It’s been a long three months for the tabloids. They’ve got their fill out of Frankie Cokeozza and Misha B(ully), and soon enough it’ll be time to start writing about other reality telly stars. You can tell that the red tops were thin on the ground as they entered this final week, as one previously unwritten about character had its time to shine: Kelly Rowland’s mole.
Yes, the mole had its time in the SPOTlight (ahem) after shifting position more times than Phil Jones. First it was on the left, and then on the right, then left again, until watching Kelly’s face was similar to a particularly frenetic game of Grabbit Rabbit.
The beauty spot story made a mountain out of a molehill (I’ll stop now), setting up this weekend’s intimate and low-key X Factor Final at Wembley Arena in front of 10,000 people. The scale of the final was just mahoosive, complete with outlandish production design and a crowd who chanted like they were on 50/50. Unfortunately, Dermot didn’t enter by tackling The Avalanche, but instead unleashed his mojo with an Austin Powers-inspired jig. Derm only gave us a taste of honey, but mama wanted the whole beehive.
And so we moved onto the singing and that. Marcus Collins opened the show with a bizarrely airline-themed version of Outkast’s Hey Ya, which was yet again another poor song choice for the Lou Bega doppelganger. No amount of sexy air hostess could distract from Marcus’s flatness, and I was very quickly searching for my nearest emergency exit.
Tulisa displayed a dress that showed off her Little Moofins before introducing her girl group. Perrie, Jesy, Jade and ovva one got things going with a rendition of Candi Staton and The Source’s You Got The Love, complete with army chants and motorbikes. It was energetic and original, the beginning of a great future for the show’s most successful girl band.
Marcus wants something hard to suck on for landing
In contrast, Amelia Lily did another bad Xtina impression with a poorly styled, poorly arranged version of Ain’t No Other Man. The only thing she was missing was a Butlins red coat and a supporting role in a touring musical. Over the course of the series, Amelia’s performances have left me colder than a ReDead’s stare. *presses B frantically*
Every song of the weekend was met with a GCSE English exercise from the judges. Having given up on criticism, the panel settled for speaking to describe, persuade and inform. Listening to them tell the contestants that they were in the X Factor Final and were performing at Wembley Arena was like watching televised Top Trumps.
In between all the madness, we’ve become used to flicking to a popular TV personality to update us on the greater madness occurring in the contestants’ home towns. However, this being Wembley Arena, all the friends and families were transported to the venue, giving Olly Murs and Caroline Flack the chance to zip wire (probably) around the Arena to speak to Little Mix’s second cousins twice removed or whatever. But, as Jade’s mum put it down to Olly’s beat boxing, I couldn’t help wondering: what’s wrong with Jeff Brazier?
Taking a break from the competition, we were treated to the sexiest duet since Beautiful Liar, courtesy of (It’s) JLS and 1D, mashing up She Makes Me Wanna and What Makes You Beautiful. The only thing missing was (It’s) Dev and them ones where JB wishes us all a Mewwy Chwistmas. According to a source, halfway through the song Caroline Flack peeled off her granny pants and used her aged, withered arm to throw them at toy boy Harry Styles. #cradlesnatcher
Just out of shot: Caroline Flack bean-flicking
For the first time, the contestants performed duets with their mentors, avoiding any unnecessary Rihanna sexiness, but also ruling out any Beyoncé amazeballs. Marcus and Gary won the Debenhams vote with Billy Joel’s She’s Always A Women, while Little Mix beat boxed through a medley of If I Ain’t Got You and Empire State Of Mind. Kelly and Amelia SER-MASHED a version of River Deep, Moutain High, but they were an L plate and a penis-shaped balloon away from sounding like hen night karaoke.
The remainder of Saturday’s show saw Olly Murs little mix his own cocktail and down it like a Fresher, and a performance so dull by Leona Lewis that it could have finally given Louish Waltz his wish and sent Berry Gordy to his grave. In slightly more significant news, my fave (spew) Amelia Lily got booted off the planet and with any luck we won’t see her until the next time I need to crack out a niche X Factor reference, and Addictiv Ladies just doesn’t quite do it.
Sunday’s results show was mainly weeping and table bashing, but still threw up a few final highlights, namely Louish Waltz’s Playboy jacket, which was as good as a televised coming out. A mimed group medley followed, which highlighted that age old dilemma of which band Ashford Campbell should be singing for. In the end he settled for Nu Vibe, but occasionally glanced lovingly over at Derry Mensah, no doubt remembering a heated debate about the work of Flaubert with the Cambridge linguist.
The finalists’ first performance was a repeat of what they considered to be their best, which gave us another chance to see Little Mix’s incredible rendition of Don’t Let Go, this time complete with trap door entrance. Marcus settled for some retro rubbish, at least giving him another chance to wear his luminous pink blazer and shoes, even if he does look like a more homo Kirby.
Xmas songs were up next, and Marcus appealed to all his straight fans by camping his way through Last Christmas. His vocals were iffy, but if there’s one thing Marcus can do well it’s Mother’s Day cheese. His song choice was completely obliterated by Little Mix’s, who took on a soulful version of Silent Night, wearing named woolly jumpers. The whole thing was so cute I just wanted to squeeze little Jade’s face until she alerted the authorities.
Och, no! Ah’ve forgotten what ah mean!
Westlife popped up to say their farewells, although Mark appears to have turned into what is known as a ‘bear’. Then it was time for the winner’s single. Early reports suggested that Gaz Baz had written a new song, but instead they’ve gone for Damien Rice’s Cannonball, each with a different production by Camden’s answer to Timbaland, Fazer from N-Dubz. To be fair to old Faze, he’s done a cracking job on both tracks, Marcus’s with a gospel feel, and the Little Moofins going for dat urban edge.
The X Factor has always been great at giving up-and-coming bands a platform to share their music, and this week a Devonshire based outfit called Coldplay delighted us with a couple of their songs. Not quite confident on their musical ability, the lads also gave out free fluoro wristbands to appease the masses. They’re gonna be big, I reckon. That frontman could even go on to marry a famous vegan.
And so, four hours later, it was time to announce the winner. Now, I don’t wanna say that my column has had an influence on the British public, but it must have done, because my all time favourites Little Mix became the first group to win the show. We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves, but seeing Perrie, Jade, Jesy and Leigh-Anne grow and improve as the competition went on felt like the start of something really special. This series has been criticised for its lack of talent and unnecessary drama, but in the end we have been given a potentially massive pop act, and we’ve even had a few laughs along the way.
Last year, I finished this series of columns as Cheryl Cole would have wanted: with a salute. It seems only fair that I celebrate this year’s winning judge, Tulisa, with some shameless self-promotion of my perfume with a gang sign. *raises arm* Chodeface by Rob Young: in no good stores now.
Will miss this!!
Good work. Including the captions.
they suck
This was a terrible article.
Great columns