Little Mix and Marcus Collins face X Factor showdown to win recording contract as public votes for final pair.
Inexplicable TV moment of the year, right up there with the
advert that urged us all to "make friends with dry, unpredictable hair"
(can't I stick with the friends I have?), came an hour and a half into
last night's X Factor semi-final, when Leona Lewis sang a
Johnny Cash song. Johnny's most depressing ever, which is saying a bit.
Hurt. And lovely Leona can hit every note except the low ones.
Is The X Factor now ruining not only the lives of its current contestants but those who actually did rather well, and are now roped back in to try a little "fail"?
Actually, another inexplicable moment was Amelia Lily being voted off, at five to 10 last night. The finalists, tomorrow, will be the nice enough Little Mix and the weird, whooping Marcus Collins. But Amelia will, in five years' time, be the headliner, in the places where music counts.
The song choices have been pretty much the worst thing about this year's X Factor. Apart from the choice of judges, the PR machine going way beyond its remit by overselling a priapic coke-user whom they then had to sack, being deserted by Simon Cowell and then, after various related kerfuffles, turned down by Cheryl Cole, and beaten demeaningly and unaccountably in the ratings by Strictly Come Dancing, and not actually having quite enough people who could … sing … the song choices were the worse. So it continued last night, before an audience of 10,000 at the Wembley Arena.
On the other hand, the last three contestants – Little Mix, Collins and Lily, the last of whose gracing of various Christmas M&S adverts certainly suggested that there might have been a preplanned agenda here, last night disproved, but actually she's great, well she very much is for 17 – filed six relatively winning songs last night, and with talent.
Most scary thing, apart from the pre-filmed reactions of the finalists going home to be greeted by truly quite insanely cheering crowds – children wept, for goodness sake, and people held up placards in Liverpool saying "Marcus Your So" – we couldn't see the bottom of the playground placard, presumably sanctioned by the teacher. How did it end? "-cks need darning"? What are they teaching teachers today?
Anyway, someone is certainly teaching them and their pupils to howl and cry when three X Factor finalists, from the most unhappy series yet, visit. Anyway, the most scary thing, apart from Louis Walsh's new expensive head-topiary, was … no, there's no apart. Louis's head was the scariest thing. Apart from the fact he might threaten to sing, along with the other three mentors who joined their proteges in ill-chosen, decently done, songs.
Gary Barlow, his vowels now even flatter than some particularly flat and depressed part of the Steppes, in what's increasingly seeming clever self-parody, did well enough – he even played an instrument! – in his duet with Marcus. Marcus, some might say misjudgedly, dedicated his duet with Gary, She's Always a Woman, to his mother. There was no doubting his love and gratitude, but next time it might be an idea to check the original song, and realise that Billy Joel's lines – "she can wound with her eyes/she steals like a thief/she can ruin your faith with her casual lies" – were about a dysfunctional, irresistible sexual lover. Not a mum.
The next "sing with our star mentor" bit was … actually Empire State of Mind was astounding. Tulisa led, and did so with panache and some beautiful gravel. There couldn't have been a better song chosen for Little Mix, who rightly had standing ovations and harmonised with style, and will probably win tonight. We all knew from the beginning that Little Mix would be in with a shout for the final rounds, because they were young and possessed of more than a modicum of talent and so no one … old … no matter how talented, would pop their bubble. But they're actually pretty good, especially the one with the tights that look like a rope-ladder, and somehow manage to cope with the boom-shouting of every production-insistent firework and God-Voiceover and yet more horror from Carl Orff whose first name I have already replaced.
Shame for Amelia, actually.
Simon Cowell must be chortling like Muttley.
Is The X Factor now ruining not only the lives of its current contestants but those who actually did rather well, and are now roped back in to try a little "fail"?
Actually, another inexplicable moment was Amelia Lily being voted off, at five to 10 last night. The finalists, tomorrow, will be the nice enough Little Mix and the weird, whooping Marcus Collins. But Amelia will, in five years' time, be the headliner, in the places where music counts.
The song choices have been pretty much the worst thing about this year's X Factor. Apart from the choice of judges, the PR machine going way beyond its remit by overselling a priapic coke-user whom they then had to sack, being deserted by Simon Cowell and then, after various related kerfuffles, turned down by Cheryl Cole, and beaten demeaningly and unaccountably in the ratings by Strictly Come Dancing, and not actually having quite enough people who could … sing … the song choices were the worse. So it continued last night, before an audience of 10,000 at the Wembley Arena.
On the other hand, the last three contestants – Little Mix, Collins and Lily, the last of whose gracing of various Christmas M&S adverts certainly suggested that there might have been a preplanned agenda here, last night disproved, but actually she's great, well she very much is for 17 – filed six relatively winning songs last night, and with talent.
Most scary thing, apart from the pre-filmed reactions of the finalists going home to be greeted by truly quite insanely cheering crowds – children wept, for goodness sake, and people held up placards in Liverpool saying "Marcus Your So" – we couldn't see the bottom of the playground placard, presumably sanctioned by the teacher. How did it end? "-cks need darning"? What are they teaching teachers today?
Anyway, someone is certainly teaching them and their pupils to howl and cry when three X Factor finalists, from the most unhappy series yet, visit. Anyway, the most scary thing, apart from Louis Walsh's new expensive head-topiary, was … no, there's no apart. Louis's head was the scariest thing. Apart from the fact he might threaten to sing, along with the other three mentors who joined their proteges in ill-chosen, decently done, songs.
Gary Barlow, his vowels now even flatter than some particularly flat and depressed part of the Steppes, in what's increasingly seeming clever self-parody, did well enough – he even played an instrument! – in his duet with Marcus. Marcus, some might say misjudgedly, dedicated his duet with Gary, She's Always a Woman, to his mother. There was no doubting his love and gratitude, but next time it might be an idea to check the original song, and realise that Billy Joel's lines – "she can wound with her eyes/she steals like a thief/she can ruin your faith with her casual lies" – were about a dysfunctional, irresistible sexual lover. Not a mum.
The next "sing with our star mentor" bit was … actually Empire State of Mind was astounding. Tulisa led, and did so with panache and some beautiful gravel. There couldn't have been a better song chosen for Little Mix, who rightly had standing ovations and harmonised with style, and will probably win tonight. We all knew from the beginning that Little Mix would be in with a shout for the final rounds, because they were young and possessed of more than a modicum of talent and so no one … old … no matter how talented, would pop their bubble. But they're actually pretty good, especially the one with the tights that look like a rope-ladder, and somehow manage to cope with the boom-shouting of every production-insistent firework and God-Voiceover and yet more horror from Carl Orff whose first name I have already replaced.
Shame for Amelia, actually.
Simon Cowell must be chortling like Muttley.
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