Les Miserables
There's just one problem: I can't screech, scream or shout extremely loudly under the impression that I'm singing. That's all we had tonight - every one of those sad, misguided hopefuls thought that the way to the semi-finals was to blast your way there: except the blind (visually impaired) woman from Northern Ireland who kept the semi tones muted.
I blame it on Nobutoshi Kihara and Deep Purple. After nearly 30 years half the population have lost most of their hearing from walking around with "Chasing Cars" or "Hush" knocking four bells out of their stereocilia.
I also blame Jessie, Tom, William and the Irish bloke. They apparently played a part in the choice of songs. Honestly "Imagine" is a pretty crap, pretentious little number which only achieved prominence because its singer was a Beatles and he died tragically. Having it sung like an Aretha Franklin demo was painful. As for the guy from Manchester who apparently is in permanent country mode - where's his Stone Roses loyalty - he was flatter than the mid West pan handle. Yet not one of those judges mentioned that. Either they didn't want to hurt the poor boy's feelings with some honest comment or else they're tone deaf.
William has always been on the edge of self parody. Tonight he did himself no good. Was he stoned or had he simply lost the plot. You the viewer decide.
I didn't see Sir Tom Jones helped to his chair by his nursing assistants, but once they'd sat him down he looked quite happy. His smiling face clearly demonstrating that he hadn't the faintest idea what was gong on. As it was his birthday I was disappointed that there was no cake, but I suppose the Beeb was worried that he might get too excited and burst into "Delilah" or "The Green, Green Grass". And an avalanche of knickers. "Jesus Christ" - sorry.
I have nothing against loud music. I have nothing against powerful voices. All I ask for is a little bit of variation, some tonality, some differentiation. Not a collection of gaping gobs practising tonsil strangulation. That's not asking too much is it?
Tomorrow evening I'm off to hear some Mozart opera. Now that's what I call music.
Comments
Imagine no tweeters
Imagine no linkediners
Easy if you try
Knicker bombing is something which some of us have to put up with as the price of fame.
Dear Steve: a man of such culture and taste: I bow down before your eminence.
Dear Anon: I thought the music died when the shunted the "Six Five Special" into the siding.
Dear Jo Jo: It always was a crap song - you haven't improved it