Would somebody crown this guy for the win already so we can get this season in the can?
Last night’s episode of X Factor nearly put me on Prozac. The Thanksgiving Edition (that’s what we’ll call it) turned into something much worse. There were dark stories of adoption and bitter tales of love gone wrong and children born out of wedlock. There were odes to red carnation mothers and white carnation mothers—dead mothers and alive mothers—a Virgin Islands mother. There were teenage protestations of self-worth, wack apologies and, oh, so many trembling lips. And that was just the cast members.
Choirs were singing. Judges were bickering—calling each other “soft” or “stupid.” There were tears. So many tears! Paula Abdul’s voice virtually shook with tears. And there was the ultimate voice of phoniness, Nicole Scherzinger. As physically provocative as she is, Nicole does not belong on television. With that much phony-liciously smooth drag in her voice, she knows she needs to do nothing but radio. Wanh, wanh, wanh, good grief, Charlie Brown!
Lordy, Lordy, Lord, the gamut of phony emotions, reactions, and praise I was forced to endure left me exhausted. What an over-the-top and yet bizarre disappointment. Obviously, X Factor will do anything for ratings.
"Two of you will be going home tonight." --Simon Cowell
The only way this show could have been stranger is if it had been chopped and screwed. Voices slowed down. Dragging like a tail pipe. Warped and distorted like yesterday’s records. But considering that the off-key singing sucked more than the sob stories, a chopped and screwed X Factor might have been a huge improvement. Huge.
