And with that, we say goodbye to Kiera and Seann with sincere gratitude, because their departure means that X Factor will only be one hour and 45 minutes long next week. But OH NO SAD NEWS: I won’t be here for it. I’m away next Saturday, which means that this liveblog will be handled by someone equally capable. I think the plan is for me to retake the reigns for Sunday’s results show, but I’ve forgotten to check with anyone. Oh well, you’ll cope either way.
Thanks for reading if you read it, thanks for commenting if you commented. I’m off to surround myself with creepy cult members who’ll sit around me in silence as I play awful songs on the ukulele. BLARDIGAN!
OH. The public voted Seann Miley Moore out. The British Public, who are collectively the worst people in the entire history of the world, have expressed a preference for Mason Noise. I know his cousin, Youluc Keebastard.
Nick goes to deadlock, because he is a scoundrel and a wimp. He backed out of judging them, even though he is literally a judge and that’s his job. Nick is a scoundrel.
Rita now. She sends Seann home just because it’ll make Nick Gramshaw pull a face like a little boy who just wet his knickers.
Cheryl also dilly-dallies. She says that it’s the hardest sing-off she’s ever had to judge, but then she sends Mason home because he’s awful and she has a brain.
OK! Time to get rid of Mason Noise! Simon Cowell is dilly-dallying like mad, but then he sends Mason Noise home because ultimately he is a sensible man with functioning ears.
Now for Seann Miley Moore (dressed as Cheryl Fernandez Versini). He’s singing a song I don’t recognise, but he’s singing it relatively well. I mean, it doesn’t help that he looks like meltdown-era Carrie from Homeland when he cries, but this is better than Mason Noise. I mean, getting pummelled in the balls by a truck of geese is better than Mason Noise, but you get the idea.
Mason Noise, there. I know his cousin, Thatwas Awfulmate.
Mason’s singing End of the Road. He sounds distracted, and just made exactly the same noise that an old lady would if a ghost flew up her gusset. There is no way that Mason Noise isn’t going home tonight. No way on Earth. In fact, let’s just bin him now and get Fleur back on.
But now we get an actual sing-off. Mason Noise is singing first. OH HANG ON, both of these acts are mentored by Nick Grimshaw. He’s going to have to murder one of his babies. X Factor just got interesting.
Kiera’s been eliminated, by the way. Never mind. She says that this is just the start of her journey. It isn’t. It’s definitely the end of her journey.
Was that just Fleur East singing her new single to a small version of Fleur East strapped to her own chest? What’s in these biscuits?!?!
I’m not liveblogging these adverts because I’ve just found some biscuits. What are you going to do, fire me?
Wait, Kiera, Seann and Mason are the bottom three. One gets kicked out immediately. Well, not immediately. They get kicked out after the next ad break. What I’m trying to say is that one will get kicked out in about two and a half hours.
Oh crap on a stick, Anton got through. This is some dismal work, The British Public. Dismal work indeed.
Lauren’s also through. Four acts left. I can’t remember who they are, but one of them is safe.
Monica’s also through. And Chest Chestyman.
And Louisa’s through as well. And Reggie N Bollie (who will perform Fleur East’s song next week SO HELP ME GOD)
Also through: Max Stone, which allows him to fully transform into a Waco-style cult leader next week.
Righto. Safely through to next week is 4th Impact, which is good news.
OK! Results time! Let’s get rid of literally any of these dullards.
An advert now, where Brian Cox stands in a vortex and says nice things about the government. Merry Christmas, everyone.
Blardigan is backstage now, doing interviews. ‘I think I’ve done enough’ Kiera says. ‘Do you think you’ve done enough?’ Blardigan immediately asks, because he was too busy trying to concentrate on how to pronounce ‘double elimination’. He then mispronounces ‘double elimination’.
Oh, wait, it didn’t. Shame. Now for the interview. ‘WHO DO YOU WANT TO WIN? ARE YOU ON TOUR? NOW GET OUT’
I hope this song ends with CeeLo getting stung unconscious by a swarm of bees.
CeeLo’s singing a song called Music to my Soul, which seems to be a weird sort of career summary. It sounds a lot like CeeLo’s version of that life-spanning song that John C Reilly sings at the end of Walk Hard, in fact. And it keeps mentioning Even In Darkness by The Dungeon Family, which is an album I own and like. Does this mean I’m relevant? I’ll assume it does.
CeeLo is wearing a suit made of flowers and standing against a wall of flowers. He sort of looks like Mr Blobby, if Mr Blobby was impossible to like because of his views on women.
We’re back. And now for CeeLo Green. This guest performance is a big deal for him. Not because he gets to perform live in front of a relatively large TV audience, but because it’s a chance for him to see whether or not he can go for three minutes without saying anything inappropriate about rape. Here’s hoping.
There’s an advert for a Live Lounge advert, and I thought I heard Fleur’s song, but it was actually just Uptown Funk. Boring old Uptown Funk.
Also, can Fleur sing that two more times instead of having a sing-off tonight? Instead of a sing-off, we can just let a pack of wolves loose backstage, and the first two to get eaten will be the ones who get eliminated. That’d be more entertaining, AND we’d get to see Fleur again.
Sincere request, since I know for a fact that most of the X Factor staff reads this liveblog: next week, how impossible would it be for Reggie N Bollie to perform this song? I want to see that more than anything.
Ben Haenow won X Factor last year.
Jesus christ, this is actually my new favourite song. I’m... I’m excited about something on X Factor. I don’t think this has ever happened before. What’s going on? Am I smiling? Is this happiness? I’m so confused.
This is Fleur’s new single Sax. And holy christ, it’s enormous. I mean, it’s a flat-out Uptown Funk rip-off, but that was probably to be expected. This is brilliant, and Fleur is killing it. She’s making me miss last year’s X Factor, and last year’s X Factor was rubbish. God, this is TREMENDOUS.
Anyway, now for a performance from Fleur East, the woman who should have won - but didn’t win - last year’s X Factor. I miss Fleur, but I’m pleased that she’s got a new song out and I’m certainly pleased that her sister didn’t kill and eat her at any point over the last 11 months.
In the recap, Kiera exasperatedly asks ‘What have I got to do to make Simon Cowell like me?’. The answer, of course, is to dedicate her entire life to the television industry, starting as a runner, then graduating through the ranks from assistant producer to producer to commissioning editor to head of entertainment to ITV chairman, purely so that she can recommission X Factor and run an advert in the press saying that The Voice is a big smelly poo. Hope that helps Kiera!
Time for the interminable recap now, which mainly exists to remind us all that yes, actually, it was exactly as dismal as you remember.
I think Simon Cowell made them sing this because he’s trying to send a message to ITV. He’s saying that he can fix X Factor, and begging them not to replace it with The Voice.
Oh, wait, it was for Remembrance Day. Don’t worry, elderly veterans, Reggie N Bollie are going to fix all war forever for you. Tasteful.
And now the group song. It’s Fix You by Coldplay. I know how I’d fix this performance. It involves catching all the performers in a big net, taping them up, throwing them in a bus, driving the bus into a ditch, filling the ditch with concrete and then setting the whole thing on fire.
Ooh, it’s another double a lemon nation. Blardigan made Sassy Squits say it, though. He’s be burned by words before. Burn him twice and you won’t get burned again, that’s the lesson he lives by.
Let’s meet the judges:
NICK: Dressed as Simon Cowell
RITA: Dressed as Blardigan
CHERYL: Dressed as Rita Ora
SIMON: Dressed as Nick Grimshaw
‘Coming up later it’s X Factor favourite Fleur East is in the building’ is a sentence that Blardigan just said.
I’m nor sure what I watched, but I think it was a clip of Rita Ora trying to chant ‘fight night’ but getting about 50% of the words wrong. Rita Ora has never knowingly made a good decision in her entire life.
Blardigan is literally – literally – dressed as Prince Charles tonight. Sometimes I think that Blardigan is the only thing that keeps me going.
IT’S TIME! TO SPACE! THE MUSIC (out between literally a billion adverts)!
SUNDAY, SUNDAY, GETTIN ON DOWN FOR SUNDAY
Oh god you idiots, you came back. Well, you’re here now, so welcome to The X Factor Liveblog: The Sunday Night Results Show Afterthought. Last night, as you remember, was Reinvention Night; or as I prefer to think of it, Things Were Perfectly Fine As They Were Now Everything’s A Mess It’s All A Hideous Mess And It Sounds Bad And It’s All Your Fault Simon Cowell I’m Glad X Factor Is Dying Night.
Tonight, someone will be punished for the sheer, unending wall-to-wall catastrophe of last night’s show. It might be Monica, for shouting a Beyonce song through her boobs. It might be Kiera, for destroying Return of the Mack. It might even be that ukulele twonk, for being a ukulele twonk. In a fair and just world, they’d all be eliminated. But only one of them – or, if we’re lucky enough to get another double a lemon nation, two of them – can go.
But still, this is a Sunday night results show, so we have endless recaps, numerous adverts and guest performances from Fleur East and CeeLo Green to get through first. I’m sure we can probably manage that, can’t we? The show starts at 8pm, so let’s see.
It’s over! We did it! Thanks for reading, everyone, and don’t forget to come back here for the dramatic Sunday Night Results Show Liveblog Update, where two actual pop stars will perform and Olly Murs will wear a blardigan that will literally make you want to vomit blood from your eyeballs. Thanks for all the comments! Bye!
Reggie N Bollie were the only act in this recap that made me look up from my screen. Them to win, please.
I just heard that if ITV replaces X Factor with The Voice, then X Factor will move to Sky. I think it might be time to downgrade to a Freeview box just to definitively rule myself out of the liveblog.
Oh no, wait, there’s a recap. Of course there is. Adverts And Recaps: A Life Wasted. That’s going to be the title of my autobiography.
And that’s it. Everyone’s finished singing. Now for Blardigan to try and remember how numbers work and we’re done.
That sounded like an X Factor winner’s single. I don’t mean that Lauren should win X Factor. I mean that I don’t really like how X Factor winner’s singles sound.
Lauren just just got five syllables out of the word ‘hold’. It was impressive, but then she got seven out of ‘side’. Simon Cowell might have just ejaculated.
Lauren is singing a James Bay song. If ever there was a sign that the producers want her out, it’s this. She may as well sing the Jim’ll Fix It theme tune, or a Bajoran death chant, or – god help us all – two James Bay songs.
Finally, the newly devarnished Lauren Murray. That tan was literally the only facet of Lauren that I could make jokes about, and now it’s gone. Well screw you, Lauren. Screw you to hell.
In the VT, Lauren can’t get her song right, and then high-fived Rita Ora. She looked like she preferred screwing her song up.
If we make Reggie N Bollie win X Factor, will that help to kill it quicker than it’s already dying? Because, guys, I’m down with that.
News from a viewer:
@stuheritage started watching my recording of #XFactor 1hr after the start, have fast forwarded so much I've caught up with it live. #fml
— Jen Valentine (@JenOrVal) November 7, 2015
Rita Ora keeps shouting ‘Mash it up’. I think she’s after an endorsement deal from a potato company. It worked for Scherzinger, after all.
Definitive statement: I liked it. And apparently so did the member of One Direction in the audience, because he keeps awkwardly clapping whenever the audience cuts to him.
I’ve lost the ability to tell if this is any good or not. I think the verses are the best thing I’ve ever heard, but the chorus is too muted for my liking. Also, it sounds like something that’d get played at 90% of all the spin classes I’ve ever been to. Is that a good thing? I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m so tired.
Reggie N Bollie are doing What Makes You Beautiful. In fact, I think they might be doing the definitive version of What Makes You Beautiful. I hope they replace Zayn. Both of them. I hope they both replace Zayn.
Next up are Reggie N Bollie. That N is really starting to bug me. Surely the first thing Reggie N Bollie should have done is set out a standardised format for that N. But oh no. I’ve seen them called Reggie N Bollie, Reggie ’N Bollie, Reggie N’ Bollie and Reggie ’N’ Bollie at this point. Just use ‘and’, you dillweeds. It’d save everyone so much pain. Get your house in order, Reggie and Bollie.
All I’ve done tonight is liveblog adverts. Sorry, can’t come to your thing this weekend guys, gotta stay inside and blandly describe Littlewood commercials for work instead.
A little while ago, Caroline Flack mentioned that they were short of time this week. By my calculations, there are 40 minutes of the show remaining, and only two acts left to perform. That’s loads of time. Maybe they’re going to let them both sing – which would take a maximum of three minutes – and then end the show early. Maybe it’d be like an early release for good behaviour.
I think Blardigan’s been banished backstage purely so that he can stand under a massive piece of TalkTalk signage, you know.
Everyone’s telling Max that he’s cool. Everyone’s been huffing paint fumes during the adverts.
This is a bit overdone. This is like a version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow that you’d hear on an advert for a shipping utility company that wants to appear moderately less corporate than it really is.
All the dancers are sitting around Max in a circle. Maybe one of them is going to get up and attack him. Maybe he knows this. Maybe that’s why he looks so shifty.
Max is singing Somewhere over the Rainbow. He isn’t wearing dreadlocks, though, or calling anyone ‘Mon’. This seems like a hideous oversight on his part. Still, he’s playing a ukulele, so there’s still at least a part of him that wants us to hugely distrust him.
Max Stone now. I’m looking forward to this. He did reggae Adele last week, after all. What’ll it be this week? Doo-wap Beyonce? Free jazz Sam Smith? Crunkcore Daniel O’Donnell?
Oh, he’s doing a song that was played at a relative’s funeral. Well don’t I look like a tool now?
Rita Ora’s trying to look on the bright side, by telling Monica that at least her clothes aren’t the same colour as the clothes that she usually wears. That’ll do, won’t it?
Well, that was that. Monica reinvented that song into a note-for-note replica of itself. Simon Cowell hates it, though, so that’s something.
Monica love, what are you doing with your hands? You look like you’re trying to discreetly flick a giant bogey.
Monica’s performing Crazy in Love, via the medium of singing in a way that makes you sound like your mouth is full of loft insulation. It’s the 50 Shades of Grey version too, which is apt because this song is making me feel like I’m being beaten up by a dickhead with a glider.
Anyway, it’s Monica Michael now, here to show everyone what your favourite pop song would sound like when performed by a woman who’s just packed her mouth full of cotton wool for laughs.
In the VT, Monica thinks about whether she should wear a dress or not, and then decides to wear a dress. This is a blazing new level of charisma that I haven’t ever experienced before.
Rita Ora just forgot her own act’s name. That was a microcosm of the entire 2015 series.
Oh, now they’re playing the real version of Return of the Mack. For ten seconds. And it was the highlight of my evening.
More adverts. I wish I could do all my liveblogging on Sunday morning, because then I could fast-forward all the adverts and I’d be done in about 40 minutes. Are you reading this on Sunday morning and fast-forwarding all the adverts? I hate you and I want to be you.
Simon just told Seann off for being safe. Seann is wearing a kimono, full make-up and is surrounded by dead leaves. I’m not sure that really constitutes ‘safe’, but whatever. There are only about three of us watching the show right now, so let’s not fight over details.
Right, sorry, I missed the song because I sort of went off the tracks just now. Anyway, it sounded quite loud. Hope that helps.
Seann’s singing California Dreamin’. Hey buddy, if this is what California is dreaming about, it should lay off the cheese before bed!! Rimshot. Light applause. I’ll be here all week. Try the veal. Leave stage. Stare into mirror. You could have been a contender, instead of a bum. It was you Charlie. I’m the boss, I’m the boss, I’m the boss, I’m the boss, I’m the boss. I’m the boss, I’m the boss, I’m the boss. Inscrutable biblical quote. Dedication to Martin Scorsese’s dead teacher. Puccini music. End credits.
Time for Seann Miley Moore, who’s become one of my favourites purely because he isn’t a glum little no-shouldered four-year-old. I like him because he’s different, and because I’m pretty sure that he farts confetti. That’s all.
In the VT, Nick Grimshaw asks Seann to sing Downtown, but changes his mind because it ‘sounds like a musical’. Or because it ‘sounds musical’. I wasn’t really listening, but either would be pretty unusual for X Factor.
Another ad break now. I think I’ve heard about 20 adverts tonight that have been soundtracked by an insipid cover of an uptempo song. I feel like all my blood has been transfused and replaced with urine. This show cannot end quickly enough.
Simon Cowell is using Louisa’s performance to rail against the media’s dismissive attitude towards X Factor. ‘This is why I do the show’, he says, apparently suggesting that his life’s goal is to find a person who can string the word ‘Jean’ out to several dozen syllables.
Anyway, Louisa is doing Billie Jean. She’s been reading the same instructional magazines on sass that I have, which is a shame, because I read all of mine in 1983. She’s like the small-town woman in Red Oaks who wants to be a model, except she keeps making noises like she’s being forced to disembowel a buffalo against her will.
My TV just made a noise because it wants to switch over X factor to record Millionaire Matchmakers on ITVBe. Reader, I almost let it.
Louisa Johnson now, who may or may not be a star depending on how lenient you are towards grisly murders of beloved Beach Boys songs. In the VT, Louisa bravely defies the long-held tradition of Skyping people on a Samsung tablet by Facetiming someone on an iPad. This is a level of disobedience that cannot be allowed. She will be gone tomorrow, I promise.
Or an advert for Twitter where a man reads a stirring tract about the power of left-wing people constantly telling other left-wing people that they’re not sufficiently left-wing enough.
I just saw an advert for Facebook where a man read a stirring tract about the power of sport, because people talk about sport on Facebook. I hope that in the next ad break there’s a Facebook advert where a man reads a stirring tract about the power of using incorrect grammar in racist all-caps tirades, becsuse people do that on Facebook too.
Caroline Flack tells Che that she’s going to have goosebumps for the rest of her life. Not because of the song – it’s because she has to stand next to Blardigan for a living and he gives her the willies – but it’s still a decent sentiment I suppose.
Rita Ora says that the song wants to make her cry. I mean, she won’t cry because she’s literally an android, but she wants to and that’s the main thing.
And, as much as it pains me to say this, it isn’t awful. He’s got a voice on him, this lad. It veers a bit into Sam Smith territory when he’s not careful, but I’d take one of these over a billion Anton performances.
Jesus, he’s John Lewised it. Che Chesterman had Moon Hitlered You Can’t Hurry Love.
Che is singing You Can’t Hurry Love. You also can’t hurry two-hour episodes of tedious almost-dead televised singing contests, but you don’t hear me banging on about it.
Che Chesterman now, the David Brent tribute act it’s OK not to be physically appalled by. FUN FACT: ‘Che’ is short for Chesterman. That’s right, Che Chesterman’s real name is Chesterman Chesterman.
In the VT, Che says the word ‘choreography’ in a funny way because he’s a right old bloody character, innee? WOSS EE LOIKE EH? GOR BLIMEY CHE CHESTERMAN YOU MUCKABOUT BANTSKING.
Dear god. What’s next week’s theme going to be? Atonal Screaming? Gargling Petrol In A Burning Building? That Bit In The Lou Reed Song Where All The Children Shriek With Terror At An Unseen Horror? Gunfire and Vomiting? The Homeland Theme Tune? That would seem to be the natural progression from this dismal shitshow, anyway.
So, yeah, Kiera’s singing Return of the Mack, which should mean that I take back anything bad I ever said about her because this should be enough for her to just automatically win X Factor now. But this is a holy abomination of a song. Most of it is a dance break, which is unfortunate because Kiera dances like a woman who knows all her dead relatives are floating above her, looking down and shaking their heads disappointedly.
In the VT, the song Return of the Mack is described as ‘Old school’ and I might as well LITERALLY DIG A HOLE IN MY GARDEN AND BURY MYSELF NOW.
Now for Kiera Weathers, who’s determined to show that she’s capable of independent thought after narrowly surviving last week’s sing-off. I hope this week is a rerun of the unfortunate time time that Rachel Adeji tried to mimic Stacy Solomon to gain public approval. All-time top ten X Factor moment, that.
There’s another ad break now. Here’s a really long one for Cadbury’s, which is boring and doesn’t even have Hitler in it.
Blardigan’s been banished backstage, where he can point at people and nervously gesture offstage.
Simon’s reminding everyone that the theme of the night is ‘reinvention’, which is why he reinvented Anton as a man perennially trapped in a fever-nightmare of murderous Haribo and screaming.
Nobody enjoyed that song. Anton is just openly apologising for it. Which is all well and good, but it hasn’t stopped me from feeling like I’ve been run over by an ice cream van.
On the other hand, it’s the closest X Factor has ever got to replicating Wagner. I hate it, but I miss Wagner. So conflicted.
Jesus christ, though. This is like walking into the Namco arcade with a hangover.
Well, this is horrifying. Anton’s singing out of tune, and he keeps missing the microphone, and he’s so desperate to prove that he’s a singer that he’s singing 16 notes when he really needs to only sing one.
Anton’s singing All About That Bass, because he’s fed up of the pejorative stereotyping of quasi-failed backing singers being judged for their big bums. Or, oh something.
We’re back. Time for Anton Stephans, the man who Simon Cowell thinks has a mouth like a tunnel, even though all mouths look like tunnels and that’s the point of a mouth and oh Jesus why won’t he just grow the beard back.
That was the highlight of my evening.
When I die, I literally just want the words ‘Moon Hitler’ on my gravestone.
Can't wait for Mason Noise to duet with Moon Hitler in the final tbh #xfactor
— Moon Hitler (@bloatyhead) November 7, 2015
MOON HITLER IS ON TV I REPEAT
— ambs (@SPEClALOP) November 7, 2015
Someone made a Moon Hitler video today, and I’ve never been more excited.
MOON HITLER
MOON HITLER MOON HITLER MOON HITLER MOON HITLER MOON HITLER MOON HITLER
Also, here’s a drinking game. Every time Cheryl says ‘for me’, punch yourself in the face. By the end of the evening you’ll be in hospital, and a nurse will have to smear rubbing alcohol on your wounds.
Rita Ora needs to pick an accent. She sounds like one of those ‘100 impressions in 30 seconds’ YouTube videos.
This isn’t very good. HOWEVER, I’ve just realised that Mason Noise looks like Colin Hanks, and now I can never unsee that. Also he’s on a plinth that looks like a little building. It’s an OK plinth. 7/10 plinthwork.
Mason’s singing Teardrops by Womack and Womack. Last week: Sorry. This week: Teardrops. Next week: No Really Why Won’t You Listen To Me. Week after: I’m Drunk And I’m Outside Your Front Door With A Gun And Oh God It Went Off In My Hand Someone Call An Ambulance Oh God Oh God What Do I Do. Week after that: Cheeky Song (Touch My Bum).
Now for Mason Noise. I know his cousin, Shu Tup. I know his cousin, Poli Tleerefrainfromtalking. I know his cousin Shushnow Yadickhead.
In the VT, Mason decides that he needs to be sexy. He then immediately pulls a face like a man who’s had his nads tasered in his sleep. Then he has a Heat photoshoot, where an assistant says that he’s a nice guy while pulling a face like someone offscreen has a knife to her mother’s throat.
Blardigan just mispronounced the word ‘OK’. I don’t know how he did it, but he did it.
Simon Cowell tells Cheryl that making them sing one of her songs was narcissistic. But he’ll get his own back next week, when he makes one of his acts quietly intone the words ‘X Factor’ during a bland instrumental theme tune in a horribly transparent bid to earn some performer royalties.
Oh, the song’s finished. I think that was quite good? I wasn’t really paying attention, sorry.
They’re doing Sound of the Underground, back from when Cheryl Fernandez-Versini was any good. Let’s all thank god they didn’t pick one of her solo songs, because then they’d have had to dance around and mime with their bums out.
For the song, 4th Impact get to stand in front of an tube train. Because they’re singing about the sound of the underground, you see, which in my experience is the sound of a haughty sloane shrieking ‘CAN YOU ALL MOVE DOWN THE CARRIAGE PLEASE?’ and then the sound of 200 people collectively hating her, but whatever.
In the VT this week, the term ‘mash-up’ is used a horrifying amount. That’s what this show is going to be, isn’t it? Loads of mash-ups. I think the theme of this week might actually be ‘Autumn 2002’.
4th Impact are up first, so this’ll be the one point in tonight’s show where I won’t have to wear the hideously pained expression of a man frantically trying to find the keys to a burning pet shop. Let’s savour this moment.
Hey, it’s time to meet the judges:
NICK: Wearing a carpet
RITA: Wearing the dress that the woman your dad was secretly shagging wore to his funeral
CHERYL: Wearing... gravel?
SIMON: Wearing the desperate look of a man with an uncertain future.
Here they are, Sassy Squits and Blardigan, ready to unconfidently bark more words that they appear to be experiencing for the very first time. Good old Sassy Squits and Blardigan. I’ll miss them when they’ve gone.
Last weekend: if this recap is any indication, we all got a weird collective migraine aura. I can’t remember that far back.
Oh, apparently it’s Reinvention week. The rules are to ‘be creative’. Given that there was a Reggae Adele song last week, and this week is going to be two hours of that, I’m fairly certain that I’ll have bitten off my own ears by the first ad break.
IT’S TIME! TO FACE*! THE MUSIC!
*Face like how the chairs turn around and face the performers in The Voice, which is my new favourite TV show.
ALSO I’m quite looking forward to tonight. If tradition continues, there’s going to be whole lot of Moon Hitler during the ad breaks. I love you, Moon Hitler.
Before we start, some EXCITING NEWS. According to the news this morning, ITV has just poached The Voice from the BBC, either because The Voice has been used as a stick with which to beat the BBC’s public service broadcasting credentials, or because The Voice is legitimately awful and the BBC is clearly much better off without it. Here are some thoughts:
1) Has ITV bought The Voice to replace X Factor?
2) If so, does that mean that there’ll be no more X Factor after this series.
3) God, I hope it means that. X Factor is terrible and I want my weekends back.
4) Also, sod off if you think I’m going to liveblog The Voice next year, because The Voice is the only programme on television that’s worse than X Factor.
5) Plus I tried liveblogging The Voice before and nobody read it.
5) Freedom! Sweet sweet freedom!
6) Also, this news sort of confirms my suspicion that Rita Ora has literally never made a single good decision in her entire life.
Hello strangers, and welcome to week two of the X Factor liveblog. I’m pleased that you’re here, and saddened that your family is making you watch X Factor. That’s the only logical reason why you’re even reading this in the first place, after all.
Last week, you may remember that we lost Bupsi and Alien Uncovered to the sands of oblivion. That whittles down the number of contestants nicely, and your reward is that this week’s X Factor is ten minutes shorter than last week’s X Factor. Ten full minutes. Oh, X Factor, you sure do know how to treat us good.
Once again, I’m sad to report that I’ve forgotten to look up this week’s theme. However, given that last week’s theme was This Is Me, you can probably expect it to be three more blandly meaningless words strung together at the last minute. Here I Am, maybe, or Some Songs Now. Personally I’m hoping it’s Oh God No, but that’s just me.
The show starts at 8pm, so if you could all join me for that, I’d be very happy. Well, very’s a strong word. And so is happy. Look, read it if you like, OK? Nobody’s forcing you. I’m not your dad.
