Sunday, December 13, 2009

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.

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.

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.

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

...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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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!

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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

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...

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*

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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...

...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..."

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.

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

...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.


JDS said...

Utter brilliance. This live blog is the only reason I am watching x factor.

Anonymous said...

Try to remember that most people who read live blogs are actually fans of the show and will find more than the 1% of enjoyment out of it which you seem to gain.

Endless snarky comments wear thin when there is very little warmth shown towards the show or contestants. More balance would work well.

I guess if you hate the show, then this blog is great.

Flo said...

I'm afraid I can't agree wth your comments Anonymous. Given the wall to wall X Factor love that a sizeable portion of the population have to accept from the majority of the popular media, even from our beloved Beeb, I would suggest our friend Sloppy is providing some much needed balance. Assuming your assumption about most of the people reading these blogs is correct, providing "balance" for the readers should not entail tellng them exactly what they want to hear. And I think that Sloppy showed a lot of warmth to some of the contestants - just not the finalist.

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