enough.

1. The Boy Least Likely To – The Law of the Playground
And it’ll probably come as no surprise to see who’s claimed our top spot. The Boy Least Likely To continue to forge their own genre with The Law of the Playground – a twinkly, joyful and contentedly cute assembly of 13 affable tracks, yet the merriment is nicely offset with a depth and a candour that brings a whole new dimension to proceedings. Or, in a word, ace.

The Sloppy Dog's Turkey Cull, Part 4

One of the main gripes that prompted the Turkey Cull was the lack of modern Christmas anthems, and no, Mariah Carey NO LONGER COUNTS, given its painful omnipresence. However, The Killers have solidly provided us with a digital-age carol each year, and 2009 is no exception.

This year, the band have teamed up with Wild Light and Mariachi El Bronx for a Yuletide ride via Mexico. No doubt such a prospect will prompt Iceland to come up with some repugnant turkey, stuffing and roast potato fajitas to be peddled horribly by the least-awesome Nolan sister, but in this instance, the end result is the marvellous ¡Happy Birthday Guadalupe! (Check out the funky Espanol upside-down exclamation mark! Now that’s some quality copy ‘n’ paste action right there...)

The Sloppy Dog LiveBlog: The X Factor Final

Wow. You've actually decided to come and join us during this inevitably-beige Final of Flatness? Truth be told, we're almost surprised we've even tuned in, let alone chosen to document the fact that a poor man's Gareth Gates is about to nail a million-pound recording contract. Mind you, we'll no doubt be addressing his failure once his album is released, so we might as well get in early. Hit refresh regularly for updates, because, for the last time this year, IT'S TIME. TO FACE. THE MUSIC!!! And then run screaming, because said music is new levels of shit.

19:30
A catch-up on last night's action, meaning we're reminded of the injustice that was Stacey's defeat. An even bigger slap in the face comes via fleeting glimpses of Rozelle, Ethan and Duane - as if the fact Joe's going to win isn't bad enough as a stand-alone travesty, we don't need reminding that people who could (and should) be wiping the floor with him got turfed out before the live shows.

19:33
The judges are wheeled out - almost literally in Cheryl's case, as her mahoosive black wedding dress looks as though it weighs more than her - to bask in the eyes of a nation who deem a singing garden gnome worthy of winning the show. Louis is dressed as Pee Wee Herman.

19:34
A singing choir of kids!! Doing Never Forget! Oh, this is going to be vile.

19:35
...And as if to prove the point, Fucking Dannle opens proceedings. Meanwhile, sadface for Lucie, Rachel and Jamie. Oh look, Vanilla have reformed! No, hang on - it's just Kandy Rain.

19:36
John & Edward get the biggest cheer of all 12 finalists, bizarrely. Stacey barely gets half a line before Olly and Joe make their way out, all manhugs and mock-modesty, clad in white and looking like they're auditioning for a part as the Milkybar Kid. Tastelessly, baby photos of the two of them are displayed on the video screens, and Childhood Olly looks scarily like Boris Johnson.

19:40
The recap of all last night's performances really hammer home just what a weak, underwhelming final we've got tonight. Cheryl claims she could feel the goosebumps all through the audience. Dirty mare wants to keep her mitts to herself, then. If Louis Walsh did that, he'd have to sign some sort of register. But no, National Treasure can grope to her heart's content.

19:46
Dermot announces that the two finalists are going to be singing their favourite songs from the series - wasn't that what they were supposedly performing last night? Once again, Cowell's rapid goalpost-moving breaks the sound barrier. Speaking of Cowell, he claims Olly gave "not 112%, but 150%" which is presumably prompting maths teachers nationwide to reach for a cocktail of medication.

19:49
Apparently Twist & Shout is Olly's favourite performance from the series, and it's identical to the initial performance, which, lest we forget, was shoehorned into Movie Week. If only Jamie had reached the final, we might've had another gem from the multi-platinum soundtrack to the box office-smashing Gummo.

19:51
Cheryl refers to the final two as "the bottom two". If only, love.

19:52
Michael Underwood is reporting live from Colchester, and by reporting, we mean wholly drowned out by a violently excitable crowd whilst dressed like a gay nightclub owner from Balamory. A small child is asked if she is going to marry Olly. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the pinnacle of the televisual calender.

19:57
Princess Cheryl introduces Joe, whose favourite performance is Don't Stop Believing. Methinks it's time to top up the White Zinfandel. This is going to be a long night.

20:02
And predictably, all four judges kiss up to Joe as though he's a one-man duet by the ghosts of Elvis and Jacko. WHAT ARE WE MISSING??? He is not amazing. He is not a popstar. He is not the greatest voice in the competition. He is not relevant. He is not the gold-plated legend he is talked up to be. HE IS DAVID FUCKING SNEDDON 2.0!

20:03
Kimberley Walsh is back in South Shields amidst a horde of baying Sanddancers. Someone's agent is getting fired on Monday morning...

20:09
Dermot says five special guests have been invited back! Could it be... Alexandra, Leona, Shayne... Leon... and STEVE?!??!

20:10
No fucking chance. It's Alexandra with a side of JLS. They're doing some weird duet version of Bad Boys, although it's sort of working. No mention of Eggnog Quidditch, mind. Surely they could've got him in to do Flo Rida's part? Now that would make this final.

20:12
They've now segued into Everybody In Love, and a nation nods off. What, they couldn't do Beat Again? Mind you, if we're wishing for anything, it's for Ruth Lorenzo back doing Purple Rain.

20:14
The Merry Christmas one from JLS almost trumps Joe in terms of gayvoice.

20:15
Louis and Dannii are both firmly Team Cheryl. Fuck off, the lot of youse. Oh, and a further dose of Fuck Off to Leona Lewis. If JLS doing Everybody In Love didn't send you into a slumber, this drippy bitch certainly ought to. She's doing a tepid ballad version of Stop Crying Your Heart Out - completely off-key, we might add - whilst series highlights play in the background. What's the point of that!? It's like going to see Avatar in IMAX but focusing on a piece of corrugated card propped up in front of the screen.

20:21
Oh, they don't let Leona talk afterwards. Thank the Lord for that. Let's assume, though, that she thinks Joe and Olly are "amazing."

20:26
And it's time for the two finalists to each sing the winning single, a poorly-selected version of The Climb by Miley Cyrus. There's something incredibly fucked-up about covering a song that's approximately two weeks old. And there's something even more fucked-up about Cowell so openly selecting a song that's suited entirely to Joe, underlined by the fact Olly is making a complete and utter shit sandwich of it.

20:28
If they were so desperate to do a Miley Cyrus song, for whatever reason, couldn't they at least have stretched to See You Again? Meanwhile, Olly's forehead seems to have expanded by another inch and a half since last night's show, and they're consciously avoiding any shots of him in profile lest he be mistaken for a Tefal.

20:31
Olly's best bits, and we're reminded of that bloody annoying first audition. And yet, it's significantly better than anything he's done during the live shows. We're 'treated' to all the Olly highlights, including that time he thrusted his pelvis, that other time he thrusted his pelvis, another bit of pelvis-thrusting, and finally, a shot of Cheryl telling him he 'absolutely smashed it', which could be taken from any one of the previous eleven live shows.

20:34
Olly is in tears at watching his family go all gushy over him, including his grandmother who says she's always sitting on his shoulder. How uncomfortable for both parties. Can't they get Gran a wheelchair, and get Olly a parrot?

20:37
Cheryl introduces Joe with 'what could potentially be his last song'. It IS his last song, you daft scrubber. Even if he wins, it'll still just be a reprise of the same dry song.

20:38
How have I not noticed Joe's nostrils before? You could park a truck in those things. Meanwhile, he looks very much like a kid who's just gotten his first suit, as though he's making his confirmation, or maybe appearing in youth court. Mind you, can you imagine Joe ever do anything worthy of an ASBO? At the most, he'd be chucked out of the Ku Bar for chucking a Lime Bacardi Breezer over the barmaid.

20:43
And now it's time for Joe's 'best' bits, followed by tearjerking montage of assorted family mutants. His mum, in particular, is something to behold. She looks like a character from a Victoria Wood sketch. Unlike Olly, Joe's not crying, something which Cheryl has cottoned onto, and has chosen to turn on the waterworks on his behalf. Makes sense though - Alexandra snivelling out litres of dignity in last year's final may well have helped her take the crown.

20:48
Urgh. Another shot of Joe's moose-knuckle from last night. *entire nation takes a shower to wash off the disgust*

20:49
The final 40 minutes of padding begins with a George Michael performance, one that thankfully doesn't feature Joe. Christ, another FORTY minutes? Time for another top-up of the ol' White Zinfandel...

20:54
Was it me, or did that George Michael crap last about half an hour? Hopefully the 'world-class surprise' Dermot has promised us after the break will pep us up. Is there ANY chance of it being Rachel Adedeji doing Proud Mary again? No? Ah well, long shot. *empties bottle of White Zinfandel*

21:00
Ah, turns out it's just Paul McCartney. Or SIR Paul McCartney, as he's introduced. If you were a Sir, wouldn't you feel like a bit of a tosspot when people called you that? Unless you're Sir Alan Sugar, who clearly requires it to make up for something else. We'll hazard a guess at an inverted cock.

21:02
He's doing Baby You Can Drive My Car. Were we being unrealistic in hoping for The Frog Chorus?

21:03
Well, all the finalists have joined him onstage, including Dannle, so I guess we've gotten some frog action in a roundabout way. If there's any justice in the world, there'll be a rap breakdown from Graziella.

21:09
That was actually a rather brilliant version of Live & Let Die. However, it's now ten past nine, which means there's unlikely to be a Shit Auditionees Medley. Still, we've had Leona Lewis, and she's shit enough for everyone.

21:16
It's time for the final result. And the winner is... ADDICTIV LADIES!!!

21:17
Oh, that's right, it's Joe and Olly in the final, which is almost harder to fathom than an Addictiv Ladies win. Dermot announces there's been over ten million votes, which is one hell of a depressing statistic. And the winner is...

21:18
...The one that got the granny vote, the one that had National Treasure Cheryl Cole at the helm, and the one that Simon Cowell actually wanted to win. Now we're behind the Rage Against The Machine campaign more than ever. You can almost picture Leon Jackson laid out on his couch, can of White Lightning in hand, muttering "Don't get too comfortable up there, pal..."

21:22
AWESOME!! Rachel's snatched the mic off him and started MCing. She can be the Alesha to his Sabrina. Rikki Loney can be Su-Elise.

21:23
If the wardrobe people had dressed Kandy Rain like that in the first episode, we might be seeing a very different result indeed.

21:25
...But sadly, the reality is, Joe McElderry has won The X Factor. Expect to see an album of covers - led by Dance With My Father - to be released in time for Mother's Day, a swift dropping from SyCo, and his entire X Factor career wiped from the history books, just like Steve Brookstein. And rest assured, we'll be there to document the downfall with glee, and a hefty serving of 'I told you so'. Thank you for joining us, enjoy the rest of your night, and remember that Rage Against The Machine's Killing In The Name is available from all good record shops from tomorrow. Now THAT would be a result.

The Sloppy Dog LiveBlog: The X Factor Final

Evening all. Hopefully you've all got your bestest suits and frocks on for this momentus event, which we were going to say had come around incredibly quickly, but the fact it's on half an hour early is sort of crapping all over that. Admit it, how many of you are rocking up at 8pm, expecting the circus to just be kicking off? Well, fear not, as we'll be recapping each and every performance, critique, tacky home-visit VT and inevitable tears. Keep hitting refresh for updates.

19:30
And so it begins. The X Factor final is upon us, and in spite of unfathomable magnitude media-wise, it's a rather underwhelming line-up of finalists talent-wise. We're left with one semi-talented Fred Perry-rocking extra from Rude Boy Food with Aaron Craze; one gifted, likeable and relevant artist, who has inexplicably become the underdog; and one horribly camp yet entirely sexless mincefest whose voice would be far better suited to a local production of West Side Story. We'll leave you to determine who's who.

19:36
First up, frustratingly, is Stacey. We all know Simon keeps the best til last (or at least, what he considers to be best), which, combined with the show's early start tonight, does not bode well for Stacey. We get to see her trip back to Dagenham, with Dannii on her arm, and it's all rather warm-n-fuzzy-inducing. Her family seem very nice, although it does kinda paint a picture of what Beautiful People must've looked like had Dannii's cameo seen some Doonan contact, and not been at the end of a phone. This girl MUST win. But won't.

19:42
The first round of songs sees each finalist performing the song from their first audition - in Stacey's case, What A Wonderful World. If possible, it's even better.

19:47
After a thumbs up from all four judges, we're taken live to Dagenham, where Jeff Brazier introduces us to a chef from Papa John's Pizza, who has created 'The Stacey'. Nice plug there, but any fule kno Domino's is at the forefront of this particular field of greasy goodness. Dermot ribs Stacey about fancying Jeff Brazier, which = ewww.

19:52
We're back, and it's Olly O'Clock. Meh. Simon reveals he's part-Essex, which, from our calculations, makes him 50% Scottish (as revealed in attempting to justify his slating of the Macdonald Brothers - remember them?!), 25% Essex, 15% eel, and 10% shitehawk. He looks completely out of place in Olly's front room, not aided by his lies (LIES!) that he'll do everything he can to help Olly. Setting it up for Joe to win is hardly helping Olly, now is it?

19:56
Superstition by Stevie Wonder is given another airing, and unlike Stacey's improvement on her first audition, this isn't a patch on Olly's knockout performance way back in the earliest rounds. Still, he's not Joe, which is about as big a compliment as can be given right at this moment.

19:59
Colchester aren't as much fun as Dagenham. Fact.

20:08
We're back from the break, and so we come to Geordie Joe, as championed by Nation's Sweetheart Cheryl Cole. Jesus wept, the other finalists don't have a Kandy Rain member's chance in a convent, do they?

20:09
Joe and Cheryl venture back to Newcastle, and it seems there's a correlation between how far North he is, and how gay his voice sounds. Crying Nan starts bawling, and a million pensioners across the land reach for their telephone. Joe McElderry is R Wayne.

20:12
Does anyone even remember Joe's first audition, apart from Cheryl giving a 'why-aye' as opposed to a yes? Apparently, it was Dance With My Father, as reimagined by Elaine Paige.

20:16
After all four judges verbally fellate him, with added waterworks from Cheryl, we visit Joe's hometown, where Kimberley Walsh is the mic-monkey. We wouldn't be surprised if Nicola Roberts is making up buckets of orange squash out back. Interestingly, two friends of The Sloppy Dog, who frequent museums and attend lectures with Doris Lessing and generally fancy themselves as bastions of high culture, JUST SO HAPPEN to have travelled to South Shields this weekend. And now we know why. Consider yourselves rumbled, Flo and Ian.

20:19
And the phonelines are open. Is there any chance at all of transmission dropping out every time Joe's number is displayed?

20:23
Oh how 'adorable'. One of the highlights of tomorrow's Susan Boyle special is Piers Morgan making her cry.

20:24
Round Two, and we're back to Stacey. FYI, Round One went to Stacey, of course. She's doing Feeling Good for her duet, and she's about to introduce...

20:26
...Michael Bublé. Fucksticks. Could they not convince Chris Martin to part with that much credibility, then? Mind you, it's a frankly incredible performance. Oddly, Bublé doesn't understand what Dermot says to him post-performance in perfect broadcaster's English - so how on Earth did he survive the whole day in conversation with Stacey Solomon?! Did he have an in-person subtitler?

20:29
Approximately three seconds later, which is ironic given tomorrow's results show will be a good 90% filler, Olly's duet kicks off. He's singing Angels, which sadly means...

20:31
...Robbie Williams, WHO FLUFFS HIS OWN SONG. Fucking windowlicker. Serves him right for choosing to upstage Olly. Hell, if Empress Beyoncé can reign it in enough to match Alexandra, you'd think this almighty prick could put the ego to one side for a frickin' millisecond.

20:33
Dermot mentions that Robbie had previously duetted with Kylie Minogue and Nicole Kidman, but for some reason, chooses to omit Jonathan Wilkes.

20:34
And we come immediately to God Bless Our Li'l Geordie Joe Pet, who's doing Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me. Ironically, we pointed out several weeks ago that the greatest line of this song was...

20:35
...'Ladies and gentlemen, Mr George Michael'. Which the fucking moron doesn't even utter! Go on George, headbutt the insolent little fairy. It's far from overwhelming as a performance, it has to be said. More like a musical interpretation of a Year 11 kid having a meeting with the careers advisor.

20:38
If we were any more infantile, we'd make some sort of innuendo about George's comment that Joe rose to the occasion. But we're mature and sensible here at The Sloppy Dog, so we'll just let the moment pass. (HA! JOE GOT A SEMI! HE'S GAY FOR GEORGE MICHAEL!! *snigger*)

20:44
Dannii talks up Stacey's third performance, which had better be The Scientist.

20:45
Oh for the love of fuck. It's that big gushy thing off of Queen Week, which, while awesome, was nowhere near her best performance. Lookit, the old ladies are already voting Joe - doing her Keane or Coldplay numbers might've at least gotten the actual music-buyers to start dialling. Nonetheless, she's still awesome. Plus she has a wind machine, although it may just be the hot air billowing out of Louis Walsh.

20:47
Both Louis and Cheryl say they want Stacey in the final tomorrow, which we already know won't happen, although Robbie sabotaging Olly's performance may have helped Stacey's cause by default. Meanwhile, Stacey's apparent best friend turns up at the Dagenham loonfest in an Umbro T-shirt. What, you couldn't iron a lousy shirt?

20:51
Olly's supposed best performance is that beyond-obscure Tina Turner song from Divas Week, where he reinforces that he has a pelvis approximately 213 times in the space of one verse. For everyone that says Olly is a great dancer, let's break this down. He does two things: he points his groin at the camera, and he does that weird leg thing which is effectively a fancy zig-a-zig-ah. *holds up Strictly-style '2' scoreboard*

20:55
Dermot seems incredibly fed up tonight. Reckon he'll be back for a fourth series, or will the music fan within steer him permanently to Radio 2?

20:56
And lastly, it's Pre-Determined Winner doing Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word, sporting hideously tight trousers which have resulted in male cameltoe. Between this and Olly's pelvic thrusting, this is a scarily cock-heavy X Factor. Not to mention a certain bellend sat behind the judging table.

20:58
Joe does that annoying-as-hell thing where he cocks his head to the side whilst listening to the judges' comments. Apologies for use of the word 'cocks' once again, given the last paragraph. Incidentally though, we've just learned a male cameltoe is apparently called 'moose knuckle'. And speaking of mooses, Cheryl's snivelling for votes again. Have some fucking dignity, woman. She wasn't even this desperate for a place in the band on Popstars: The Rivals. Mind you, Javine was never going to be much competition, was she?

21:02
So, that's all performances out of the way, and it's only just gone 9pm. What exactly are they planning to do with the last half hour?

21:05
Oh, THAT's what they're doing to fill time - bloody Robbie's performing again. After that shitshower duet earlier, he's clearly wankered off his chimplike face. Maybe this time he'll take a tumble down the Perspex stairs?

21:06
Wow. This potato ad with Marcia Cross is painful. Painful.

21:12
There's a hideous Yuletide backdrop for Robbie's performance of his new single, Some Song No-One Cares About. Maybe it's to make up for the absence of Christmas songs in this year's final? Not that they're missed - the number of artists that can pull off a Chrimbo song, you could count on one hand. Hence our Turkey Cull, innit?

21:15
And lines are frozen! Yikes.

21:20
So, here we go - the result. Well, not the final result, but the histrionics are of the same level. Stacey's looking rather worried, and rightly so. Bless.

21:21
The first act through is... Olly. Oh well. Laters, Stace.

21:22
And so, inevitably, Joe is through. What a crock of complete and utter shite. Dear British public: you are cunts. Fuck you, love from The Sloppy Dog. xx

21:23
Stacey's got an ear-to-ear smile, and is bowing out with real dignity. And while we're left feeling rather depressed that we live in a nation so utterly bereft of musical taste, it's incredibly heartwarming to see how someone can get through this mangle of a show and still come out the other end as humble as when they went in. Dannii and Dagenham should be very proud of Stacey. The people of the North-East, meanwhile, should feel utterly ashamed of themselves. Where were you when Bad Lashes needed you, eh? Eh? Where WERE YOU?!

21:25
And there we have it: it's an Olly/Joe final. Which means we're on Team Olly solely for the purposes of keeping Joe from the crown, but in the bigger picture, we're firmly Team Rage Against the Machine. Nonetheless, there's still the matter of a two-hour final to contend with, so we'll see you tomorrow, 7:30pm, to witness the slow death of entertainment. Nighty-night. xx

Honking Box Review: The Restaurant

We have no qualms in labelling The Restaurant our favourite reality show. It does everything The Apprentice strives to do, without the backstabbing and bitching, and is helmed by a man who actually has some concept of respect, as opposed to a gobby dwarf with a Napoleon complex sat behind a desk. The anticipation for Series Three was therefore all kinds of intense, making the inevitable disappointment once it began as a half-arsed, rejigged shambles all the more painful.

While all the key components of The Restaurant are there – Sarah Willingham’s cutthroat one-liners; all manner of cringe-inducing kitchen oafishness; Raymond Blanc showing Sralan how it’s done; and, on occasion, great food – there’s still what feels like a huge chunk missing.

On the surface, it seems to come down, fundamentally, to budgets. Only six restaurants opened instead of the full set of nine, the episodes halved, the challenge section (or, in the words of Monsieur Blanc himself, ‘ze shallonge’) scrapped altogether; and the action shifted to the pedestrianised shopping centres of Bristol rather than the lavish mansion of series past. It’s fair enough to expect some reigning-in from BBC bosses – in this horribly murky period of cutbacks, redundancies and all-round belt-tightening, perhaps a public service broadcaster can’t be seen to splurge the licence fee on schadenfreude-heavy factual entertainment. But the show itself has suffered massively as a result, and depressingly, at a time when Hole In The Wall and Coming of Age still sit happily in Auntie’s schedules.

So far this series, we’ve witnessed some shockingly bad performances: the coconut/knife showdown of the opening episode, which miraculously didn’t result in the loss of a single limb; Nando’s desserts and high-street bakery cakes served up at a formal tea party; and a monologue of desperation heaped upon a bemused roomful of Pizza Express diners, which made Monica Gellar’s attempt to make her parents cry via her tribute at their 35th wedding anniversary sound like Martin Luther King delivering the 'I Have A Dream speech', and may well be the squirmiest TV moment of 2009.

But even with such an array of utter shitehawks participating in this series, it's still unfathomable that we're left with Chris and Nathan in one corner, and JJ and James in the other. In fairness, Chris is an incredibly talented chef, but Nathan's customer service skills - which have been pretty much one step up from openly defecating in each and every dish - have been inexcusable. And while he's certainly come on in leaps and bounds, it's hard to believe he's even had the opportunity to do so after such rancid unprofessionalism.

The biggest travesty, however, is the presence of the Summer House buffoons in the final. James may be competent in his front-of-house role (and, truth be told, we've taken a liking to him since his wonderfully self-deprecating Harry Hill appearance), but there's a fundamental problem with JJ, in that HE IS A CHEF WHO CANNOT COOK. Anyone else see the flaw in this?

It’s safe to say that had the remaining couples taken part in any previous series of The Restaurant, they’d have been shown the door pretty sharpish. Even amongst the likes of Ed and Mike from Series One, who looked and behaved as though they were Dizzy Heights Hotel puppets recently come to life; Annette and Kashelle, who believed serving up a tin of pulped mango to a Michelin-starred chef was acceptable; or Chris and Caroline, the bumbling clods at Ray White’s who thought boiled green beans and carrots in a dry tortilla wrap constituted Mexican cuisine, this year’s finalists would’ve had a fight on their hands to make it halfway through the competition.

Yet, here they are, in what promises to be a staggeringly underwhelming finale to a sorely disappointing series. It’s hard to imagine Chris and Nathan not taking gold, but given the sheer lunacy of this run of The Restaurant, it’s scarily likely that JJ and James could do it. With any luck, the BBC will come to their senses in time for the fourth series – until then, let’s begrudgingly enjoy a £10 scotch egg served with eleven different cocktails steeped in Aussie sweat. Result.

The Sloppy Dog's Turkey Cull, Part 3

The next choice in our turkey-free Christmas jukebox is, perhaps prematurely, a track entitled New Year. However, it namechecks Christmas, therefore, shut up. New Year by the Sugababes – and by Sugababes we mean proper, full-on, Siobhantastic, bonafide Sugababes – is brought to you as both a pleasant Christmas ditty and a reminder of just how talented the original line-up was.

New Year seems to be regularly overlooked by music channels and radio in favour of Mariah Carey, Shakin’ Stevens and the shit Band Aids, but is actually a rather lovely and understated Yuletide lament which, at the time of its release, was widely considered one of the Sugababes’ weaker offerings. And yet, it’s stood the test of time – as has much of One Touch – far better than anything the second, third or fourth line-up have recorded. Enjoy!



(And of course, a very Merry Christmas to the Splendababes – Amelle, Heidi and Jade – who will be spending this holiday season singing garage anthems instead of carols; celebrating the birth of Annie Lennox rather than Jesus; and eating lamb koftas instead of turkey, but, of course, still calling it Christmas.)

The Sloppy Dog's Turkey Cull, Part 2

Our mission to rid the Christmas playlists of proverbial turkeys continues with a considerably harder offering than the last track we brought you. If The First Snowflake was opening an inexpensive but incredibly thoughtful present from your other half, then today’s song is the belly laugh induced by the drunken uncle letting out Christmas dinner farts as he sleeps on the sofa.

Tenacious D and Sum 41 (let’s focus on the former of those two, shall we?) highlight what Christmas means to most, by rattling off a wonderfully selfish inventory of under-tree requests. FYI, Things I Want contains swearing, brief nudity, and a reference to a robot pelican:

The Sloppy Dog's Turkey Cull, Part 1

Shops are already blasting hideous generic versions of Yuletide classics; music channels have already begun their stale rotation of the same tiresome Christmas songs between their endless supply of ringtone adverts; and the novelty singles are already on the horizon, if the X Factor version of You Are Not Alone is any indication.

So this December, we’ve decided to bring you a selection of specifically non-shit Christmas songs in the run up to the big day – and named it, classily, The Sloppy Dog’s Turkey Cull – and where better to begin than with The Boy Least Likely To, given we’ve spent the best part of 2009 gushing about them anyway? Furthermore, the near-Arctic spell of weather we’re currently experiencing makes The First Snowflake an even more apt choice, in addition to it being ace an’ all.



(Think of this feature as a sort of video advent calendar, except it’s not daily and there’s no window to open. And there’s no chocolatey treat underneath either. Actually, it’s pretty much just a middle-finger to the ongoing spate of bad Christmas songs, which, in itself, is not exactly in keeping with the Christmas spirit. Maybe we’ll just find a Kwanzaa song and be done with it.)

Single Reviews 30/11/09

Before we begin the Single Reviews, we’d like you to take a moment to witness the power of The Sloppy Dog – this suggestion Tweeted to Dannii Minogue led to this response, in turn resulting in this Daily Mirror article. Awesome much? Next up: we invite Cowell to let us executive-produce the whole show; Fearne Cotton to quit showbusiness; and Derren Brown to share next week’s lottery numbers with us. We’ll let you know how we get on.

Lady Gaga gets us off to a rather painful start this week, demonstrating her inescapable cultural tidal wave of glitter and diarrhoea via Bad Romance. We’ll give Gaga her dues – she certainly knows how to pen a mighty chorus. However, she also knows how to nullify this by creating a psychosis-inducing hook; in this case, one that channels Boney M’s Rasputin, and Surfin’ Bird by the Trashmen. Can’t she just put on a sensible Laura Ashley frock and do something a bit Sarah McLachlan?

On the surface, it appears there’s little to be said about Kings & Queens, the launch single from 30 Seconds To Mars’ third album, This Is War. Initial listens demonstrate an archetypal emo wailfest, but the forceful melody, electrifying strings and an attention-grabbing closing chant soon overwrite any early ideas of the standard moody-on-an-iceberg fare.

Single of the Week goes to the Noisettes, who nicely counter their rather frenetic previous releases with the delicate, stylish and understated Every Now and Then. It’s no secret that Shingai Shoniwa possesses a vocal that could simultaneously charm and flatten a small village, but Every Now and Then demonstrates a sophisticated, loungey tone that further exposes the talents of an already-impressive act.

And finally, the irrelevancefest that is Pixie Lott follows up her two inexplicable Number One singles with the truly pathetic Cry Me Out, a shameless reproduction of Avril Lavigne’s I’m With You. Flat, dense and devoid of character, it’s a genuine mystery as to how this creature even got signed, let alone reached the levels of success she has. But hey, at least she’s put her arse cheeks away for once.

Adam Lambert - For Your Entertainment (19)

Having been robbed of the title of American Idol winner 2009, most likely thanks to a sizeable display of small-mindedness from the good folk of Bible Country, it’s perhaps no surprise that Adam Lambert has taken the opportunity to craft an album which pretty much functions as a great big fuck you. For Your Entertainment paints a picture of a brash, theatrical, yet immensely gifted character ready to turn more than a few heads.

Opener Music Again sets a tone evidently designed to scare listeners from even reaching Track 2, all shoehorned falsetto and clichés and mispronunciation ('raison d’être' has about nine syllables here). It’s a relief, then, that it’s a mere red herring, perhaps intentionally – setting the bar so low to begin with means For Your Entertainment only improves as it progresses, save for one or two misses.

When not attached to the visuals of a stocky six-footer, it’s interesting to hear the androgynous qualities of Lambert’s voice. Sadly, this is most apparent on Strut, the minciest song ever penned – presumably using a magenta glitter-gel ballpoint from Claire’s Accessories – which makes Music Again sound like Bohemian Rhapsody. Nonetheless, it’s difficult to fault some seriously astounding vocals, making the second-place result all the more a travesty.

Pink and Max Martin take writing and production duties on Whataya Want From Me, an attitudey Scandirock ballad typical of both parties at the helm. It’s a theme that runs throughout For Your Entertainment – the Justin Hawkins offering sounds like Justin Hawkins; the Lady Gaga song sounds like Lady Gaga; the Muse track sounds like Muse. And while the latter is by no means a bad thing – in fact, the magnificent Soaked is a strong contender for standout track – it feels as though Lambert himself has taken a backseat to the rollcall of contributors.

Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, it’s the more downbeat numbers that allow Lambert to truly shine. The ghostly, wintry gut-wrencher of Broken Open; the cinematic gloss of Time For Miracles; and the radio-friendly yet candid Aftermath each display a musicianship absent from a lot of the album. That said, these tracks also carry a harder-edged guitar sound, therefore lending themselves to the glam-rock qualities we came to love Lambert for.

Maybe, then, the real Adam Lambert is the very-human musician hidden beneath the veneer of bulb flashes and airbrushing and controversy. Whoever he is, he’s one talented individual. And in spite of any shortcomings For Your Entertainment displays, it’s safe to assume it’s a hundred times better than the album Lambert would’ve made had he won.

The Sloppy Dog LiveBlog: The X Factor Results Show

Welcome all, to the second part of this week's X Factor liveblog. If it's anywhere near as predictable and uninspiring as yesterday's show, it's safe to assume the running order will go something like: Opening titles; Dermot looking suicidal; Group song from Hell; Promotional opportunities for two Sony artists; Drawn-out results; Bye bye Lloyd. Mind you, Susan Boyle's in the house tonight, so there's always the potential for an onstage breakdown and self-soiling. Hit refresh for updates, because IT'S TIME TO FACE zzzzzzz...

20:00
Ha! The continuity announcer just referred to Susan Boyle as a 'diva'. Bet Mariah Carey doesn't realise she's being lumped in alongside that.

20:03
Oh lookit, some fireworks on stage for no apparent reason. Or was it a couple of snipers aiming for Dannle? If so, they clearly missed, and I want my money back.

20:06
Run! Hide! It's the group mimealong! Wake Me Up Before You Go Go is the tune being led to the gallows this evening, accompanied by a typically-retarded Brian Friedman choreography bloodbath based on a playground clapping game, and of course, squeezing in that all-important key change.

20:08
Dermot announces that the fucking horrific charity mongfest that is You Are Not Alone has, unsurprisingly, reached Number One. Yes, it's for a good cause, but let's be honest, it frickin' stinks. And we're saying nothing about a children's hospital being aligned with a song written by R. Kelly and made famous by Michael Jackson. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

20:10
Some backstage footage of Louis and Cheryl having a spat, which is reminiscent of Kevin the Teenager stropping at his mum and dad. Meanwhile, Simon is confident Dannle will be saved by the public, which would make his elimination all the more delightful.

20:14
Ah bless, here's Susan Boyle. All things considered, SuBo's not that bad. And hey, maybe if Dannle is in the sing-off, he'll open his stupid gob wide enough to engulf half the studio and inadvertedly give Susan her first kiss. And of course, DANNLE LIKES WOMEN TOO, so it's a win for both parties. She's doing Wild Horses, and it's a rather nice arrangement, it must be noted. And yes, she looks like Bernard Manning going to a fancy dress party as Hyacinth Bucket, but we do love an underdog round these parts.

20:24
All four judges cite Joe as the best performance of last night. What are they thinking? Does Simon need him to win as some sort of taxloss to counter the success of Leona and Alexandra?

20:26
It's Mariah time, meaning there's a horde of jobsworth lackeys lining the corridors at Fountain Studios tonight. Aside from Sinitta and Yvie Burnett, of course. Her new single is, strangely, a cover of I Want To Know What Love Is which seems to omit the big-haired 80s power notes that one would imagine Mimi is more than capable of.

20:29
Holy fuck. There may not be a classic rock ballad power note, but that ad-lib has presumably prompted every dolphin between here and the Caribbean to grimace uncomfortably.

20:35
The remaining acts and judges are welcomed back to the stage to hear their fate. Jodward are getting booed horribly. Again, are this audience retarded? We know they're shit. They're here because they're shit. Deal with it.

20:37
RESULT! Stacey is through.

20:38
As is Joe. *mincey jazz hands*

20:39
Who in the name of fuck is voting for Dannle? Seriously?

20:39
And Lloyd is somehow through! Which means, hilariously, Olly is in the bottom two alongside Jodward. Simon is NOT impressed. Please, please, please let Cheryl and Dannii exact revenge on Emperor Cowell and save the twins. Nothing against Olly, apart from perhaps being a mash-up of Jamie Oliver and Rodney Trotter with a crazy idea he'd be a hit at anything other than the office Christmas party, but seeing Cowell's chances at winning left with the loathsome Dannle would be truly priceless.

20:45
Louis seems to have resigned himself to the fact that the twins are getting their marching orders. It's probably about a 99.9% probability, but Christ, it'd be great to see the Lucie decision come back and bite Cowell on his much-kissed, saggy backside. They're doing No Matter What, and it's an absolute atrocity. And once again, Louis demonstrates his inability to bop his head along to the music, regardless of genre, tempo or performer.

20:49
Olly is up, looking shellshocked and farting his way through a clumsy rendition of Wonderful Tonight. His shirt is all gapey - this doesn't mean he's going to rip it open again, does it? *shields eyes*

20:51
Is Simon welling up? Does he even have tear ducts? To the great surprise of absolutely no-one, he saves Olly. Cheryl also saves Olly, pussying out of standing up to the overlord.

20:52
Oooooooooh, Dannii is drawing it out!! Does this mean it's time for vengeance? The audience are bricking it, as is Simon, but... it's John & Edward that are sent packing. Drat.

20:54
Let's be fair here: of course the judges made the right decision. And of all the decent groups we saw throughout the auditions - Trucolorz (in spite of being too young), Miss Frank (in spite of not actually being a group), Harmony Hood (in spite of being a tad grubby), and of course, Miss Fitz (no, we're NOT letting it drop) - John & Edward had absolutely no place in the live shows. So yes, Olly deserved to stay. But then, so did Lucie and Rachel.

20:57
Jodward describe their time as 'deadly', confusing a hefty chunk of the British public. Looking ahead, next week's show not only sees the most boring top five in six seasons of The X Factor, but also features a performance from Rihanna, a popstar so fucking dead-eyed she almost challenges Leona Lewis for sheer coma-inducing dreariness. Is there enough Pro Plus in the United Kingdom to cope with such a prospect? In the meantime, thank you for joining us, and goodnight. You've been deadly.

The Sloppy Dog LiveBlog: The X Factor

Right, we've decided to take a break from sticking needles in our Simon Cowell effigy to appease the nagging of youse lot, and bring you another X Factor liveblog. Prepare yourself for a tidal wave of negativity, an unhealthy dose of cynicism, and a whole lotta bile. Keep hitting refresh if you're joining us live tonight, because, according to the dramatic voiceover which sounds unintentionally sarcastic, It's Time. To Face. The Music! Seriously, can they not just run the titles?

20:03
Last week! Lloyd sucked! The twins sucked less! Danyl was scum! Stacey was transformed into Fucking Leona! Jamie went home! It's funny - looking at the evicted six, and the remaining six, it's honestly hard to believe each of the two lots are not in the other's position. But hey, let's remind ourselves, this is not a talent show, it's a low-rent end-of-the-pier shitshower.

20:06
Dermot reminds us the final is just around the corner. Who on Earth are they planning to rope in for the duets? Is there a single artist in the history of recorded sound that would happily perform with John & Edward? But that's a question we shall be tackling in a few weeks time - in the meantime, it's George Michael Week, which begins with a namecheck for Pepsi & Shirlie. This does not happen enough in prime time television.

20:09
Lloyd is up first, which is pretty much equates to a certainty for the bottom two. There's a REALLY SUBTLE shot of HMV along with a verbal mention, and if this is a taster of what's going to happen when the product placement rules are relaxed, television as we know it is royally fucked. "You know what I liked about that performance, Lloyd? It was almost like a rich buttery spread, low in cholesterol with a full creamy taste. The judges' critiques, in association with Utterly Butterly."

20:12
Lloyd is making a right faecal sandwich of Faith. Caucasian, please - as if The Boy Least Likely To's version can be matched.

20:15
Cheryl has a gigantic comedy bow in her hair, making her look like the Spitting Image take on the Duchess of York. Meanwhile, Dermot likens Louis to Professor Yaffle. If we're assigning 80s kids TV heroes to all the judges, Dannii is Aunt Sally, Simon is a mash-up of Krang and Evil Edna, and Cheryl is one of the Dobson sisters from Byker Grove.

20:21
Stacey is up next, and it seems Dannii is trying to give her the moniker of "The Voice". It's unlikely to stick, mind, given most people know her as "That Girl Wot Makes Me Press The Mute Button When She Talks."

20:23
Ugh. She's doing I Can't Make You Love Me, possibly the dreariest thing George Michael has ever put his name to. In fairness, she's doing a decent enough version of it, and she looks jolly nice too this evening. Stacey Solomon FTW, yo.

20:26
Oh for the love of fuck, will someone do something with that bastard audience? SHUT YOUR STINKING TRAPS, you sycophantic bunch of ingratiating arseholes. People who actually know about music - plus Louis Walsh and Simon Cowell - are trying to talk, and we'd much rather hear their thoughts than "WELOVEYOUSTACEEEEY!" bellowed from the back row. Can they not pipe some sort of sleeping gas into the studio? And if an excessive amount can also be piped into Danyl's dressing room, that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

20:34
Next up is John & Edward, whose VT is the same old montage of clumsy dancing, daffy chat and yapping about pressure. Incidentally, can we just point out how much we detest the nickname 'Jedward'? If they're going for a catchy portmanteau, surely 'Jodward' makes more sense? Jedward is far too Edward-heavy.

20:37
It's a MEDLEY! Oh yes. This is officially The Stuff. By which we mean, 'utter wank but quintessential Jodward'.

20:40
Simon Cowell is hating on Andrew Ridgeley. Shooting fish much? Let's remember - this is the same Simon Cowell who was responsible for Girl Thing.

20:41
Plug up your every orifice and run for a leadlined bunker, it's Fucking Danyl. Who, by the way, we've decided to call 'Dannle' from now on - if the gormless windowlicker can't even spell his own name, then we're going to go all phonetic on his arrogant ass. We meet Dannle's housemates, one of whom suffers from a severe case of gayvoice.

20:43
Simon's said it's a no-frills performance, which presumably means we can rule out our wish that he does Outside with an onstage urinal set? Mind you, it'd need to be an Ally McBeal style unisex toilet, given that HE ALSO LIKES WOMEN. No really, he absolutely loves women! He said so, y'know.

20:45
How disappointing. It's Careless Whisper, every bit as shouty and self-indulgent as you'd expect. And high notes are on the horizon, so it's time to play Count Dannle's Fillings.

20:49
Dermot questions Dannle's rather negative coverage this week, which, in a nutshell, was that he was a bratty little bitch stamping his feet and throwing his toys out of the pram about anything and everything. Dannle sidesteps the question, the sneaky little tart. Meanwhile, if Calvin Harris is so desperate for a bit of publicity to plug his Godawful raping of the dance genre, can't he come back every week and run on in front of the number to call to vote for Dannle? Surely he's got to be good for something.

20:53
Simon describes Olly as "incredible" - let's remember, this is the same Simon Cowell that gave the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers a record deal. Olly is doing Fastlove, and not very well.

20:57
Yes Olly, you have a pelvic bone. We get it.

20:59
Again with the fucking audience. Belt up, for Christ's sake. Cheryl says lads want to knock about with Olly. No dear, lads want to knock him out.

21:05
Is anyone else getting a serious dose of that can't-be-bollocksed feeling, as previously seen in Series Four, and pretty much every series of Big Brother post-2006? It's all just so... meh. And, as if to prove the point, here's the supposed climax of the show, Joe McElderry. He wisely refers to his hometown as 'the North-East', ensuring he's not alienating either the Geordie or Mackem vote. Now that's why Bad Lashes fell down at the first hurdle.

21:09
Joe's doing a solo version of Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me, which is entirely futile as everyone is fully aware that the greatest moment of that song is where Elton introduces George. Not when George comes on - just the intro. Hell, Joe should do it anyway. Instead, we're treated to a typically-Joe theatre catastrophe. Yes, he can sing, but he should be doing it in Billy Elliot. Or, y'know, in a local am-dram production of Great Balls of Fire at the village hall to raise enough money for a new weather vane. Simon seemed to enjoy it, but let's remember, this is the same Simon Cowell who keeps Sinitta in the media 20 years after her lone glimmer of relevance.

21:14
Recap! Lloyd sucked; Stacey is THE ONLY CHOICE; John & Edward were John & Edward; Dannle was the blueprint for all cuntery; Olly continued to look like Tim Lovejoy with mumps (© HRH Grace Dent); Joe could be Joseph. And to top it off, Simon shamelessly kisses up to George Michael, who is most likely setting light to his entire back catalogue as we speak, following that hideous display of butchery. And in spite of tonight providing us with a strong contender for the dullest episode of The X Factor to date, we'll be back tomorrow for the results show. Crack open a Red Bull, prop open your eyelids with matchsticks, and we'll see you then.