Sunday, November 19, 2006

Idol wrap up: Grand Final

Howdy all. Redcap here again, since Petstarr is freezing her arse off in Chicago right now. Let's all say "ohhhhh" for Petstarr's arse, shall we?

All righty, here we are at Idol Stadium. Bang a gong, we are on! It's grand final time and Andrew G has grown a huge porn moustache for the occasion. "I am here... to clean... zee pooolll." It's a little on the bumfluffy side, though, as you'd expect from a muppet, and I can't help wondering whether he made it from Aquadhere and pubic hair that he found in the washing machine. Why doesn't anyone grow a nice handlebar moustache for Movember? Or something that could be waxed into evil little points and then twirled like a '20s film villain? I'd also accept an enormous muttonchop experiment, but that seems even less likely.


Let's see you make that from glue and pubes!

For some reason, the judges have been gagged tonight. With lolly snakes. Gypped! Um, are we sure Marcia should have anything with sugar food colouring in it? Where's the fire extinguisher, just in case?

Holden is, as usual, all kitted out in black - black suit, black shirt, black bowtie - except for a single white rose on his lapel. The rose is ridiculous. Is he trying to romance everyone's nanna? Doesn't he have to get back to his coffin full of dirt before sun-up?

Marcia is wearing a red top and a spangly black sleeveless thingie that may or may not be part of a dress and may also be her homage to Chairman Kaga. Forget the clothes, though - the the scary thing about Marcia tonight is that she appears to grabbed her Create-a-Bruise kit instead of her foundation jar. Or perhaps she just lost consciousness this morning when she opened the fridge door and spent the day face-down in the crisper drawer. Who knows.

Kyle appears to be bitterly disappointed that he won't be allowed to rip shit out of anyone tonight. Poor Kyle. He screeches something about having had plans to destroy us all and then bites the head off a snake.

Jess is going first, so we're treated to a blow-by-blow of her entire Idol journey. Again. Come on, people, I need to go to the loo here! Wind it up! But no such luck - we see everything from her dusty outback audition through the thongs incident and are even treated to some tears as she tells us how extremely proud she is of herself. Wait just a moment, Little Jess, is your head outgrowing its alloted space?

Finally This Is Your Life is over and Jess is ready for her first song, which is apparently THE Idol song, Night of My Life. She's wearing a cute little raspberry dress with one of those huge black leather belts that are running around on summer frocks at the moment and earrings that look suspiciously like IUDs with Swarovski dangles. Nice - disco contraception!

She opens her mouth and from the first note you can tell this song is going to be a turkey. In fact, it's godawful. I keep waiting for her to sing Time of My Life instead of Night of My Life. Christ, this song is dull. And I still need to go to the loo! Comfort stop, please, for pity's sake!

She finishes off with a warble and is ridiculously excited by her own performance. "It really makes you believe," she says. She's right, that song did make me believe. It made me believe in hell.

Oh, thank God! Loo break!

Oddly enough, Damien O'Tic-Tac is up next. What a surprise! Naturally, it's This Is Your Life - the Irish Years. Oh, his son's name is Jarvis. I don't know how that escaped my attention before - there's a shallow bush grave name if ever I heard one.

Finally, Mike Munro and his book are dragged off the stage using a large hook-shaped implement and Damo starts singing. He looks like he got out of bed 15 minutes before the show started, scratched his hair and said, "Fuckitthatlldo". Well done, Damo lad! I see you're adapting to the Aussie way.

He's chosen an Alex Lloyd song, Never Meant to Fail. He's pulled out his accoustic gee-tar and he's strumming away like a man possessed. The song's all right, but I usually find Alex Lloyd pretty boring. To be absolutely truthful, I've never taken to old Lloydy because he looks, well, retarded. I know, wash my mouth out.

The Irishman is also immensely pleased with himself and we cut to toilet time. After the break, Jess reappears and Dumb and Dumber announce she's singing a Christina Aguilera song. The raspberry dress and black leather scoliosis brace have been replaced with some rock chick kit she found in Amanda Street's locker. Jeans, good. Black T-shirt with white print, not bad. The problem starts with what appears to be a faux fur shrug. However, it could be a pair of black ferrets stapled to her shoulders in a salute to Alice Cooper. She tops it all off with another pair of IUD earrings (is she being sponsored by the Zero Population Growth Movement?) and hair that's as big as Texas. It's so big it looks like the hairdresser put a cheeseburger on her head as padding and then pulled the hair over the top for that extra je ne sais quoi.

Apparently the song is one of Little Jess's favourites and yes, it does give her a chance to show off her vocal range, but I'm still distracted by the live ferret epaullettes. I'm worried one of them will smell the pickles on that the cheeseburger, because then all bets will be off.

Just before we cut to the ad, they flick backstage to the Idols' mums. Aw, isn't that nice? The camp stylist has picked out dresses for them to wear to the Opera House next week. Obviously there was some concern that they wouldn't be able to dress themselves, since Jess's mum has rocked up in leopard print. She's done quite nicely out of it, though, with a dark blue dress, but Momma O'Leprachaun has really drawn the crow. Mrs Leith is in her 50s, has a fairly matronly figure and is a ginger, so naturally the camp stylist has picked a frock that would suit a 20-year-old in spew pink. I'm a bloodnut myself, so believe me when I say pink and ginger, uh-uh. Even though she's just been handed a dress suitable for Tramp Barbie, Mrs Leith says, "Oh, isn't it lovely, sure and begorrah". But I can see her plotting to set it on fire in her hotel room later and claim there was an accident with the iron.

Post-ad, Damo's up again and he's doing Ben Harper's Waiting for an Angel. Wearing a poo-coloured suede jacket. Mm, nothing says "class" like poo-coloured suede. He kicks it off and Bloke growls something about him knowing his demographic, mentions vomit and stalks outside for a cigarette. If the Irishman was aiming for the demographic that likes The Furies, then he was bang on the money. The falsetto makes its first appearance of the evening, but it seems a bit tired. Sorry, old sport, not convinced. I thought he did a good job of Nessun Dorma last week, and Crying had me in raptures, but tonight he's looking pretty mediocre.

Ad break time again and, HELLO SAILOR! It's an ad for House. Ahh. I know it's a repeat, but I heart House so with his snarkiness and his stubble.

One of the other ads in this block is for something called an iCush. Apparently, you can plug your iPod into it and then enjoy the music vibrating through your arse. I just can't help thinking of the press release I saw last year for the iBuzz, a vibrator that plugs into your iPod. Frankly, I'm a little bored with things you can plug into your iPod. When you can plug it into a robot bartender who looks like George Clooney and mixes a mean mojito, call me.

Oh, and the poor little Idols! They whored them all out to make hamburgers for McHappy Day. But I suppose Lisa should get used to it, since it's her likely career path. Kyle jumps at the chance to speak, claiming that he's a cone man. He refuses to mop toilets, he refuses to make chips. He just does cones and drivethrough. Does Kyle come from Adelaide? I think that’s usually the order it happens here, too. Then he points out that the Macca’s people don’t like you to wear the cardboard hats upside down and full of chips. Oh yes, cones are a distinct possibility. Just eat the snakes, Kyle, and the munchies will go away.

Jess minces out wearing black skinnies and a purply-pink velvet jacket that's really quite flattering. And, thank God, she's pulled out a song that has a bit of life: Shining Down On Me. She sounds good and its her best effort for the night. When it's over, she simpers a lot. Just for something completely different.

More ads. Ha, I don't mind that one for the air freshener. It would stand to reason that an octopus household would smell a tad fishy, wouldn't it?

The final song of the night is Damien singing the same unspired piece of tripe that Jess opened with, except he makes it sound like Paul McCartney's No More Lonely Nights. ~shudder~ The song is such a bloody lame duck that even a half-blind, toothless, arthritic red setter would say, “Shit, man, I could catch that duck, but it just wouldn't be fair.” Who wrote this twaddle?

The Irishman appears to be embarrassed by being associated with it, because his voice cracks nastily in the second stanza, but since all three judges have slipped into diabetic comas from too many lolly snakes, there'll be no bitchery about it. But we heard, Damo. We heard. The rest of the song sounds like someone has him by the dim sims and is twisting. By the end, he actually seems to be screaming in pain.

The Organ Grinder's Monkey taunts him by saying, "It's pretty exciting, isn't it, thinking that that could be your first single?" Hmm, let's see. No? In fact, I think Damo might be asking all his friends to vote AGAINST him just so he doesn't have to have anything to do with that steaming turd of a song. If you love the Irishman, vote him out! Do it for Tic-Tac Teeth.

Not that it will probably be necessary, though, since it's clear that Jess has outclassed him, despite the ferret epaulette incident. They both tried to make the best of the Idol song, but you know the old saying: you just can't polish a turd.

Righto, off to the Opera House next week. Tag, Raoul - you're it.

PS Did anyone watch Dance Idol, sorry, So You Think You Can Dance? It looks like the auditions could be as funny as a hatful of arseholes since the female half of the first couple appeared to have 18 inches of spaghetti attached to each boob. She doesn't seem to be able to swing it in opposite directions, though, so she'll lose points there. Over and out.



7 comments :

  1. Thank you for outing Alex Lloyd. I thought I was the only person who thinks he should be doing Wednesday night sets at the Prince Albert for all eternity.
    He and Pete Murray could collaborate on a project; maybe release an album called "Dull".

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  2. How bloody awful is that song!
    I think Damien's arrangement was better than Jess's, but still, DISMAL.

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  3. I too thought Damo's version of the crap idol song was better, if nothing else because it wasn't so much of a dirge.

    Did anyone else notice that Damo O'Tooth may have had some dental work done? Or was I just dreaming?

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  4. good call re muppet mcgee's moustache. it was all so boring I had a nanna-nap and woke to see some of the best and worst dancing ever on the show that followed - I think I've found my new addiction...

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  5. drew, forgot to agree with you. We went to see Alex LLoyd at Hobart City Hall (a dog of a venue) some years ago. Eskimo Joe were pretty unknown then and they opened and they rocked, but we left about 20 minutes after Alex started because it was just so ...dull

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  6. Drew, you're right, right, bloody well right. But I'd quite like to see Alex Lloyd and Pete Murray collaborate on a project called, "Wrist Slashers (I want to die)". Their songs inspire that feeling in me all the time.

    Steph, ooh, yeah. Damien's arrangement probably was better, but didn't you think he had his goolies caught in the wringer while he was singing it?

    Zzap, no, didn't notice the tooth thing. I was concentrating on the "just woke up, sure and begorrah" hair.

    Foodkitty, I would have had a nanna nap too, if I could have. And I have a horrible feeling that that dancing thing might be my new addition too. Bloke will not be impressed.

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  7. Just when I thought I'd come through with the funny, redcap presents, takes a couple of practice swings and blows the fucking pill straight out into the stratosphere. You had me laughing out loud at the "I'm a bloodnut, so pink is a no no," part. Well, the penguin suit is at the dry cleaners, BRING ON THE GRAND FINALE AND LET'S BRING THIS BABY HOME. WHO'S WITH ME!!!!!!!!

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