Cross fingers, pray for Avenged Sevenfold

Hooray, it's rock week on the X Factor tomorrow!! Your playsheet is here.

Yes, it's going to be a whole evening of what ITV1 calls "ROCK" (or sometimes "rawk"): a bit of Queen, perhaps? (Well actually yes, we know there's going to be a bit of Queen). Maybe one or two Bon Jovis and, er... Razorlight? This week is either going to be incredible (if Olly does 'God Gave Rock and Roll to You' I'll be on cloud nine) or as dull as Danyl.

My main X Factor-related annoyance of this week has been the sheer number of intelligent people (including my own bonk-eyed future husband Russell Howard) who've said something along the lines of "I hope everyone votes for Jedward, just to annoy Simon Cowell! Haha, I bet he's fuming! LOL!"

He owns the damn production company, you fools. More controversy = more votes = more money for the Cowell. He wouldn't give a flying monkey if Jedward turned out to be the new Hitler Youth and won the series with a stirring rendition of The Fight Song by Marilyn Manson - it's all money for him, and it doesn't mean Jedward will suddenly take over the charts. After the Christmas single, they'll disappear quicker than you can say "identical twin Steve Brooksteins".

If you want to annoy Cowell, just don't vote for anyone. Simple as that.

Of course, this doesn't mean we shouldn't all keep watching it, completing our playsheets and dialling in our make-believe "votes" with a series of elaborate mimes. Down with capitalism, etc. Until the final couple of weeks, obviously. Ahem.

'Up' will make you feel down, but also up. What?

It's hard to tell people about a good film without giving away bits of it, and I'm not a movie reviewer by trade ("NO WAY" - the world) so this is going to be quite rubbish, but I need to tell you to watch Up at the cinema, because it's ace.

It's not just ace in the same way that other Disney Pixar films are ace. Yes, it looks nice: the animation of humans has come on leaps and bounds in just ten years, and the scenery might as well be live-action in parts. But it's the story that's really a cut above, and it's certainly the most mature offering Disney Pixar has given us.

In case you don't know, Up is a film about an elderly man, Carl, who attaches helium balloons to his house and floats away to explore South America. He unintentionally brings a small boy with him, and meets an exotic bird and a talking dog. As I say, it's properly mature (honestly, it is).

The fight scenes and elaborate set-pieces were obviously crowbarred in to keep the kids happy, and they're the weakest points of the film. The rest of it is incredible.

It was clearly made for grown-ups: Up is a film about getting old, about loneliness, love, companionship, death and letting go of the past. It's about "living the dream", but it's also about how life gets in the way of living the dream, and about how that doesn't necessarily matter - you should appreciate the dream you're living, not hanker after the one you missed out on. I know that sounds terribly corny the way I say it, but the film makes quite a subtle point of it, and doesn't drown itself in mawkishness.

Having said that, it's terribly sad. I was welling up from about ten minutes in, and cried on and off throughout the rest of the film. The way Carl is introduced and earns your sympathy is... well, it's done really really well. (This Film 2009 lark is tougher than it looks, okay?)

It's not just the opening scenes though. There are probably three or four desperately affecting moments throughout the rest of the film. I won't go into detail about these scenes because it would give too much away, but let's just say that if I ever get married there is no WAY I'm having a personalised post-box with handprints on it. NO WAY.

Anyway, you should go and see it. It's truly astounding, and you will cry, but you will also laugh a bit, and go "ah bless".

And the professional movie reviewers of the world sleep soundly in their beds yet again.

Poor reasoning, brilliant songs

1. Groove Armada, I Won't Kneel

If David Bowie and Annie Lennox had a baby together, and that baby was a song, that song/baby would look and sound exactly like this.

Update: You can completely ruin the meaning of this song in your head if you imagine she's singing "I won't, Neil."



2. Marina and the Diamonds, Mowgli's Road

If Marina formed a band with some diamonds, that band recorded a song called Mowgli's Road, and a completely mad person was allowed to direct the video, that song/video would look and sound exactly like this.

AA Gill: Baboon boy

AA Gill (Jeremy Clarkson's friend and restaurant reviewer for The Times) has shot a baboon for fun. It's not the kind of thing you expect to hear, but it's true.

When I first heard about this (through Twitter of course), I'm proud to say that my reaction was one of perspective and good humour. People shoot other humans for fun sometimes, or because they've been told to by a vengeful or greedy government, or they shoot elephants for ivory, or drop cats from multi-storey carparks. Unless it's a large-scale tragedy or something that affects your own day-to-day life, if you get upset about all these little things you'll end up mad.

It's the kind of thing that provokes a series of jokes rather than proper outrage, as it probably should do if you just hear the sentence "AA Gill has shot a baboon for fun." Baboon is a funny word, for starters - how can you not ridicule a story that contains the word 'baboon'? It sounds like balloon.

But if you read the offending article, where AA himself (Christ knows what it stands for and I'm not going to look it up) tells us all about his baboon-shooting experience, it's impossible to stay calm for long.

It's his attitude that bothers me the most, like he did the whole thing for an amusing anecdote, thinking he's oh-so-clever and terribly rebellious and everyone will love him for it. He blames his bloodlust on the fact that he was wearing a hat (not quite as funny as Jedward's "our suits were too red" excuse, but twice as deadly), and describes the whole thing as "naughty fun". Sigh...

Of course, anyone who complains about this will sound like a "tiresome and predictable animal lover" (quoting one of the comments on the Times website), but ho-hum. Ending a life because you think it makes you funny, or it gives you a sense of power, is pretty tiresome and predictable too.

We'll use the one thing we've got more of...

YIKES. Yesterday the NME website ran a story about Jarvis Cocker - it's like 1998 all over again (only they probably didn't have a website in 1998).

The upshot of it is that Pulp could be reforming to play next year's Glastonbury - Jarvis has even gone so far as to say "there'll be a band reunion." Mind you, this quote came from The People, so I'm taking it with a pinch of salt.

I hope it's true though. I hope it's true like I hope I'll live past the age of 40, and like I hope Russell Howard will one day move into the flat next door to me. It must happen. IT WILL HAPPEN.

Pulp were always seen as part of the whole (rubbish word alert) Britpop movement of the mid to late 90s, but I saw them as more of a pop act, with an edge. Yes, they had guitars and whatnot, but that wasn't really their sound as such.

The rest of Britpop was full of your Oasises, your Great-Escape-era Blurs, your Casts, your Dodgys - a wall of guitar noise with a rabble-rousing shout over the top of it all. Brilliant in its way, and God knows those bands gave us some classics (well, Oasis did), but Pulp were... well, a different class (sorry).

Britpop was all about being working class and young, for the most part. It was a reaction to 18 years of Tory government, the workers rising up against their oppression, a design for life and all that. Oasis made the most of the image that British working class people are sweary, ignorant, football-obsessed and violent towards their siblings. Blur went for the cheeky cockney angle, perhaps a bit cleverer (they talked about art every now and then) but mainly up-the-apples-and-pears mindless babble (I'm talking The Great Escape here).

But Pulp weren't afraid to tell the world that, yes, they were working class but they were also the most intelligent band around. Jarvis might not have been talking party politics in every interview, but the way he expressed himself in every lyric was poetic. Every song on Different Class is a melodic masterpiece of well-expressed frustration, sexual confusion, and a desire to break through the confines of their class - not to "make it" or become famous, but simply to get away from the ignorant loons.

Jarvis obviously had issues with feeling he was somehow better than his peers, but his fans could relate to him - he didn't sound cocky or over-confident, just frustrated. "Can't you see a giant walks among you, seeing through your petty lives?" (from I Spy) is the kind of line that, delivered by Jarvis, doesn't make you think "what kind of arse would say that?" - it makes you think "wow, the people he's talking about must be scum."

The sound of Pulp was the sound of a geeky, awkward overgrown teenager trapped in his bedroom, reading poetry and thinking about girls. But it was also the sound of me and my schoolfriends bellowing the lyrics to Mis-Shapes after one too many Lambrinis, and it was the sound of a whole subculture of young people trying to tell the world that we weren't all halfwits.

And, judging by the way young British people are viewed now, and how many of those young people must be screaming out for understanding, we need Jarvis and his band more than ever. Please come back, Pulp - we miss you.

Friday minus four

I don't know if you've noticed, but it's Monday. Mondays are bad, but we can save ourselves from the Monday blues with a sweet and cheery little song. Here we go.



There, that's better. Now back to work.

Westdeath

So, Miss Frank have become this year's X Factor sacrificial lambs. They might as well have made Dermot point straight down the camera lens and scream "You didn't vote, did you?! DID YOU?!?!! NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE, YOU ABSOLUTE SET OF BASTARDS. I hope you're pleased with yourselves", and then flounce off as if he's never going to talk to us again.

Surprisingly, the part of last night's results show that's likely to give me the most nightmares over the coming weeks and months, and will appear in the crayon drawings I do for my therapist when I've finally managed to block it out of my conscious mind, was Rave Westlife.

Observe:



I can't decide whether it's a visual imagining of what an epileptic fit feels like, or Westlife's artistic interpretation of death. Either way, by the end of it I was wishing I had a glowstick and whistle to hand, if only to drown out the terrifying sights and sounds. No offence.

Next week is 'Rock Week' - how exciting! Any ideas what Jedward might do? I'm hoping for Creep by Radiohead. I can already picture the dance moves.

John: (Pointing to self, smiling) "Cos I'm a creep!"

Edward: (Pointing to self, smiling) "I'm a weirdo!"

John: (Doing massive comedy shrug, hands by ears) "What the hell am I doing here?"

Edward: (Shaking head) "I don't belong here!"

(They both do jazz hands while swapping over to other side of stage).

Calculators out: it's X Factor time

Do you find having to juggle a full-time job, kids, family life, housework etc gets on top of you sometimes? You just try juggling three text conversations, Twitter and a very complicated scoring system, baking a cake and keeping one eye on the TV screen for two hours - then you'll know what REAL hardship is.

This is what I was doing last night, watching the increasingly brilliant X Factor accompanied by a clipboard and calculator. It's perhaps more of an administration duty than a light entertainment programme these days.

Olly: A great start to the show, but why do they keep putting him on at the beginning? It's almost like they want him to leave - has he done something to upset Simon? Encroached on his "turf" with the ladies or something? Anyway, 582 percent and the runaway winner again.

Lloyd: This child is out of his depth and he needs to leave, for his own sake as well as mine. Cheryl's obviously worrying that none of her acts have a 'signature move' like the Ollydance, hence the backflip - he should do it every week now, and in slow motion during ballads.

Miss Frank: Hooray for Miss Frank, and for Graziella coming onstage with her nan's walking stick and doing a rap about life. Was this two-weeks-of-jeopardy-followed-by-massive-comeback thing planned by Louis from the outset? Is he really an evil genius? Hmmmm...

Rachel: A better dress this week, sensible hair (I think I preferred it when it was all mad), a good song, and she's adopted Stacey's personality for the Dermot interview. She still won't get any votes.

Jamie: ABSENCE OF TEATOWEL ALERT. But perhaps the teatowel contained all his superpowers, for this week Jamie is bottom of the league with minus 174 percent. I don't think his performance was as bad as, say, Lloyd's, but Jamie loses points for hair and disingenuousness (I told you it was a complicated scoring system).

Stacey Fromdagenham: Please don't keep crying in your video introductions, Stacey - the stiff-upper-lipped British public won't stand for it and you'll be out on your ear.

Danyl: I hate this man more and more each week. Dull dull dull dull dull. "I'm a massive Michael Buble fan", he says - OH REALLY, WHAT AN INTERESTING SURPRISE.

Joe: I didn't like the idea of Joe being "sexed up" for this song. Thank heavens it didn't work or we'd all be arrested. Should have done a backflip.

Lucie: I keep forgetting this girl's name, which probably isn't a good sign, but she was quite good this week. I still wouldn't buy one of her albums in a million years.

Jedward: What can I say about Jedward? Their excuses for last week's performance range from "he touched my microphone" to "our suits were too red", but it was still essential viewing. This week, surrounded by all the out-of-work dancers in London and relying on a backing track that basically did all their singing for them, Jedward were brilliant yet again, in an entirely untalented way. I've said it before and I'll say it again: the day they stay in the competition at Olly's, Stacey's or Miss Frank's expense, I will hunt them down and shoot them in the face, but until that day comes they are more than welcome to stick around and entertain me.


So, again this week's "vote" goes to Olly Murs, although Lucie, Miss Frank and Stacey were all brilliant as well. Lloyd simply HAS to be in the bottom two or I will cry. And I wouldn't be surprised if Rachel was there again too - I'd be much happier if not a single person in the UK voted for Jamie or Danyl, but I can't see this happening.

Results show tonight at 8pm and I'm going to be out, so can someone please text me and tell me what's going on? Cheers.

"They've stolen ALL our jobs!"

I was just about to have a go at those pesky tabloids again, for having the nerve to complain about the BNP when all they do is legitimise and normalise precisely the same views as Nick Griffin espouses, only in a slightly more underhanded way.

But the enemies of reason blog got there first (it's my fault really, for doing a day's work yesterday - this will not be happening again) and expressed it in such a way that there's really no point in me doing it too. I'd just read that if I were you - it's brilliant.

Bonk-eyed future husband

Poor Russell Howard, having to air the first episode of his brand new series - Russell Howard's Good News - at the same time as the most-talked-about episode of Question Time there has ever been. Even I, his biggest fan (*stares into middle distance while toying with a mallet*), had to watch it on the iPlayer late last night.

But I'd definitely recommend it for next week: it's like a cross between the best bits of Mock The Week (the Russell Howard bits) and Harry Hill's TV Burp. It's mainly new material, as far as I can work out, but with a definite air of Russell's stand-up stuff, where he tells us that the world doesn't have to be made up of bigots and stupidity, and that there is always good news if you look for it.

If nothing else, he's living proof that you can have a wonky eye without being all bitter and racist about it.

More exciting than anything

Popjustice have really outdone themselves with this week's X Factor playsheet, which is truly a work of genius. Not only does it demand for some very unflattering crayon drawings of each member of the over-25s category (sorry Olly), the scoresheet's astonishing detail allows for marks out of a possible 990 percent.

HOW CAN YOU RESIST?! (You can't).

Download here, print it off, complete it, and keep it forever in your X Factor scrapbook alongside a lock of Dermot's hair and your psychiatrist's report.

Charisma my arse

Nick "I'm not a racist" Griffin

Tonight's Question Time wasn't perfect, and not just because it featured Nick Griffin, as part of his campaign to be seen as "the acceptable face of the BNP" (according to a BBC report). Seriously, if that's an acceptable face then I'm Martin Luther King.

It would have been nice if Jack Straw had given a straight answer to the reasonable question of why people aren't turning out to vote, if only to demonstrate how far removed Labour is from the duplicitous, slippery BNP. Whatever you think of the mainstream parties, it MUST be emphasised that the BNP is a whole different animal, otherwise we're doomed - Straw certainly didn't help to erase the view that "these politicians are all the same, you can't trust any of them". In fact, when asked whether he was trustworthy, Griffin took great pleasure in making this point - if you don't trust him, that makes him just the same as the rest of them, and equally worth voting for.

And it was unfortunate that the only Labour MP who agreed to share a stage with Griffin was Jack Straw, giving Fat Hitler a cheap shot at the invasion of Iraq - it might be old news now, and Griffin was clutching at straws, but it still had an impact.

Generally though, I thought Griffin was asked all the right questions by an articulate and passionate audience, and was handed his own arse on a plate. He came across as ill-informed, out of his depth and desperate. And there were at least two occasions when he made an ultra-despicable statement and David Dimbleby actually did a double-take and made him repeat himself.

He must have broken a record for the number of times one person has ever claimed to have been misquoted. And, when Dimbleby challenged him with "actually you haven't been misquoted - we've seen footage of you saying these things", he left Griffin looking baffled. One thing he didn't deny, though, was that he was a holocaust denier. I hope the people who voted for this man in the European elections listened very carefully to that bit.

His attempts to act the jolly non-racist and nervously laugh along with Bonnie Greer were pitiful and more cringeworthy than an episode of The Office. And, speaking of Greer, I thought she was the star of the show - dignified, well-informed, sharp and unflappable. I loved her remark about the British public having too much common sense to vote for these bastards.

When, five minutes before the end, Dimbleby said he wanted to steer away from talking about the BNP and broached the subject of Jan Moir's Daily Mail article, I was disappointed - I felt that Griffin hadn't been given quite enough rope to hang himself with yet, and it was a shame it all had to end. But then, what's this I hear? "The sight of two men kissing is revolting"; "what they do behind closed doors, blah blah blah"... brilliant, Nick. I imagine a lot of BNP supporters are just in it for the racism - I'm glad you reminded them that you're a homophobic party too. Perhaps next time you can go for the misogynist angle as well. Amazing.

As a final insult, Griffin praised the democratic system that allowed him to share his views on a mainstream BBC programme, as if he wouldn't tear down that very same democracy if he ever got into power himself.

I enjoyed watching Griffin sweat it out over an hour of perfectly justifiable torture. But I have no idea how I'd have viewed that hour if I was a BNP supporter, or a potential one. Would his sweaty, shaky-handed, shifty delivery have convinced me of anything? Would I have been applauding his comments about immigration? I really don't know, but if he was the charismatic leader I was worried he might be, things would have been a lot worse.

Spoiler alert

Inside info coming in from Question Time studio:

When Nick Griffin and Bonnie Greer first met this afternoon, they shook hands and Griffin's palms ACTUALLY DISINTEGRATED like when Harry Potter touches Professor Quirrell at the end of Philosopher's Stone. When you watch it tonight, you'll notice that he's wearing the hands of one of his lackeys, who sacrificed them for the cause (all BNP members are contractually obliged to do this in such an emergency).

This is all 100% true.

Mental

Last week, Neighbours introduced an OCD storyline by having Zeke (above), completely out of the blue, carefully line up all the biros on his desk. There was no suggestion of any impending mental illness before this, and we were told that something was horribly wrong with the use of a sinister "Zeke is going all OCD" backing track, which has been used a few times since then. Yesterday, he went completely bonkers and suddenly everyone is worried for him.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't storylines like this be a bit more sensitively handled?

Unfortunately, I suffer from a mental illness myself. It's quite rare, but it's called Neighbours Storyline Delusion Disorder and it prevents me from complaining about Neighbours in any meaningful way. It's impossible - I start saying "good heavens, that was an implausible storyline" but choke mid-sentence and end up making some kind of garbled reference to irony or something.

So if someone else could watch it this week and complain loudly on my behalf, I'd be very grateful. Thanks.

Fat Hitler goes to London

So, today's the day. This evening, Nick Griffin's going to appear on Question Time, the first time a spokesperson from the BNP has been given such a public platform on British TV. I'm quite nervous.

Unfortunately, I am exactly the kind of bleeding-heart liberal that believes Griffin and his ilk should be allowed to speak their so-called "minds". As long as they don't stir up a riot while they're doing it, they should have the same rights to free speech as the rest of us. And hopefully, tonight's debate will show Griffin up as the deranged idiot he clearly is. But... what if it doesn't?

I've never heard Nick Griffin speak at length about his despicable views, but presumably he's pretty convincing when he wants to be. He's the leader of a political party, he's used to public speaking (although he normally preaches to the converted), and he's confident that his views are the right views to have, and that the rest of us are deluded. A person can have the most revolting opinions, and the most ridiculous manifesto for "improving" the way we live, but if they're a charismatic enough leader, people will follow. Now, who does that remind me of...? Begins with an H? Vegetarian, leader of the Third Reich? Oh yeah, him.

Supporters of the BBC in the past few weeks have been saying that, as soon as Griffin is given the chance to humiliate himself in public, he'll lose support, and that could be true if he's as stupid as he looks. But I can't help worrying that it's easier to talk a vulnerable person into supporting the BNP than it is to talk a current supporter out of it. I hope I'm wrong.

Will you stop, or will you just keep going?

Songwriter: "Hi there, I've got a pretty rubbish generic dance song here - it's called 'About a girl' and I thought it could go to Cascada or something. Actually it's not that good, maybe I'll just chuck it in the bin."

Record company 'exec': "No, hang on - that can go to the Sugababes, they're looking for a new single."

S: "Oh no, it's not nearly good enough for them. I mean, I don't know much about the Sugababes but, in their original incarnation, didn't they co-write and sing 'Overload', one of the most sophisticated pop songs of its era? I mean, weren't they talented singers and songwriters who wanted to show the world what they could do without resorting to half-baked Lady Gaga knock-offs?"

RCE: "Well yes, I suppose."

S: "And, where other girlgroups generally fail, weren't their ballads actually quite good as well? I mean, it was the Sugababes who did 'Stronger', wasn't it? That was incredible."

RCE: "Yes true, but they've gone off the boil a bit recently."

S: "So we're not talking about the same Sugababes who recorded 'About you now' in 2007 then? And 'Get sexy' was pretty interesting for a pop song, wasn't it?"

RCE: "Sigh... no one's interested in the music any more - they're just talking about which Sugababe will be the next to leave the group. Do you want the money for this pile of crap or not?"

S: "Of course I do. I was just saying."

Nothing to do with Derren Brown

A year ago, if you'd said "this time next year, a high-profile domestically-abused popstar will be releasing a song about being domestically abused, in order to make money", it would have seemed like a terrifying vision of a future so far removed from the way life and the universe should operate we'd have been scrabbling around trying to prevent it from happening. But it is happening.

Rihanna seems like a nice enough girl, but there is something horrifyingly wrong about her new single, premiered today on http://www.rihannanow.com/. The song is a story about a girlfriend playing Russian roulette at the request of her bloke, as a test of her loyalty to him. "I know that I must pass this test", she sings; "it's too late to think of the value of my life."

I'm not saying that songs, by women, about being abused by men and how glamorous it all is, haven't been warbled since the beginning of pop ('He hit me and it felt like a kiss', anyone?) but this might be just a bit too close for comfort. Listen to it and you'll get what I mean.

I don't think this is Rihanna's fault, mind you. I think anyone who has recently come out of an abusive relationship could be forgiven for taking a while to get over it, and for perhaps being a bit easily-led and easily talked into making the wrong decisions. It's Rihanna's managers and record company people I blame: at the very least, she's being marketed as "the girl that got beat up", almost as though, soon after the Chris Brown incident, they had a meeting about how to make the best of a bad situation and ended it rubbing their hands with glee. I can't imagine how Rihanna feels inside when she sings this song - if it was me, I wouldn't be able to get through the first chorus.

Unfortunately, musically it's quite good. It's no Umberella-ella-ella, but it's melodic, sinister and dramatic, and keeps you listening until the chilling climax. But it should never have been written, and certainly not for a woman whose boyfriend was smacking her in the face with a pistol nine months ago.

This is not how you spell dominoes

Here's something I've always wondered about. When you get adverts like the one above, where the backing is a brilliant but previously-unheard-of song by a previously-unheard-of band (well, I'd previously not heard of them, but then I get most of my new music from Popjustice and Friday Night With Jonathan Ross), who pays whom?

I mean, I'm sure loads of people have downloaded that song who'd never otherwise have heard of it, so should their record label be paying XBox and Sky for the publicity? Or is it a simple "we want to use your song so we're paying you for its use" transaction? Or do these cancel each other out so much that you've basically got one company saying to the other, "actually we're both going to come out of this ad campaign looking pretty damn cool so shall we just call it even?"

Anyway, the song is Dominos by The Big Pink (the mis-spelling is their fault, not mine), and it's on iTunes if you want it. The verses aren't as good as the chorus, but it sits very nicely on my iPod between 'Do ya' by McFly and 'Don't you want me baby' by the Human League.

Fat Hitler

So, the BNP membership list has leaked online again. It contains not only the names of all members, but also their addresses and phone numbers. There is something vaguely depressing about this.

Yes, the BNP wants to be taken seriously as a political party and they cannot be allowed to do this with such a cloak-and-dagger approach to membership. If they feel they are doing nothing wrong, their membership list should be in the public domain. Anyone who's in the police force as well as the BNP should be held to account.

But I can't help thinking that the list has been leaked with the intention of a strangely left-wing vigilante campaign (or at least an impolite phonecall or two), and as soon as this happens we lose the moral high ground. This happened last week with Jan Moir's Daily Mail article too: no sooner had Twitter been flooded with complaints, it had also been flooded with Moir's home address. Did your mothers never tell you that this makes you as bad as them, eh?

Of course, there's also something depressing about the fact that the BNP membership list contains thousands of names. Thousands. *Puke*.

When Nick Griffin appears on Question Time this week, there will be extra security at the BBC, to protect him from the wrath of protesters. I'd love it if they all just stood perfectly still, cross-armed, frowning and tutting loudly, rather than reinforcing Griffin's view that we're all the same angry bastards underneath it all.

Guardian article: Twenty questions for the BNP.

Fewer "woah woah woah"s, more "oo-oooo"s

So, away from the subject of a particular TV talent show that I'm not going to mention again this week, and on to other spectacular music-related things.

Above, you'll find my absolute favourite live music performance ever. I've been watching it a lot recently, and making other people watch it too. And now it's your turn. HA.

When Take That originally recorded their cover of Could It Be Magic, back in 1991 I think, it was a pretty nasty disco mix, soulless and unimaginative but fun enough to get them on Saturday morning kids' TV and Radio 1. But in 2007, they cut things right down to the original Barry Manilow arrangement when they performed it live, and it was theatrical, creative and gorgeous in the most astounding way.

The stage show for this performance is perfect. I love how it starts off with just Barlow at the piano, then he's joined by some kind of magician character who metaphorically brings with him Pandora's box (only with some dancers and the rest of Take That inside it, rather than all the evils of the universe) and a hat. A few extras start to languidly wander about the stage, and then, as the music builds, so does the production.

It happens so gradually you barely notice, but partway through the song the drums come in and suddenly you've got confetti and feathery women standing on the rings of Saturn, and the whole thing is going properly mental. Mark Owen starts doing some astonishing shouty ad-libs and all is right with the world.

And it's not just the performance that really gets me - musically, it's all kinds of incredible too. I love the start of the second chorus, as the outer platform raises up, and the strings really add quite a sinister element to the song in places (I think I might be talking about minor chords here, but I'm probably wrong), giving me goosebumps every time I watch it. And Barlow's piano-work is flawless.

And then, almost as gradually as it built up, it slowly goes all quiet again, the extras leave the stage and we're left with four men around a piano, harmonising like their lives depend on it.

I saw them performing this live, and it took my breath away. And it was during this song that I took this photo of Jason (below), which is my favourite photo I've ever taken at a concert.

So, there you have it - my review of an amazing Take That performance, two years ago, of a song they recorded 16 years previously. Piggerish: Always first with the breaking news.

You know you love him, you can't understand...

I couldn't give you Cheryl's performance without also showing you Olly Murs and his awesome Tina Turner rendition (just in case you didn't see it, or you somehow missed the dance move - in this clip at around the 1:37 mark). If nothing else, it will make you smile.

I swear that's the last time I'll mention the X Factor this week. Honest.

Cheryl 1, Whitney 0

Me: "Cheryl's performance was 110 percent brilliant, but she could barely see out from under that massive hat."

My dad: "She was wearing a hat?"

It's not right, but it's okay

Yes, I completed my Popjustice X Factor playsheet, and bloody good fun it was too. Want to know what I think of all the acts on this week's show? No? Go away then.

Lucie: I’m sorry but this girl is just boring. She seems like a nice enough person and everything, but if being nice was the way to win X Factor we’d all be winners. Apart from… well, you know who you are.

Olly: This gentleman is going to get top marks every week (he gave it 358 percent tonight) until that dance move starts to bore me. I LOVE that Tina Turner song, and his attitude. His performance generally was TOP NOTCH.

Miss Frank: Boring, and I never thought I’d say that about these girls. This is Louis’s influence, even from beyond Stephen Gately’s grave.

Rachel: This girl is always falling arse over tit, and I love her for it. And she was borrowing Dannii’s hairpiece at the same time as Dannii was wearing it. Derren Brown's split-screen technique is to blame for this.

Joe: I don’t know if anyone remembers this, but last week Joe was wearing a massive hoodie-and-coat combo, and this week he’s wearing a duffel coat. He won’t feel the benefit, you know. Good performance though – well done Joe.

Danyl: This man has the charisma of a flannel, and I don’t know why the camera people assume I want to look down his throat so much – I’m not his GP, ffs.

Lloyd: I can’t repeat here what I texted to Sarah while this performance was happening. Suffice to say, I didn’t enjoy it. Minus 64 points from me, and bottom of the league: if he won’t do high notes, he’s never going to be a decent singer. In my professional opinion (ahem).

John and Edward (henceforth "Jedward"): I think the tide is turning on these pillocks – I refer, of course, to the "get Jedward off the X Factor" tide, which has turned into the "harhar, Jedward are actually quite funny and a lot more interesting than SOME OF THEM (Danyl)" tide.

Rikki: This chap still baffles me, and I still don’t approve of his eyebrow. Quote from Danni: “I see a bit of Will Young in you.” Homophobe.

Jamie: If the definition of “talented singer” is “odd little man with a creepy face, who takes himself very seriously, and has an invisible gospel choir and an unexplained teatowel hanging out of his trousers” then Jamie is a talented singer.

Stacey Fromdagenham: Second place with 248 points, Stacey would have benefited from a better song but is otherwise brilliant. Am I the only one who wants to see her as Doctor Who’s next companion?

So, according to my scoresheet Rikki and Lloyd should be the bottom two this week, but I have a bad feeling about Miss Frank and Rachel. I really enjoyed Jedward but could never bring myself to vote for them, so this week's vote* goes to Olly Murs, bless him and his double-jointed ankles. Who agrees with me?


* Not an actual vote.

"You are paying to get that snake dry cleaned"

WHY OH WHY OH WHY is the Peep Show series 1-6 box set not released until November 2nd? WHY?!??!?!

I know why - it's because series 6 hasn't finished on the telly yet, but seriously I am almost as angry about this as I have been about Gatelygate and various other things that have happened this week.

That is all I have to say on the matter.

Peep Show series 6 'new sofa' clip. Brilliant.

Things to make and do

God I love Popjustice. As if 'diva week' on the X Factor wasn't exciting enough in and of itself, you can play along at home (this week and every week, hopefully, unless they get bored of it like they did last year - I STILL HAVEN'T FORGIVEN YOU, POPJUSTICE) with the X Factor playsheet.

Click the link here, download it, print it and send me a photo of your completed masterwork, and/or "tweet" it (see, I'm down with the kids) to @Popjustice. Or just do it for your own amusement. Good luck and God speed.

Gatelygate, Daily Mail-style

And, talking of tabloid journalists being basically [word I can't say in case my mum ever reads this], this article has appeared in the Daily Mail today, written by Jan Moir.

Headed "Why there was nothing 'natural' about Stephen Gately's death", it is essentially a very long, very libellous insinuation that Stephen Gately died because of his "dark appetites" and "private vice".

AND I QUOTE (somewhat angrily):

"The sugar coating on this fatality is so saccharine-thick that it obscures whatever bitter truth lies beneath."

"And I think if we are going to be honest, we would have to admit that the circumstances surrounding his death are more than a little sleazy."

The circumstances of his death are (as far as we, a bunch of people who didn't know him, are aware): he went out drinking, might have smoked a joint (according to the article this has "just been revealved", as if it were the most shocking thing since Hitler), and they brought another man back to their flat. If a straight couple had gone out for a drink and wound up taking a friend home (to lend them a copy of Top Gun or whatever) no one would bat an eyelid, least of all the Daily Mail.

Possibly the most horrific part of this article (although it's a close call) is this: "Another real sadness about Gately's death is that it strikes another blow to the happy-ever-after myth of civil partnerships." WHY does it? Seriously, WHY?!??!? And I haven't just whipped that quotation out of the article and refused to contextualise it - if you read the whole thing through, you'll see how baffling it is and how this statement goes entirely unexplained.

There's nothing new about Britain's right-wing press being homophobic (shock horror, Daily Mail doesn't like the gays). But this is stooping to new lows: it accuses a dead man of leading a seedy lifestyle, but it also expresses and legitimises everything the Daily Mail's readers were probably already thinking about gay people: if they can't lead a 'natural' life, they certainly can't have a 'natural' death.

It's this kind of thing that reinforces my belief that there is no God. If there were, it would be people like Jan Moir who ended up choking on their own bile, not Stephen Gately.

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Update: Following the inevitable and amazing uproar this article has created, the Daily Mail has changed the headline and removed all the advertising that surrounded it.

In other news, the Daily Quail has done a fantastic and hilarious parody, Charlie Brooker has added his own beautifully sane voice to the throng (and made the same bile reference as I did - great minds and all that), and the Press Complaints Commission website has been flooded. This makes me proud to be human.

Tabloid journalism: easiest job in the world

There's a story on The Mirror's website at the moment about Wednesday's Leona incident. I don't wish to comment again on poor Leona and her puffy face (my "eye witness" joke was more than enough) - but I do wish to draw your attention to the final line in the aforementioned Mirror story. And I quote:

"Wow. What a twat."

There are so many things wrong with this, it's hard to know where to start. Actually it's not that hard.

1. I'll start by pointing out that The Mirror is a national newspaper which had a circulation of 1.5 million in 2008 (yes I looked it up on Google - this makes my research skills officially 1 million times better than those of the Mirror, but I'll write more about that some other day). A newspaper with such influence, and the website associated with it, have a duty to employ better writers than this, and to make sure they're doing a better job of it than you or I could.

2. Anyone who punches anyone in the face without provocation is, by definition, a twat. We don't need to be told this. If the newspaper in question thinks we need to be told, it clearly has a very low opinion of its readership.

3. That final line makes it obvious that whoever wrote it got to the end of his or her report and thought "I don't think I've expressed my opinion well enough - how do I make it clear that I believe this man is a twat? Oh hang on, I've thought of something..." If anyone has so little confidence in their ability to get a point across that they need to resort to ending any article with "What a twat", they should not be paid to write.

4. Swearing?! Where poor little kiddies could be exposed to it, with their delicate ears? If Russell Brand did that, The Mirror would be calling for his penis on a stick.

I'm not saying I could do much better, but I'm a blogger and some-time writer/editor of web copy and whatnot, not a professional journalist writing for a national newspaper.

I will continue unleashing my tabloid-aimed vitriol at a later date. In the meantime, I will seek out the writer of this article (no byline, although the video clip is credited to Zoe Griffin) and punch them square in the face. Call me a twat, I don't care.

"Is it bleeding, love?"

Poor Leona Lewis, punched in the eye for the crime of signing her autobiography.

As shocking and awful as this is, DigitalSpy's reportage of the incident did give me a giggle. After carefully explaining what had happened, together with quotes from "an eye witness" (literally), the article goes on to say:

"The singer was to appear on The One Show on Wednesday night. However, her rep confirmed that she has now been replaced by BBC sports host Gabby Logan."

I can't wait to hear Gabby Logan's version of 'Footprints in the Sand'.

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PS 'Bleeding Love' joke courtesy of Jason Manford.

Neighbours-style cock-up

Sarah and I are big fans of the X Factor. We are such big fans, in fact, that we spend our Saturday nights texting bitchy messages to each other along the lines of "I like his dancing - it looks like he's broken both his legs" and "this one looks like one of his eyebrows is a Satanist". (Top marks if you can guess who both of those refer to, by the way).

While some of our comments are overwhelmingly kind and loving ("I quite like him actually"), most of them are unfairly critical, sweary and written in capitals. I enjoy this very much.

Anyway, this is all just backstory so that you'll understand the following text message I sent yesterday afternoon:

"I've just been to see the remake of Fame at the cinema. The first 20 minutes are so like the X Factor, I very nearly forgot where I was and texted you a BELLEND ALERT."

I hope you can appreciate how strange that message would sound out of context. It was only much later that evening that I realised I'd accidentally sent this message to the person I'd been at the cinema with. She hasn't replied.

McFly me to the moon

As you might already know, I'm a bit of a McFly fan. There is nothing new I can say about this: it's just me. Deal with it.

Anyway, it's just been announced that one of the best ever McFly songs to feature a brass section, Star Girl, is going to be played in space! How exciting is that?! It's really really exciting, believe me.

The song will be played to the crew of the International Space Station on October 21st, the result of a long Twitter campaign by some of the band's more vociferous fans (Twitter has a lot to answer for today).

If you're not familiar with the song (it's a MODERN CLASSIC, people), here it is.



And yes, he did say "when I fell in love with Uranus." Kids these days.

PS If any journalist steals my "McFly me to the moon" headline idea, I will be LIVID. Same goes for Gatelygate.

Word of the day: Trafigura

The Guardian might not be perfect, but I was very impressed by this story, highlighting the ridiculous way in which it's been banned from reporting parliamentary proceedings this week. Yes, banned. Gagged, if you will. For the first time in living memory. There is nothing right about this.

The style of the article is deliberately confusing (let's hope so, anyway - otherwise someone's going mad, and it's not me), and cleverly encourages the rest of us to find out more. My favourite bit:

"The Guardian is prevented from identifying the MP who has asked the question, what the question is, which minister might answer it, or where the question is to be found."

Amazing.

Fortunately for us, and unfortunately for the powers that be, this is 2009 and rumours of the subject the Guardian isn't allowed to report on are spreading like... well, toxic waste. At my last check, #Trafigura was the top trending topic on Twitter, with celebrities and journalists bumping it up at every turn.

What is Trafigura? It's an oil company, accused of dumping toxic waste off the Ivory Coast. And the British press is apparently not allowed to tell us. For more details, go here.

So, the tabloids can get away with any intrusive but inconsequential rubbish if they say it's "in the public interest", but this disgrace is out of bounds? Way to draw attention to yourselves, Trafigura.

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Update: Now #Trafigura is no longer the top trending topic, but the top ten includes Trafigura, Guardian, Carter-Ruck (Trafigura's lawyers), and BBC (conspicuously not reporting this story - similarly gagged, I assume). And everyone on Twitter who's not discussing this seems hopelessly out of touch. I love the internet.

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Update 2: Victory! Hoorah. Today has been a bad day, and then a good day, for free speech. http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2009/oct/13/guardian-gagged-parliamentary-question

Viva La Fiesta

I bought a new car recently (new to me, not brand new to the universe). Since then, the world and its mother have been asking me "so, how's the car going?" - is my life so uninteresting that this is all they can think to ask me? Probably. Ah well.

Anyway, so I thought I'd give a highly technical and po-faced car review here, complete with photographs. The kind that could easily be mistaken for the work of someone who knows things about cars. Then next time someone says "how's the car going?" I can direct them towards this blog. And hear no more from them ever again. Here goes.

Picture 1: The gearnob. If this isn't a very aesthetically-pleasing gearnob, I don't know what is.

Picture 2: Does the stereo play the most important and musically astounding CDs of the last 20 years? Why, yes it does.

Picture 3: Unfortunately, here we encounter our first hurdle. The stereo turns its own volume up and down according to how fast I'm going. Now, a lot of people would call this a technological advancement, but I consider it a product of Gordon Brown's 'nanny state'. I will decide how loud I want my CD, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Blah blah blah, big brother, wasn't like this in my day, couldn't make it up, etc.

Picture 4: And what the hell are you playing at here, Ford?!?!! One minute you're scaring me with your sophisticated turny-up-and-down-your-CD mechanism, now this! On a FRONT DOOR! Is it 2026 or 1983, eh? Sort it out.

Picture 5: Something must be done about this. I propose a letter and/or petition.

Dear Ford,

You call that a typeface? I could literally puke a more interesting typeface than that. I hate you, and because I hate you I am going to drive to your headquarters (in my poorly-fonted Ford so-called "FIESTA" - seriously, it looks just like that, like you've used Arial in capitals, you bastards) and write "PENIS" all over your walls in a really boring typeface. I won't even draw a cock and balls or anything - just write "PENIS" over and over again so that it's not even funny any more, it's just boring. And then I'll leave.

Yours sincerely, etc.

Picture 6: Apart from that, it's great thanks.

"It's great to be back!" (mad-eyed stare to camera)

The new Robbie Williams single contains the most exciting key-change in pop music since Flying Without Wings. This is FACT.

Unfortunately, watching his X Factor performance this weekend was like watching someone having a nervous breakdown on stage, with comedy ad-libs. Poor Robbie.

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Update: YouTube link for anyone who didn't see it. His post-performance conversation with Dermot is arguably the most worrying bit.

Massive tragedy

Today has been a strange day, because the UK woke up to the news that Stephen Gately of Boyzone has died. If we'd woken up to the news that Stephen Gately had done anything else other than dying, we'd have laughed - we'd got used to him being a figure of fun, possibly because he was short and a bit too nice (read "boring") for the entertainment industry.

But this is horribly sad news. Not because he was a massive influence on music, or especially talented (and I hope none of the tributes are making him out to be either of these things, because I'm sure he realised that he wasn't), but simply because he seemed to be a kind, gentle, well-meaning, hard-working man who had a lot of courage and enjoyed his life.

I saw him performing in the stage version of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang a few years ago, as the Childcatcher. He wasn't particularly good, but this seems to fit well with what everyone's saying about him today - that he couldn't make a very convincing villain because he was basically a good person. And not an actor by trade.

And, of course, he was a boyband member who came out as gay when it wasn't the done thing, having no idea how people would react. I'm sure he did it against Louis Walsh's advice too, which makes him a bit of a hero.

It's an urban myth that boybands in the nineties had it written into their contracts that they weren't allowed girlfriends. I'm sure their management would deny this, but if you believe the autobiographies it was certainly an unwritten rule at the very least. And gayness was a big no-no, despite boybands heavily relying on the pink pound and being part of a very gay industry. This meant a very strictly-enforced lifestyle of hiding their sexuality from everyone but their closest friends and family, and Stephen Gately was the first member of such a group to react against this, as if coming out to an Irish Catholic family wasn't difficult enough.

Regardless of why he did it (someone was about to sell the story to a newspaper if Gately hadn't done it himself) it must have been a massive nightmare. But he handled this stage of his life, and its aftermath, with dignity, courage and humility. I don't think he meant to, but he set the standard for the way current popstars' private lives are handled much better by their record companies - that's no small feat, and it's his legacy. I hope his family is proud.

He was only 33 when he died, and that would be too young for anyone, but I'm sure Gately had a lot more to give. Perhaps not in terms of the music (although Boyzone were in the midst of an underwhelming reunion) but in other areas - apparently he was writing a children's book. I'm sure it would have been lovely.

And I can't quite believe he just dropped down dead at that age. Actually I'm keeping my fingers crossed for suspicious circumstances - at least if there's a scandal we can call it "Gatelygate".

What?

You might know me from my other blogs - this one is for all the stuff that won't fit into those ones, ie basically waffling on about nothing. AND EVERYTHING.

(Mainly nothing).