X Factor USA: needles in the eyes wouldn’t be much worse
27 Nov 2011 Leave a Comment
I was mildly anticipative of this week’s X Factor USA. Might even go as far as to say I was looking forward to it. I’d so far avoided it due to the fact that I have a life and for the first five weeks I believed I was above it. While the British X Factor got progressively more bearable on Saturday nights, I started to think that maybe I ought to give the American version a go. Maybe it was my duty as a music following citizen to sit through an episode.
It’s possible that Thanksgiving week was not the right week to get into this competition. Like the British version, every week on the American X Factor has a theme and this week they were singing ‘to give thanks to those who’ve made a difference to their lives’. From the first minute my retinas were to be bombarded with highly charged VTs detailing each contestant’s soppy back story. Mums, dads, brothers and sisters sobbed on camera for their loved ones’ benefit, extolling how brave and inspirational everyone is whilst ensuring that the phone votes definitely pour in. Boy, there were a lot of tears.
The first contestant, 12 year old Rachel, has the virtue of being adorable to benefit her. She sings competently and there is a certain charisma. It’s a shame that a competent performance had to be drowned out by a gospel choir, wailing audience and deafening backing music. I can’t remember what song she sang even though everything was clearly designed to make me remember it. When the spectacle was over my senses were somewhat numbed. Things were only about to get a lot worse.
I soon realised that the formula was to be 90% sob story, 10% music. X Factor USA defines the power of the sympathy vote. I’ve forgotten most of the other contestants’ names now but I will never forget all the ghastly emotionalism, the ultra serious stares into the camera, the unnecessary pyrotechnics, the extended periods of vocal acrobatics that made them all melt into one before my eyes. Oh, and did I mention the sob stories? One poor singer was born to a crack-addicted prostitute; another had been brought up by a single mom in Washington, which was made out to be an Arctic hellhole with winters that make child rearing an Olympian feat. One of the girls dedicated her performance to God, because every human she’s ever known has let her down. “What made you dedicate this performance to the Lord?” said the show’s musical director ominously in a clip of a pre-show rehearsal. Oh Lord, what made them do it? It would have been offensive to millions for the subsequent performance not to feature a gospel choir. Well, even I was shocked by the tricks that were pulled out of the bag for this one. She didn’t just have a gospel choir, she had a full on evangelical church wailing and clapping along with her. The tears afterwards were miraculous. For five minutes the poor love screamed something about her gratitude. Everyone was so choked up I felt sick on their behalf. At that point I feared that watching any more of this pseudo-religious orgy might dull my finer senses beyond repair, but by now I couldn’t tear myself away from it. Car crash viewing? It was.
Some more stomach wrenching turns passed me by, endured only because I was so dazed after what I’d just seen I was too weak to pick up the remote control and turn it off. Then came along Astro, the 8 year old version of Tinie Tempah, wearing glasses and shouting his way through an unexpected Jay-Z number. I’d be forced to resign my position as a serious follower of music if I said I liked it, but amidst a marathon of obscene sympathy-grabbing tearfests, here was a kid doing his own thing. Most impressive of all, his song wasn’t preceded by a horrible ten minute clip of gushing family and friends, it was all about some bad behaviour he’d exhibited during last week’s show and how ‘sorry’ he was. His subsequent rapping gave the distinct impression that he wasn’t sorry, but who cares? It was a breath of not so stale air in amongst a squallid barrel full of ploys and gimmicks that would scrape every barrel known to man for sympathy votes.
Once young Astro was done I’d had enough. I caught a glimpse of the next airhead in line and knew it was time to snap out of my zombie-like state and turn over. I’d love to pretend that I don’t understand what is appealing about shows like this, yet in a world that lacks spiritual stimulation I imagine there is a strong element of religious worship involved. The gospel choirs, the singing, the clapping, the wailing and the crying, it is all reminiscent of the evangelical TV masses that have reputedly healed millions. This show has nothing whatsoever to do with music, and anyone who pretends that it has anything to do with music needs to see the Smiths in concert, or listen to a Beatles album, or sit with a guitar and learn how to play. X Factor USA is entertaining for sure; even for those like me who find the concept of it diabolical, it can provide a great deal of satisfaction in how easy it is to rip it to shreds. Look, there are appropriate times to talk about the serious issues facing society, e.g. child poverty, addiction, blah blah blah. The X Factor is not the time. Why bring sympathy into it at all? Not one of the weeping judges had an iota of credibility left by the show’s halfway point – Nicole what’s-her-face and Paula ‘Dead Behind The Eyes’ Abdul both kept crying so much I was looking for the plastic tubes connected to their tear ducts.
As for Simon Cowell, I don’t know how he manages to put up with it. Oh, I know. There was a moment after one of his vacuous vocal acrobats had raised the roof with an even better sob story than the last one, where he stood clapping and looking ever so smug. That is the look of a man whose bank balance has just increased rapidly. Good for him: ever capable of spotting another business opportunity.
