Night of my Irish?

Class, today’s essay question pertains to the following.

Until today, TallulahBelle has found herself physically unable to muster up the strength to write this weeks recap of Idol due to a phenomenal lack of sleep due to the below reasons :

a) the upcoming end of Idol 2006 is no longer a light at the end of the tunnel and is instead threatening to create an Irish-less emotional vacuum in which she fears she can not exist, hence she is not sleeping well.

b) the idea that Irish might not actually win this has her so damn concerned that she’s spent nights stealing into people’s homes and using their phones to vote which takes up all the hours of the night, hence she is not sleeping well. Or at all. And may have some explaining to do to her neighbours when they get their phone bills.

c) she can’t hold a five minute conversation with someone without imploring them to text Damien to 19 10 10, to the point where people have flat out stopped talking to her and duck into toilets/closets/Scientology centres the better to avoid her, leading to some crippling childhood flashbacks that are keeping her up at night, hence she is not sleeping well.

d) unable to stop laughing from the absolute balls out badness of the lyrics of this years winner’s single, she burst several blood vessels in her eyes making it difficult for her to comfortably close her eyes and hence she is not sleeping well.

e) all of the above.

Discuss.

Jessica. The first thing I wrote about young Jess : “Jessica. Wow. This beautiful little girl sang I Have Nothing by Whitney Housten and she nailed it, she sang it better than Ricki-Lee did and RL didn't have to contend with the hot Australian sun, an army of flies and sweat dripping down between her shoulder blades. Kudo's kid.” And I don’t take that back, in fact I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever liked both final two contestants so damn much. Of course I want my boy to win, but I won’t cry myself to sleep if it’s Jess. (But I may stamp my feet and pout a little, mostly because Fosse and I will be hightailing it to Chez Shaneequa’s to watch the Grand Final after we finish our matinee performance on Sunday – ahhh, a new play, the real reason I have had no fucking sleep for the last week - and she is All About Jess and will be throwing a Jess win in our faces. IN OUR FACES. Which we will not in any way be doing back to her in the event of an Irish win, because we are not bad winners, we are good ones. And we have in no way learnt a little Irish jig of celebration for just such an occasion. Nup.)

Jess’s first song is the Winner’s Single ‘Night of My Life’. And although this is not as hideous as Poor Poor Casey’s single it is still fairly freaking woeful. The lyrics are kind of sweet but terribly inane and Jessica’s version of it swirls and twirls through the air like when they make fairy floss at the fair. It’s pink, it’s girly, it’s sickly sweet and quite frankly, fairy floss always makes me slightly nauseous. Making it to the final two though, has instilled quite the confidence in young Jess and the lyrics and the way this song is arranged (much as I loathe it) is actually quite appropriate to her and to the moment when the winner is announced but I don’t terribly look forward to hearing this version on the radio. Thanks but no thanks.

Her second song makes me oy vey to the ceiling, because it’s Christina Aguilera’s ‘Impossible’ and this choice shows absolutely no vision or sense at all to me. Jessica basically mimics every trill, every warble that Christina does on that track and this isn’t singing, this is imitation. It’s also not terribly good and has me concerned that we’re going to get only ballads from her tonight. I want some Jess diversity, I want a soft rock/pop bouncy number that she’ll absolutely smash. Fosse is so bored that he isn’t even watching when Jess gives the camera the Callea Reach (like the Callea Point, only with palms spread and a Searching Sensitive Stare of Sincerity.) Jess oversings this and it only highlights how hard she’s been working her vocals, because there are pitchy moments and she cracks slightly here and there.

She makes me much MUCH happier with her third and final song, as she sings infectious bubblegum pop Janet Jackson number ‘Together Again’. I forgive her for not knowing that this song is actually Janet’s tribute to the friends she has lost to AIDS, because Janet herself sings this with such happy, beaming, face to the sky hope that it is hard not to identify the underlying message. It isn’t the same as not knowing what To Sir With Love is about, which is much more upfront with its intentions, but I bow to the greater knowledge of Fosse on this one, who has this to say :
Fosse "This is the song I consider "my song" as I lost a partner to AIDS so it pushes significant emotional buttons. Even when it's sung with absolutely NO idea of its intent as Jess did. It's the celebration of a life, a love, a friendship. It IS joyous but it is tinged with a sense of loss. Bless her but this really emphasised her youth and naivity. It's one thing to have a great voice (as I concede she does) but I really cannot forgive her for not tapping into any emotional connection with this song. "Janet sings it boppy, so will I! Come on everyone, bop with me!" Some people might not be a fan of Irish but damn, he connects with the song he's singing. "
Regardless of intent, she busts out Fun Jessica, my personal favourite version, getting poppy all over the place, shimmying and dancing around, having a ball and sounding fantastic. A very good way to end and a strong showing. She’s done well, and as I said, I won’t be completely distraught if she is the winner, just I’d prefer it to be my boy . . .

Speaking of.

Irish. The first thing I wrote about Irish : “Then we finally get some of the good NSW singers, like Irishman Damien who sings that song from Closer when Jude Law is scamming on Natalie Portman from across the street and it always gives me goosebumps because the song is great and this guy? Sings it really well. Damn fine falsetto. Damn. Fine.” Heee, Irish played Tevyah in Fiddler On The Roof – small things amuse me and this is one. I am not as amused by his thrash metal long hair, as it is less early Ozzy Osbourne and more Cindy Brady bob.

His first song is Alex Lloyd’s ‘Never Meant To Fail’ and he’s off to a flying start, because its hard not to have more chemistry and presence than Alex Lloyd (I own his CD’s, I love his voice but he’s a little dull on stage). I can absolutely see myself driving in my car and listening to a CD of Irish’s music, singing along with him, getting caught at the lights by the car next to me, not giving a damn, pumping up the volume and singing even louder. This isn’t as technically well sung as Jessica’s first song, his voice is getting slightly overpowered by the band but it is earthier, it’s rocker and it’s the kind of thing that will sit nicely on a CD next to a song featuring The Falsetto.

When he starts into his second song, Ben Harper’s ‘Waiting On An Angel’, the competition is officially over for both Fosse and myself, because this is fucking heaven sent. He has smartly picked two very different songs, highlighting what he does best, and choosing two songs that are extremely well suited to his voice and that are different enough to show variety. God, his voice is angelic. He uses The Falsetto sparingly here, seguing effortlessly into it at the end. Beautiful.

Then This Year’s God Awful Idol Single and you know? When TYGAIS is Arranged By Damien Leith? It kind of frigging rules. ‘Night Of My Life’ Irish Redux is faster, not as sombre and earnest, it features less trilling (obviously) which makes me instantly happier about the song and he’s arranged it guitar and percussion heavy which gives it more of a Pete Murray feel, it’s ‘Murray-esque’. It’s not as sappy or wet as Jessica’s version and if this is the winners single then I will personally buy a multitude of copies and randomly give it to people on the street. What a brilliant job of arranging, it takes skill to take out the massive amount of suckiness that the lyrics have put in. His falsetto cracks slightly under the strain and whilst this isn’t as well sung as Jessica’s version, this is absolutely the version I would rather listen to.

Sidebar : The next day, whilst driving to our dress rehearsal, Nova radio station held a quick poll to see which version (live version from the show) of the winner’s single their audience wanted to hear. I of course, immediately rang and put my two cents in for Damien’s – you have NO idea the effort it took not to call him Irish – version and they put me on the radio to shill for him. I noted how it was differently arranged to any previous winner’s song and that Damien did a beautiful job of arranging it. They thanked me kindly and played the song, after noting that Damien ROMPED in the poll. But – as Shaneequa noted to me the other night – it was Nova and it would be interesting to see which way that poll would have gone on Fox.

Well. This is it kids. See you Monday when I will be exhausted from a weekend of The Play, the Grand Final and the either exuberant guzzling of champagne in celebration of an Irish win or the saddened guzzling of champagne in the wake of Jessica’s win.

In closing? Text Damien to 19 10 10 – wait, where are you going?? I just want to talk to you about how great he is and . . . awww nuts. Lost another one.

TallulahBelle out.

It's In The Way That You Irish

In the interest of fairness and an attempt to appear to be unbiased (which we all know I can’t do on my own, as witnessed by the freefall spiral of love, puppies and complete adoration fangirlyness I go into every time Irish so much as sneezes, seriously I want to freebase this guy) I have asked fellow Idol imbiber and Jessica fan, Special Guest Star Shaneequa, to add her two cents to today’s proceedings. Attempts to find a Dean fan amongst my group of friends were without fruit, as the majority of my friends are a) over thirteen and b) can’t stand him and my parole office advises me that I must stay at least fifty feet from all playgrounds and primary schools so Dean unfortunately finds himself unrepresented here today but it’s OKAY because Mark Holden has all the ‘enthusiastic, overpraising of mediocrity’ bases covered for Dean to the point where he appeared on radio this morning stating that Dean Must Win. So really, SGS Shaneequa and I are just trying our best to even up the playing field, being that we don’t have nearly the public exposure that Holden does. *hires a skywriter to praise Irish –literally – to the heavens*


My heart has been in my throat since I read last week that Irish was doing Puccini’s ‘Nessun Dorma’ because . . . are you for real? Dude, that’s OPERA. And also? ITALIAN. But once again, Irish takes me on the best kind of trip, he is astounding, his voice is sublime and he builds this song so well, it is nothing short of genius – and his last glorious glory note is so fucking gorgeous that I rewind the tape and listen to the last 15 seconds about eight times, just sitting there with my eyes closed, blissed out beyond belief. I get chills every fucking time. (married man, married man damnit) I want to love him from afar for the next decade at least. And for that I need a CD, a DVD and a national tour, stat. Snap to it, Sony BMG. His face at the end moves me ridiculously, you can tell he’s so very proud of himself but it doesn’t come across as arrogant at all, it’s the slight sign of tears in his eyes and I pinch myself to keep from bawling like a baby. Mark, who is on his feet at the end, gives him a simple ‘bravo’, calls him ‘the people’s tenor’ and then lays a touchdown on him. You bet your sweet ass, Holden. After wiping away a tear, Marcia applauds the song as appropriate (in reference to the sad weekend passing of Belinda Emmet), beautiful and well done. Kyle says it was superbly done but is bemused as to what kind of CD Irish would produce if he won. After Damien admirably resists the urge to roll his eyes at the man who produced and inflicted Tamara Jaber’s ‘Ooh Aah’ on to a largely unsuspecting public, he confirms that it in all likelihood he wouldn’t be rushing to put opera on an Idol CD but that he wanted to push himself and it was an opportunity to sing it with a full orchestra.

SGS Shaneequa : I think I've kinda figured it out - I don't connect with what Irish is putting out at all..and this song is proof positive of that. It just did nothing for me - and I'm not saying that he didn't deserve to be cheered for it, I'm just saying it didn't work for me - K?I think he is pushing too much - with his voice, with his songs - he SO tried to 'force' a prayer moment with this number last night, and to me it just didn't get there...but I'm sure many of you literally wet yourselves. And hey - good on him for trying something new....ish - and didn't Holden look like he wanted to jump him. Safely into the grand final....really - he could get up onstage and vomit for his second song and he could still walk it in.....damnit.

God. I just fucking hate this song. Urgh, ‘Unchained freaking Melody’. Irish chose this one himself, because, I don’t know, he wants to hurt me? My full on hate for this song aside, he does do this very nicely, building it up to the expected and eagerly awaited falsetto. The big notes he busts out make me smile with giddy pleasure and although I didn’t lovelove it until the middle, I still kind of loved it lots but he can do no wrong in my eyes and . . . look, just take this grain of salt, okay? Mark direct taps into my Irish inspired hormonal surges and says he felt a hot flush go through a certain portion of the public, but I’m fairly sure he’s talking about bootie knitting, cardigan wearing, golden oldies so just to be sure I throw some epithets in his general direction. He loved the arrangement but the build wasn’t enough for him, he wanted MORE falsetto, MORE! But Marcia loved that pace and calls it beautiful. Kyle who cops to this being his Judge’s Choice song for Damien, calls the arrangement piddly.

SGS Shaneequa : Hmmm....you probably should have sung this first and saved your touchdown for last - there were moments that it just didn't work....and not just for me...but for the other people who had managed to appear in my loungeroom by this stage bearing wine (bless them!). Shaky/pitchy lower register - which I'm sure Ms Belle will blame on my retro tv and not Irish! Song was chosen for its falsetto - gee there's a new trick - but the majority of it was kinda 'meh'. And then we get to the falsetto, which (to be honest) he used to do much better. It used to be soft, subtle and used appropriately - now, it's his thing which he blurts it out with gusto whenever he can....and to that I say 'yawn'. Ah well, as Joey from Friends would say 'it's a moo point' - he's through to the final. End of story.

(Heeeee, ‘moo’ point . . .)

Shaneequa’s girl Jessica has been saddled with a veritable melisimatic-fest of a song, Whitney Houston/Mariah Carey’s ‘When You Believe’ and boy oh boy – that’s a test. Those two girls have pipes to spare. And Jessica falters on this one again. She starts off sounding quite weak and looks absolutely petrified. It doesn’t really pick up until the middle when the glory notes come out – she forgets to trill and full on BELTS as she kicks it up a register and it is much much better. Kyle chose this song for Jess and is disappointed with her rendition, he expected and wanted to be blown away. Mark, on the other hand calls her living proof of what you can achieve when you believe. Fosse believes he may vomit. I concur. Marcia and her very own Special Guest Star daughter Deni, think Jess is the most natural singer ever to come on the show and quotes the idiot to her right by saying “don’t mess with Jess”.

SGS Shaneequa : You know what Sandilands, you can just fuck right off. Not only did you give this performer a duet to sing on her own (I mean really!) but you gave her a god-awful duet that I don't like by two singers who push me to the very limits of my tolerance for music. Don't get me wrong, when I'm driving alone in my car sometimes I turn my iPod to a Whitney power-ballad and sing myself stupid (usually Run to You....long story) but she still irks me. And don't even get me started on Mariah - blurgh. Still - I thought Jess did amazingly well with the song and I willingly listened to the whole thing....despite the Mariah/Whitney thing. Vocally, it was great and she nailed it - but I didn't see her light up when she sang this one like she has in the past - she usually looks like she is having SO much fun. Still, she got the notes, she got the style....and she got sassed by the judges. Here's where my conspiracy theory starts - they are pushing for an all male grand-final...lest they end up with another female winner. More on that later.....

Jess has no idea what Lulu’s ‘To Sir With Love’ is about. Oh sweetie, I know you’re seventeen and its not as if this is a highly political song by a highly political band that you’ve turned into your usual god awful bouncy speak-sing style Wasabi piece of crap I still can’t believe you got a motherfucking touchdown for Eye Of The fucking Tiger DeadtomeOnetrickpo . . . thaaaaaaat’s not where I thought I was going with that . . . anyway . . . back to Jessica who is sounding amazing. This song could not suit her voice more, it’s totally in her range and every note sounds clean and gorgeous. There is little to no trilling (which makes me ridiculously happy) and she belts out the end, and I am reminded of the brilliantly awesome job she did on ‘Beautiful’ all those weeks ago. Mark admits to being so thrown by Jess not knowing what the song was about that it lost some meaning for him, that he might have believed her performance more if he hadn’t known that. He flatters her voice, calling her effortless and praising the key change but is still unmoved. Marcia cops to singing lots of songs and not knowing much about them and still thinks Jess did a dynamite job. Kyle has never ever cared about the lyrics or meaning of a song (witness : Girls are sexy, made out of pepsi, boys are rotten, made out of cotton, ooh aah, I lost my bra,I left it in my boyfriends car. The defense RESTS) and says she had him from the first second.

SGS Shaneequa : Ah Jess - sweetie - you could have walked on water and Holden still wouldn't have given you the touchdown you deserved. You nailed it....vocally beautiful....you connected (despite Mark's comments about the meaning of it all - gee, who didn't see him picking on that?!?!)...you looked the part....hell, you even had Sandilands on side - what else can you do?!?! Nevermind kiddo - you don't need to record a bland album full of songs that will realistically never get any air-play - you're a great performer, a kick-ass singer and someone who is just enjoyable to watch. I reckon you could still make it through....

Dean has been given John Mayer’s ‘Waiting on The World To Change’ and I have to give major props to whoever chose this song for him. His voice really suits it, all his usual flaws and weaknesses are hidden, its totally in his range and it’s a good poppy, peppy song that takes itself seriously only to a point. He completely, pointlessly and rather badly scats in the middle. I . . . don’t . . . know why. His sliding falsetto at the end is really rather good, and you KNOW that kills me to say. It is the best performance we’ve seen from him that didn’t also include a public audition for the Australian gymnastics team. Mark is giddy about the song, saying the melody and range is right on the money for him (not in the pocket though Mark? Shame) and finishes by crowing “Welcome back Deano!”. Marcia praises the backup singers, who don’t get nearly enough credit – those guys do some really really good work - and tells Dean it’s the most soulful he’s sounded. Kyle takes a moment to lambaste journalists who call Dean ‘the one who can’t sing’ and points out that he wouldn’t have made to the Final Three if he couldn’t sing and I can NOT resist flogging the dead horse (pony) that is Lee Harding.

SGS Shaneequa : Oh Dean.....the under-age kiddies in their make-up and boob tubes may have thought you were 'da bomb', but you were a dud in my books. I mean hey - it was fine - it wasn't hideously bad (although that scat was just embarassing!)....but the word that came to mind at the end of it was 'OK'. You know what? Needs to be more than that for a final 3 performance sunshine.....even though the judges were all over you...welcoming you back to the competition....telling you that you were 'soulful'.....whatever......blah blah blah. Urgh - it's starting to become crystal clear.....Dean - you have a penis - welcome to the grand final.

I don’t know his second song, Edwin McCain’s ‘I’ll Be’ and am momentarily dumbfounded because is he wearing a rosary around his neck? Is . . . that even allowed? (Purps??) He gives very good soul eye to the camera during this performance and the arrangement builds nicely. When he stepped down from the stool he was perched on for the first half I thought my tv would shatter when all the fifteen year olds in the audience collectively screamed like he was John Lennon. He Callea Points and Fosse spasms in pain. We struggle to hear what he’s actually singing about, his diction is absolutely shocking but it’s a pretty decent song, another good choice for him and I would have liked it more if not for the fact that I don’t think an average pretty singer should make it through over two not so pretty but fathoms better singers purely because he stepped up now instead of weeks ago like the others. Do I even need to recap the bullshit hoops Holden jumps through to make sure we know that he wants Dean to win? I mean, there’s bias (and I admit to being incredibly biased about Irish) and then there is blatant favouritism. I don’t have a problem with Mark having a favourite or even giving him a seriously unworthy touchdown, but looking down the camera and telling Sony BMG to sign him no matter what, is crossing the line. Take the CEO aside and have a whisper in his or her ear at your leisure Mark, but DON’T use ten minutes of this show to basically tell the Australian public that they shouldn’t bother voting for anyone else. ESPECIALLY when you NOT HALF AN HOUR AGO welcomed him back. BACK, Mark. Meaning he’s been gone, meaning he hasn’t put in the performances that the other two have, meaning that you should shut your damn fool mouth. RiDICulous. Marcia and Kyle basically reiterate that they want a boy to win, specifically this boy – although they couch it in terms that don’t scream of favouritism quite as much as Mark’s did and WE GET IT. Okay. Yes. He is your favourite, he’s a publicists wet dream, he doesn’t have wonky teeth and he’ll appeal to the teenage girls who will use their lunch money to buy multiple copies of Smash Hits with him on the cover so they can cover their walls and door with Dean posters because he’s soooo dreamy and who will hold their breath until Daddy takes a second job to pay for their Idol phone bills. Fuck. If he gets through tonight it will be because of this performance, no not his own, Mark’s. On the flip side though, if he doesn’t get through, it may just be for the same reason.

SGS Shaneequa : Inexplicable touchdown - WTF is with that? There were pitch issues, it was boring - we should be saying adios to god-boy this week. And Holdens 'you'll have a record deal in minutes' - puh-lease! This little one has had a record deal since the day he made it into the comp - with that hair, those eyes, the hoards of screaming munchkins with money to burn who hang on his ever inarticulate word AND the fact that he hasn't worked out who he is an artist yet so can be moulded by record company execs - what label WOULDN'T sign him! D'uh!

Sidebar : Work Colleague came up to me earlier this morning and (and I quote verbatim) said the following : “Mark Holden is the biggest cockhead of all time”. I didn’t question or argue, just nodded, thanked him for his time and agreed. Red seconded the motion and it was carried with full support of the members. All proxies and absentee votes were counted and the motion was written into the minutes.

In a world Ruled By TallulahBelle and Shaneequa I think you know who the Final Two would be. Dean would be summarily dismissed, never to be heard of again until a Where Are They Now special for the tenth anniversary season of Idol, when the multi Grammy and Aria award winning, curer of cancer and solver of world hunger, 2006 Winner of Idol Special Guest Star Damien Leith makes an unexpected appearance. My fingers are crossed for a remarkably decent and deserving final two of Jess and Irish. I would even settle for Dean and Irish but will go post nuclear and cry myself to sleep if it’s Jess and Dean.

TallulahBelle out.

And it isn't even my birthday . . .

With the absolute motherfuckingly awesome kickass results from yesterdays midterm elections; the Democrats winning the House; the Senate looking like it might actually possibly maybe pretty please go the same way; the religious right taking a BASHING over the head because voters took back their abortion rights in incredibly staid South Dakota and Arizona said fuck off to banning same sex marriage; with my new Best Friend Forever Nancy Pelosi* poised to become the first woman ever to be Speaker of the House - did I think things could POSSIBLY get better? No. No, I didn't. But then they did.

At left. Donald fucking Rumsfeld, or as he's known in my house Satan, has taken the brunt of Bush's bewildered and dithering anger about the results yesterday and has fallen on his sword - something he should have done three years ago when he conspired to help Bush lie to the American people and the rest of the world when they told us all that there were weapons of mass destruction and Saddam must be stopped. Now, I don't disagree that Saddam was an evil fucker who should have been taken out at birth, but to willingly and maliciously lie to the world about why it should be done, to refuse to accept the consquences of that lie, a lie that the leader of my own country bought, to participate in the deaths of over SIX HUNDRED THOUSAND Iraqi people and to STILL refuse to refute that you were in any way wrong? You can fuck right off Donald and you can take that bitch Condeleeza with you.

*Nancy Pelosi as Speaker of the House, will not only become the first woman to take this role, it also puts her second in line to the big job, the only person in her way being Vice President DickCheney (Who? Yeah.) and this is the closest a woman has gotten to that job too. (She is also one of the few Democrats who voted against taking military action against Iraq, unlike my girl Hillary whom I love dearly, but who disappointed me greatly by voting yes.) Now I'm not advocating assassination attempts, but if say, Bush and Cheney were somehow 'put' into a medically induced coma for the next couple of years . . . well, Nancy, I don't think anyone would really mind . . .

Gubernatorial is the coolest word

With the polling finishing up in the States over the next couple of hours, in what basically amounts to a referendum on the war in Iraq, I find myself biting my nails and twitching every time I log on to CNN or Foxnews to see how the Democrats go this time around the merry-go-round. The results are trickling through and so far so good, but I refuse to get too excited until the final counts are in. I remember the falling, sinking, stomach churning gamut of emotions I inflicted on myself last time - when Kerry's exit poll figures were so freaking brilliant at the start of the day but which very quickly turned out to be nothing but wishful thinking and creative reporting. Although the Dems have stolen two Senate seats already, odds are that the Reps will hold the Senate. My fingers remain firmly crossed that the House will go Dem.

Seriously, its days like this I find it hard to concentrate on breathing . . . come on America, make me happy, give Bush the bitch slap he so very richly deserves.

(If you're interested in a great site to check up on results the Daily Kos is an excellent choice.)

Update at 3.20pm Aust Eastern Time - CNN is projecting the Democrats have won the motherfucking House!! I am resisting the urge to scream loudly and victoriously at work . . .

Irish is The One That I Want

Dear I Talk Too Much reader,

It is with great sorrow and heaviness of my heart that I come to you today, my friends. (Self) burdened as I am with the responsibility of recapping all four Idols, I fear a Difficulty Has Arisen. I find myself Faced With A Quandary, a Confusion of sorts. A Trouble.
How exactly, am I to remain invested in the other Idol’s? How? HOW?! How do I recap their performances adequately and fairly, when I can see and hear only one? It is, as if the skies had parted on a cloudy day and angels had reached down from their lofty, pillowy clouds of heavenly goodness to impart some small happiness upon us lowly, earthbound mortals. And lo, but we did bare our faces to the brilliance of their love. And it was good.
For real though, this whole thing is over, yeah? We’re done. Irish has won. Strike the set, pack up the scaffolding and ship it back to the nearest Westfield shopping centre, put Mark back into the medically induced coma I assume he enters as soon as the person he doesn’t want to win, wins, return to sender Sandilands back to his shockjock radio station gig permanently, let Marcia toddle off to pimp her Diva CD at Mardi Gras and let’s all just go back to watching Law and Order on Sunday nights whilst we wait for The Best CD Ever To Come Out Of Idol And Featuring Fabulous Fathoms Of Fantastic Falsetto to hit our local Sanity record stores, shall we?

No?

FINE.

Not content with foisting one performance on us for me to recap, JUST as we get down to a manageable four contestants, they screw me completely by letting the Idol’s sing two songs each. My carpal tunnel aches just thinking about it.

Little cutie Jess opens the show with *shudder* a Mariah Carey number ‘Butterfly’ – this is what her fans voted for her to do? Really? Okay, so obviously someone enjoys the trillympics and they’re determined to make us enjoy it as well. Unfortunately Jessica sounds really nasal singing this song, as if she’s trying to sing too much like Mariah and not at all like Jessica. She trills and oversings so much that . . . okay, does anyone else have a grandmother who is completely batshit crazy about frilly fripperies? I do. Every time I go to my grandmother’s house, there are new embroideries to see, handstitched cushions to sit next to (never on!) and doilies to admire – it’s like a kewpie doll from the 1920’s exploded in her house, lace as far as the eye can see. She just keeps adding and adding, I worry for her walls, laden as they are with the burden of heavily framed cross stitched portraits of Ladies In Waiting. Don’t get me wrong, Grandma’s very good at it, she sews like a dervish and it makes her incredibly happy which makes her grandchildren very happy – we love the people we love, to love what fills their days – but it is just so much. My grandmother’s house is exactly like Jessica’s singing. Yes, the glorynoting is fabulous and the singing itself – although nasal – is still very good, but it is just so much and I’m tired just listening to it. Mark calls it great Viewers Choice, noting that although it isn’t an easy song to sing everything Jess does makes it look easy. Marcia completely fucking confuses everyone who has ever watched an episode of Idol by stating that she isn’t going to criticise anymore, she’s just going to sit back and enjoy the ride. I pause the tape and ask Fosse if I just had a stroke, because she didn’t just say that, did she? Hilarity ensues. Kyle thought it was awkward until halfway through and begs her to not stop getting better.

Her second song is Alicia Keys’ ‘Karma’ and THIS is more the hell like it! It’s upbeat, a little racy, she’s bopping around the stage in the most AWESOME boots, Jess is confident and rocking this song. Look! There she is! The girl I’ve missed these last trill filled weeks. She has just the best time with this number and sounds fantastic. If she could just walk the line between pop princess and lyrical gymnast a tad more, I would be back on the Jess train. As it is, I still think she deserves to be one of the final two standing. Standing next to Irish as he wins, but you knew that. Mark wants to give her a touchdown but she wasn’t quite there for him. He then busts on her a little for always choosing songs with hard phrasing which leads to tricky breathing. Marcia tells him to shut the hell up because the viewers chose these songs and I mutter at the screen that while the viewers chose the songs, they chose them from a group of songs that the Idol’s themselves nominated, so suck on that Marcia (and you too, Dean, you fucking whinger). She continues, calling it the most comfortable and sassy Jess has been on stage and tells Jess to find that place for every performance. Kyle adds his kudos to her strutting of the stage and calls the performance ‘very cool to watch’.

Chris’ fans think he is the one to break the Robbie ‘Best Friend to Kyle Sandilands’ Williams curse, with his performance of ‘Something Beautiful’ and on paper this is a brill song choice for Mr Murphy as its one of his pop-iest rock songs. Chris starts off at the keyboards which I applaud because that means less Jack Blackisms, right? It is nice to hear him trying something different but this comes across as quite bland until he key changes it up an octave. He also walks away from the keyboards purely, it would appear so he can put on his best School of Rock (the film following the Idol show – coincidence? I think not . . . ) Mark unfairly compares the two Murphy boys, noting that the CourtJester finished third and wondering if that’s causing some less than harmonious family dinners, and of course Chris doesn’t want to play this game and just lets Mark know he’s here to win and his brother will be very happy for him if he does, thanks very much. Marcia, direct quote and the total sum of her comments to Chris : “Well done.” And well fucking done to you too Marcia, you are absolutely worth every shiny penny you get paid for this gig. You are not in any way a complete waste of our time, our energy and nor does your complete inability to coherently put forward any useful critique hinder the Idol process. We thank you for your incredibly valuable time and input. Please feel free to tell us what colour the sky is and your opinion on whether humans should breathe in and out regularly. Like me, Kyle was a little disappointed with the performance as a whole and didn’t think it was as powerful as it normally would have been and likens it to a rehearsal.

His second song is – breathe TallulahBelle breathe – a Crowded House song, ‘Mean To Me’. I sternly warn him not to fucking Jack Black Neil Finn and am very pleased that he comes out with the Gibson strapped to his chest again. He rocks it out and his performance has improved markedly from the previous one – his singing is rougher (in a good rock way) and I enjoy it. Granted, I can’t stop myself singing along but I think that’s more about my Crowdie love and less about this performance. Its not ‘Evie’ but its still pretty fun and rocking. He should always play that guitar. Always. I look away from the tv when he does the head flick thing because I don’t want to scream like a harridan at him right this very moment. Mark apparently doesn’t think I hate him quite fucking enough because he CALLS IT THE BEST VERSION OF THAT SONG HE’S EVER HEARD. I am SURE he means outside of the Crowded House version because if he thinks that ANYONE does Neil better than Neil (and yes, I’m including Irish’s Message To My Girl, which was brilliant, but still not better than Neil) then he is tripping and also COMPLETELY INSANE. Marcia tells Chris what he already knows, ie you look really comfortable with that guitar, strutting your stuff and well done. Kyle calls it Perfectly Chris, that’s what he should do always.

Dean. Oh Dean. ‘Dare You To Move’ by Switchfoot should have been your bag, baby. It should have been a walk in the effing park, instead it was like that first time you try to jog when you don’t know how to do the breathing properly and you think you’re going to have an asthma attack, or choke, or both. Painful and laborious, is what I’m saying. His vocals are really shaky and he just can’t hit those lower notes at all. I want it to be over for him, thanks. Mark doesn’t know how to handle it, telling him he was under the note in his lower register and that for one of the most bankable people to ever appear on this show, he is waaaay off the track. Marcia babbles about the stress of performing and PR and pressure and I think if he can’t handle doing the odd radio interview, showing up to the ARIA’s and performing ONE NIGHT OF THE WEEK, then an actual tour will kill him stone dead. Kyle thinks he’s giving a half effort, whether it be because he thinks he can just coast or maybe he’s truly over the whole thing but that he and Marcia think he’s better than he thinks he is. It is almost as if they’re trying to convince him that he wants this, but Dean looks pained by the whole process. It’s the same look we saw in Lisa’s eyes for the three weeks prior to her leaving.

Second song is (oh, save me) a Nickleback song, GOD I hate those guys. It isn’t even a slightly less annoying Nickleback song, it’s ‘Last One Standing’, gah. To be fair, his vocals are a vast improvement on his first song (which has been true for all the Idol’s tonight, their second songs have been a great deal better than their first). He actually uses the stage a little better, coming to the front and waving to the crowd (although Fosse insists he’s waving to Jesus), however his pained facial expressions seem to have been borrowed from Ricky. He has crazy eyebrows and is frowning a lot, possibly he’s concentrating really really hard but it is quite disconcerting. Mark jumps in with the worried frowns and the ‘I’m concerned my favourite might go’ furrows. He thinks Dean is holding back for some reason and hopes that Team Dean gets behind him – why? Why exactly should they do that Mark? To keep a mediocre performer in the competition who will look good on a CD cover, over three infinitely more talented individuals who might not grace quite as many magazines topless? (And by the way, don’t ever do that Jess. Or you, Chris. Irish . . . it’s up to you man, but I could stand to see that . . .) Marcia believes Dean can still win but that he needs to start pulling performances and tricks out of his hat again, and I say once more, if he needs to resort to ‘tricks’ that aren’t vocal and that don’t add to his actual singing or stagecraft then Shut Up Marcia. Kyle wants to know if he’s got something on his mind and they – honest to god – badger the boy to publically confess that there’s something going on in his life that is affecting his performing and I say if its affecting his performing that much, then JUST MAYBE it isn’t something he wants the FUCKING WORLD TO KNOW, Kyle.

I personally voted for Irish to sing Roy Orbison’s ‘Crying’ and aren’t in the least surprised that others did as well – it’s a perfect song for him to do. He literally brings Fosse to tears with this performance. I feel a ridiculous sense of pride when he hits those glorious high notes because of course, the falsetto is lovely. But even better are the big huge Roy Orbison booming soaring notes that are so blooming large you can actually see his tonsils at one point. He has me on the floor. I will go to the mat for this boy. I have loved Idols before (Chanel, take a bow) but I haven’t been this actively invested in someone who has this much chance of winning. I liked Guy over Shannon, Casey over Anthony, Kate over Emily but I love this guy’s voice. Absolutely love it. I will be crushed beyond words if he doesn’t make it to the Final Two. Mark says he could have listened to the whole version of that song instead of a truncated Idol-lite version and I silently cross my fingers that Irish gets the chance to do that at the Opera House. He also gives him a Touchdown but that was a total fait accompli. Marcia says there isn’t much left to say once a TD is in the house but that his falsetto is marvellous and that he had a good portion of the audience swooning (women over 25 and gay men of Australia give an ‘amen’ – as based on the snap poll of my living room, with Fosse and myself as representatives of both demographics). Kyle says simply that it was ‘absolutely perfect’ and he’s right. It was.

If we’d gotten to vote twice for the Idol’s I’d have chosen Irish’s second song to be ‘Hallelujah’ as I am not quite jaded enough to be sick to death of this song. Truth be told (Shrek notwithstanding) this song makes me cry when ANYONE does it, so this was always going to make me misty. Unlike ‘Crying’ where he falsetto-ed all over the place, Irish holds off until the very end to hit us with it and it compliments the song beautifully. It is evocative, haunting, I could listen to his voice for hours and am desperate for him to get his ass in the studio and start recording so I can indulge my obsession. It is amazingly good. Oh Irish, you damn talented fucking bastard. It’s just him, his guitar and the backup singers. The arrangement is admirable in its restraint and Mark hits the nail on the head when he tells him he has simply stolen the show and gives him the touchdown I always knew this song would get him but that I didn’t think he’d get after already receiving one for ‘Crying’. I am shellshocked that Mark has laid out two in one show for that ‘ugly bastard’ with the bad teeth who only appeals to grannies and Val Doonican fans. Marcia tells him he is setting an amazing precedent and the other Idol’s will have to step it the hell up. He has seen Chris’ ‘Evie’ and raised him a double touchdown, good luck re-raising Murphy. Kyle admits that there is nothing else to say except that tonight he is simply the best. I worry that it may hurt Irish to have done two such similar songs in the one night – ballad-y songs – but honestly. If people are voting for anyone else but him . . . well. They can just go to hell, really. (Shaneequa, I should just go ahead and consider this the death knell of our friendship, yes?)

In a righteous and just world, Damien would be nowhere near the bottom three tonight and if he is then I will throw the Hissy Fit Heard Across The Globe. It should be the others and really – really – it should be Dean going home tonight. But stranger things have happened and it would just be like the universe to finally give me someone I can love who should win this damn thing and then throw them out this close. God, the stress might just give me an ulcer. Hold me?

TallulahBelle out

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Preface :
12th March, 1992.
A date forever embedded in my memory for two reasons.
One, it's the first time I ever gave blood and the nurse missed my vein the first couple of times she tried. My arm looked like a pincushion for days.
Second, it's the date that Crowded House played the Belvoir Ampitheatre in Perth for their And Then There Were Three tour. It wasn't the first time I'd seen the Crowdies play - hell, I'd been in love with Neil Finn for years (it was the video clip for I Got You that . . . well . . . got me, and I've had a terrible terrible weakness for boys in eyeliner ever since and that is the only viable explanation I can give you for adoring DeadtomeOnetrickponyLee for five seconds last year) - but the one moment that sticks in my mind most from that day (even more so than the searing pain of having a needle stuck several times into my arm whilst being reassured that this time they had it) is after the first set, when Neil, Nick and Paul had left the stage. Neil quietly walked back on - to thunderous applause and girlish screams - made his way to the keyboards and proceeded to sing Message To My Girl. Just him. Just Neil singing one of the Geatest Songs He Has Ever Written. It was like he was singing just to me, I'm sure it felt that way to every person who was there. It was angelic and one of the single greatest things on stage I've ever witnessed.

(I also got to grab his bum when he crowd surfed earlier but thats a slightly less romantic story and he's a married man . . . )

I tell you this story in hope that you will better understand the trepidation I felt upon hearing that my boy Irish would be singing one of my all time favourite songs by my all time favourite singer/songwriter. I won't hide it, I was concerned - would Damien insist on falsetto-ing his way through it? Would he - god forbid - dance? I was nervous for him and for me. But then the camera pulled back and there he was, sitting at the piano, smiling timidly at the camera as he played those first beautiful notes and SWEET JESUS, I will NEVER doubt this boy again because this is astounding. He keeps the falsetto to a minimum, hitting only those top notes that Neil loves to do. He gets my blood pumping, my eyes misting, my head swooning and my heart beating just that little bit faster. He is gorgeous and soaring and I silently beg his forgiveness for ever doubting that he would do this song justice. Mark loves the direction he's taking, that Irish has backed away from the Val Doonican, and quite frankly I think Mark was the only one who ever saw that in him. Marcia talks about moved piano's going out of tune and that she's explainaing to the audience at home what went 'wrong' and it's that moment when I realise that the Fugue Of Love that surrounds me when Irish sings must be a lot fucking denser then I realise because I didn't hear a damn thing wrong with the piano in that song. Kyle believes Irish has the potential to have an internationally successful career and I draft a memo to Chris Isaak to get ready to see Damien staying at a lot of the same hotels because I think they're going to bump into each other every once in a while.


Ricky's last performance on Idol is a cover of the Bee Gee's 'To Love Somebody'. He is once again looking supersharp in a light lavender Saturday Night Fever Suit homage, but with less sequins. It's a lounge-y, upbeat version of the ballad and he has, some might say predictably, RnB'd it up. I defend his decision to do this - at this point, surely you don't fuck with a formula unless you can The Prayer at us (of course, in his case, we all know at this point that it didn't so much work out well for his standing in the competition). He sings it well and has a sweet key change, but then completely skewers his final note like he's working for the Soprano's and had to take someone out. The Eyebrows register displeasure and look like they're going to take Ricky to task once they're done. You can practically see them seething on his forehead, planning to smack him around later, maybe hit him with a bag of oranges, leave a horse's head in his bed or something. Seriously, The Eyebrows are pissed. Mark almost loved it but busts on him for that last godawful note which leads into a shit fight with Marcia about whether or not Mark has a soul, which, come on Marcia, we all already know the answer to that one and it involved a sacrificial goat, the blood of a virgin (thanks again Dean!) and the ritualistic destruction of Dicko's career. Enjoy the Celebrity Survivor wrap party, Dicko. Marcia gets down with her bad self, talks some smack and then completely becomes a caricature of herself by telling Mark to talk to her hand. I want him to bite it but she probably hasn't had her rabies shots this season yet and it could get messy. Kyle still loves his boy Ricky and applauds him stepping out of his comfort zone but dogs him for the bad note all the same. The Eyebrows consider getting a restraining order against Ricky because he's ruining their career but realise that would be unfeasible - how would they get around?

I don't like Stevie Wright's song 'Evie'. But Chris rocks the living daylights out of this song. He comes out strapped into his Gibson and when he kicks in the first verse, I reluctantly admit that this is a fairly genius song choice for him to make. His voice suits it, it's crowdpleasing and it reminds us that his roots are in pub rock. He's left most of the Tenacious D impersonation at home (AC/DC headflick from last week notwithstanding) and I'm not ashamed to say that when he busts out the guitar solo in the middle, I pump up the volume, head bang my little brains out and make the devil horns at him in salute. This is as rock as Idol has EVER been and has to get a touchdown, right? Its a MOTHERFUCKING GUITAR SOLO. That is sooooo ace. Mark doesn't disappoint and gets right to the TD with a high five thrown in for good measure. Marcia calls him a rock god and . . . yeah, word. Dude just stepped this fucker up. Kyle basically salaams at his feet and I feel for Ricky, sandwiched in between the soothing brilliance of Irish and the wicked awesomeness of this. I note that this is going to really hurt Ricky's numbers (and hey, look at that! I'm right, two weeks in a row. Savour it Tallulah, odds are it won't happen again.) For the first time ever, I wish I had been in the audience because that would have been amazing to see up close and personal. It would have been astounding. You would have thought you'd witnessed the second coming.

Our second Bee Gee's song of the night is from young Jessica and it's not a BG song I'm familiar with, 'Words' but I assume that the BG's version has a lot less trilling. (Upon openly admitting to not knowing this, Fosse snorts incredulously and refuses to speak to me for the next five minutes.) Jess is looking very 1960's Sandra Dee and her voice sounds like it is in much better condition then it has been the past few weeks. She still absolutely loves what she's doing and the enthusiasm is still infectious but I've got one foot off the Jess Train and the other is in the process of leaving. I feel like she's done nothing but ballads for weeks and despite what I said about Ricky, she does need to give us something more because we know she can do it. She can't be vocal gymnastics girl all the time. Part of the reason I didn't recap the Unplugged night - other than the fact that I was initially ROPEABLE that Bobby had been allowed back to perform and then crushed by the horrid realisation that his was the only original song actually worth listening too - was the disappointment in Jessica's performance of 'What The World Needs Now' because what the world doesn't need, is another birdlike warbling of a ballad where the original note has been lost somewhere beneath the overwrought oversinging that I am over. She emotes the hell out of this song but the vocals are still too fragile and frail and I am forced to shake my head sadly. Mark labels it sublime and gives Jess Irish's touchdown. Marcia calls it a well rounded interpretation, whilst Kyle tells her she is simply beautiful and has one of the finest voices ever to come out of Australia.

Dean gets the coveted end spot billing, and this, along with him being in 'the bottom two' last week - allegedly, Andrew G never actually said he was bottom two . . . - has me muttering 'fixed' under my breath. They sooooo desperately want this bland little poster boy to win. Oh good god, urgh, he's singing 'Every Time You Cry' by John fucking Farnham. Jesus. Why didn't you just do 'Sadie The Cleaning Lady'. Fucking hell. He sits on a stool in the middle of the stage for most of the performance and it is blandness personified. Honestly, it's as if in some lab somewhere they figured out how to literally anthropomorphise Bland and mould it into boy form for your own personal edification. Buy a Dean now, just in time for Christmas! Not anatomically correct!! Get the fuck off the stool, stand, do SOMETHING. This is truly dull and he doesn't sing it at all well, I mean it's still pretty good but he's not in the same class vocally as the rest of the current contestants and Ricky's horror note aside, this is the lamest performance of the night. Mark calls him a teen dream but laments the lack of any decent vocals, causing me to shout FINALLY into the night skies. He commends the falsetto and I rack my brain trying to remember exactly when he falsetto-ed in the song. The Irish in my head scoffs, hunts down Dean's falsetto and delivers it a cracking head butt. Marcia belives that Dean has done the best job of listening and growing than anyone else on the show. Ever. Kyle acknowledges the work Dean has done and the work he still has to do and then tells a 'story' about being at a party (not, sadly, with His Friend Robbie Williams) in Sydney with 45 year old women who were all going crazy for Dean. I refute that claim. On behalf of women with a brain over the age of 25 who don't just fall for The Pretty, I greatly, loudly and vehemently refute that claim. Maybe it was Dean's mum.

And we all know what happened next. I got no sleep. Irish was in the FUCKING bottom three. Dean isn't as popular as they all think he is. Ricky went home.

TallulahBelle out.

Unnnhhh

. . . too . . tired . . . to blog . . . can't keep . . . eyes open . . . or remember full name . . . three hours sleep . . insomnia . . . promise . . . tomorrow Idol . . . promi . . . *snoooooooooze*

(briefest of brief recaps . . . Irish makes me gooey and was just fantastic, brilliant, awe inspiring, heartbreakingly good, Ricky wasn't bad except for that really bad end bit, Chris rocked the fucking house, Jess is losing my love and Dean was ridiculously boring - awwww, FUCK. I should have just replayed his performance in my head until I fell asleep last night . . . Dean to go. Or Ricky. If it's Irish, have me placed on suicide watch. Proper recap tomorrow after full nights sleep. Promise!)

I get a kick out of Irish

Picture, if you will, the deep, dark corridors of Channel Ten headquarters at the end of last season of Idol. Look past the worried Neighbours writers desperately trying to mouth to mouth life back into the cast. Ignore the joyfully capering accountants counting the cost of advertising revenue for Thank God You’re Here. Slink silently by the dartboard in the staff room with Bert’s face on it and join us in the alley behind the room where they store old episodes of The Simpsons, Seinfeld and Everybody Loves Raymond. There, in the gutter lies the (about to start rotting) corpse of Australian Idol 2005, kicked by tepid contestants, bruised by insipid song choice and battered by the lacklustre and ever spiralling downward ratings. A lonely busker sits nearby plaintively plucking at their guitar and the corpse twitches . . . . allow the contestants instruments at their auditions? The busker’s melancholy song begins and the corpse sits up . . . allow them to play with their instruments on stage and perform their own songs? As it becomes clear that the busker has merely taken a song by Pantera and turned it into a soothing country and western ballad that eventually becomes a celtic dirge before exploding into the aggression of rap, the corpse stands up, dusts itself off and marches back into the building from which it had been forcibly ejected screaming at the top of its lungs “WE STILL GIVE THEM A THEME BUT WE NEVER – AND THIS IS THE CRUCIAL PART – WE NEVER EVER MAKE THEM ACTUALLY STICK TO IT!!” For surely, only the zombified soulless corpse of an executive producer (oxymoron?) could have given the go ahead for rock songs to masquerade as Big Band, as Swing, as Jazz.

Sidebar : We open with what amounts to Idol putting us in the naughty corner, wagging its big ol’ pissed off finger at us because it is SUCH a shame that Bobby isn’t here to perform his unique brand of music at us, because did you not know that Bobby? Is going to save the Australian music industry. And the terrible, terrible thing that happened to Ricki-Lee, sorry to Bobby, last week, means that there is a hole in the heart of Idol and that’s our own stupid fault for not knowing what was good for us. We should have saved Bobby and voted him through even though he was doing the same boring fucking thing every single week, because it doesn’t matter if you didn’t like him or he bored you or you thought he was creepy or untalented because just in case you didn’t know, BOBBY IS GOING TO SAVE THE AUSTRALIAN MUSIC INDUSTRY, don’t you get it?? And you should be ashamed voter, that you didn’t save him. Hang your head and don’t you DARE presume to so much as look Idol in the eye. Wear ashes and sackcloth, rend your garments and cover all the mirrors in your house, for Bobby is no more.
Shame on you.
Shame.

Ricky and his ‘swing’ version of The Beatle’s ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ get the not-really-coveted-by-anyone, up first slot. Dude comes out wearing some sharp threads and I snap my fingers in applause at him. He over enunciates the song dreadfully but at least the first part sounds vaguely ‘swingy’. The last half of the song descends into RnB crowd pleasing, but his key change is pretty damn good and his performance is fine. I laugh meanly at the scat, but that’s because I’m horrid. The crazy eyes and brows are getting so big, they should just be given their own damn dressing rooms. Let’s find out how much Mark hated him . . . Mark didn’t hate him. What? He calls it the best Ricky’s done so far and says s(ch)wing is his style. Marcia says he chose incredibly well and that both she and he really dug it. I’m too tired already to make sense of what she says. Kyle enjoyed the first couple of seconds but thinks Ricky stayed in a safe place and that he held back a little bit. I’m still stunned that Mark liked Ricky.

Fosse slouches with resignation as Lisa prepares to sing The Veronica’s ‘Revolution’ at us. He needn’t have bothered, because as far as I can tell she ain’t singing nothing. She drones the first verse out in a flat dull speak-y sing style that indicates even she’s bored with her. I am hard pressed not to just fastforward through the rest. The chorus lifts a LOT but she returns to the droning and it is just tragic. Is it too low or is this a deliberate style choice she’s made? I just don’t get it and also completely hate it. See, I like the arrangement but John Foreman should have told her to bust it up an octave. Fosse and I audibly sigh when she’s finished and shake our heads at each other. Mark says he felt her fear but apparently doesn’t care how flat and really crap she sounded through most of the song because he loved the chorus. Less than a third of the song, Mark. Meaning two thirds were crap, please give her an ACTUAL FREAKING CRITIQUE. Marcia loved the melody (the FUCK?? What fucking melody??) but wants her to push herself. Kyle continues to make sense and compares it to elevator music heard whilst shopping at Myers at Christmas time. He tells her that people already know how they feel about her and one performance probably won’t change their minds and they’ll vote for her anyway. I am HEARTILY sick of them making excuses for Lisa and the phrase ‘comfort zone’ when it comes to her. She has consistently not been up to scratch. I get peeved when they all jump to defend her because she doesn’t know this kind of music and Fosse and I have a FURIOUS conversation about how incredibly HUGE Kyle’s good friend Robbie Williams’ album of swing songs was in this country and that is NO EXCUSE. You’re coming on Idol, they ALWAYS have a Big Band night, love.

The Courtjester is in the audience supporting his brother Chris as he pretty handily rearranges AC/DC’s ‘Shook Me All Night Long’ into a lounge number. He’s a consummate performer, he knows exactly who he is pleasing and how to do it and is obviously going to keep doing things the same way until it doesn’t work anymore, but I am over the Jack Black thing and the exaggerated movements and facial quirks. His dance moves are reminiscent of the Courtjester’s but I just remember how awesome Courtney was at Big Band, that night was HIS night and Chris – great voice aside – just isn’t measuring up. The arrangement is the first really good one of the night and the singing is great and I laugh my ass off at the head flick the first five times but I wouldn’t go out of my way to see this guy in concert or buy his CD. Sorry Chris. Marcia calls it mad, really very clever and praises the horn lines. Mark also loved the dancing and the arrangement and Kyle bows down at the altar of Chris, announcing that he likes him more and more each week. (I applaud when Kyle said he should have suited up) Kyle is concerned however, that because the young chickies won’t be huge Chris fans, that he needs to get in the *ahem* older lasses. I recently held an impromptu poll of my friends (both on the internet and off) and I’m sorry to report Kyle, but Irish has that particular demographic almost entirely sewn up . . .

I fucking hate Mustang Sally. In fact, it can be said that pretty much every song on The Commitments soundtrack is Dead To Me. Before you start hurling abuse about what a great movie that is, I beg you to go back and watch it today. Overacted, overwrought, underplotted and that fucking lead singer, GAH. So I pre-emptively hate Dean’s swing version of the second most annoying song from the soundtrack and (unlike DreadyDan from last year) he doesn’t change my mind about it. He’s resting on the piano and clicking his fingers (because that’s all you need to do swing, right? Click those fingers, you crazy hep cat). He has missed the opportunity to wear a suit and look fucking unbelievably hot and is instead wearing jeans. For Big Band night. Jesus wept. He sings it well, but the song is missing the raspy, drank myself to sleep, sly, dirty undertones necessary to make this song work. It’s too clean and dressed in white. And remarkably lacking in the swing. Marcia pushes her favourite as far down our throats as she can and queries if it’s hot in there. Honestly, he has about as much sex appeal as a virginal, Christian boy can, which is to say, not very much so I can see why he appeals to Marcia. Mark says he thinks it was one of those things that looked better on paper than in reality and my head snaps up and my conspiracy radar starts buzzing like a chainsaw at Christmas time. He says it didn’t suit his voice and Dean has taken a step back. So to recap. Mark loved Ricky and didn’t love Dean. Has Mark learnt something from the ousting of Bobby The Saviour? Ponder that one for a while kids. Kyle wastes everyone’s time by just getting three screaming fangirlies up on stage to hug him and love him and call him their own. It’s hideously sycophantic and I throw up a little in my mouth.

Jessica’s version of Beyonce’s ‘Crazy In Love’ is addicted to speed and is seriously jonesing for a fix. It’s really fast and choppy and doesn’t look remotely comfortable for her, she’s concentrating so hard on hitting all the notes and getting out all the words that she’s stumbling slightly and is off the pace of the song. The hideousness of the arrangement doesn’t help in the slightest leaving her breathless by the end of each sentence. She looks remarkably funky, her hair is very 1940’s torch singer in a club in Berlin but she doesn’t look like she’s having as much fun as she normally does and her voice is still not one hundred percent back to its fighting weight. Mark calls her adorablicious (and I wish I’d coined that phrase) but picks up on how rushed and breathy she sounded and that she’s thinking too much. Marcia counters with knowing that with that song she had to think or she’d have gotten lost and I wonder what their IQs are that Mark and Marcia can apparently turn their brains on and off at will. Kyle picks on the poor arrangement and her outfit – I hate the belt, but think the dress is adorable.

(Fosse and I discuss the fact that they don’t make the same excuses for Jess that they make for Lisa even though they’re roughly the same age – we agree that its because they’re not used to having to make excuses for her.)

In the car driving home, Irish’s version of Radiohead’s (by way of Jamie Cullen) ‘High and Dry’ sounded absolutely sublime. Without being distracted by his ubergeekyhotness, I was able to distance myself and listen to his vocals. They were amazing. The only slightly jarring moment is when his Never Fail Falsetto . . . fails him slightly at the very end. But it’s a tiny imperfection in the fabric of his brilliance (god, I am so besotted). In all seriousness he truly has the best voice left in this competition and he is busting out of his shell at exactly the right time. The arrangement is tied for best of the night with Chris’ AC/DC number, but I don’t know how close to the Jamie Cullum version it is – either way, it is lounge singing at its most gorgeous. And also? His mum and sister are ADORABLE. Mark admits it really could have ventured into Val Doonican Land but that it stayed well away and advises Irish’s family members to extend their visa’s as Irish may well be the dark horse. Maria cautions against the kiss of death that Mark bestows upon contestants but calls him an absolute contender and loves the sweet horn lines of the song (no, Tallulah, fight the urge to make obvious jokes about horns, FIGHT IT!) Kyle thought it was clever and he liked it but wonders if it will connect with the voters. I get that the majority of people who listen to Kyle’s show are teenybopping cretins and are falling over themselves to love Dean but give Irish some credit, Kyle. He is the only person left who has never been in the bottom three.

And with that, I doom Irish tonight to bottom three. In fact, knowing my luck and inability to adequately pick the person going home, it will probably be Irish. But it should be Lisa. Bottom Three should be Lisa, Jessica and Dean, but will probably be Lisa, Jessica and Ricky. With Ricky going home. But it should be Lisa. Dear god, please don’t let it be Irish . . . *power votes*

TallulahBelle out.

Irish makes the world go round

In breaking news, the family of Marcia Hines has appealed to the public to help them find their matriarch. Mother Hines - as she is known to her immediate family - who was recently placed in a retirement village - disappeared from her room early Sunday. Fellow resident Ita Buttrose confided to this reporter that she was “completely confused as to how (Hines) managed it” as the escapee’s family had confiscated all her worldy belongings, leaving her with only a pair of kitten motif pajama’s, a wig stand and some night cream. It was later revealed that the pink curtains from Ms Hines room had been ripped to shreds and that every doily on the premise was missing. Anyone seeing Marcia is asked to humour her about her latest CD, keep her away from sharp implements, convince her to sing you a tune and to quietly call 000 whilst she’s warming her vocal cords.

Girlfriend looked scary last night, is all I’m saying . . .

Bobby joins the ever growing list of Idol’s on Fosse’s Dead To Me List by singing ‘Rhiannon’ by Fleetwood Mac and mangling the living fuck out of it. He starts high, realizes he’s out of his depth and immediately plunges the second line of the song by approximately two and three quarter octaves. It sounds rough and is really offputting. But not as offputting as the attempted falsetto. He sounds really nasal and struggles to get halfway up the note and basically butchers it, John Wayne Gacy style. I’m just waiting for Bobby to start collecting people’s heads and painting those sad clown pictures. The only thing I appreciate about the performance is his guitar playing – I will never EVER diss someone for being able to play an instrument. Two years of guitar lessons, people and the only song I can play is Walking On Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves. Mark loved that he played the signature guitar riff from the original but thinks the Bobby ‘thing’ is in danger of becoming predictable. I think Bobby’s basically just a caricature of himself at this point and hope that his Tuesday night performance of an original song is better. Way better. Mark is also worried that Bobby is in a battle with himself. I immediately flash to Thunderdome and chant ‘Two Bobby’s enter. One Bobby leaves’. The housemates glance worriedly at me. Fosse is aware that it is around about now in the Idol Journey where I completely lose my mind. Mother Hines and her doilies wax poetic about loving what she does and loving that he does it so well. Is she . . .making less sense than normal? And is that even possible? Blame the outfit. Kyle makes a ‘Bobby’s going to blow me’ remark that handily deflects from him having to give any actual critique, into Kyle and Tamara are engaged and ooh look!! I found a heaping pile of I Don’t Give A Rats Ass. Irish is awesome.

Dean is singing Ryan CabreICan’tSpellHisNameButHeDatedAVeronicarerera’s ‘All The Way Down’ and I pre-emptively don’t think this is going to suck. And it doesn’t. It’s not going to change the world or anything but it’s still pretty good when compared to other Dean performances. On the whole, Dean has left the cheesy aspects of his performances behind and I, for one, am exceedingly grateful. It’s a little bland but the vocals are okay and there are no backflips. He CalleaPoints at the end just because he knows Fosse’s blood pressure has been too low today. Mother Hines rests a lamp on her Neck Doily and loves Dean lots. Mark calls it a crackerjack performance, praising Dean’s stage management and gives him a completely wasted bullshit high fiving This Is The Contestant I Want To Win touchdown. I already know Irish is a god, so I choose to call this Mark warming up. Kyle listens to me and just shuts up. Oh, and he agrees with Mark. Whatever.

I’m willing to bet hard earned cashola that Chris and Courtney Murphy didn’t play punchbuggy when they were kids on long road trips, I’d say they played Lets Be John and Paul and fought bitterly over who got to be Paul – which makes me wonder if they have another brother who was George and if they made the family dog be Ringo. Because both boys love them some McCartney. Listening to Chris soulfully emote (yes, I know that’s not the correct usage of that word) Paul McCartney’s lovesong ‘No More Lonely Nights’ at us, I note to Fosse that his voice actually sounds a bit like McCartney’s. He has however, chosen a disappointing song. What? He couldn’t Live And Let Die at us? And I would love to hear about Jojo being a man who thought he was a woman or something. I don’t know. Just get back to where you once belonged. While it is nice that he has mixed it up and given us a ballad, this wasn’t the one to pick and I recommend he speak to My Irish about ballad song choice brilliance (are we noting a theme yet?) Mark kvetches about his git-tar being slightly out of tune, then calls him beautiful and consistently excellent, THEN 180’s on Chris, saying Dean is a cold stone star and that Chris is lagging behind the competition. Say what? Y’all have slathered this boy with love, flowers and puppies all season and you turn on him now? Mother Hines smiles from behind her lace and frippery and thanks the band. Kyle calls it a slightly boring grandma sounding piece of crap. Sir Paul sends a lawyer over from London with a cease and desist order, a copy of his rocking bank statement and a photo of him getting his OBE from the Queen with a yellow post it note telling him to ‘Kindly shove it, love and kisses Sir Paul’.

Jessica loves Brandy. The singer, not the drink. Although maybe also, we don’t know. Either way, she’s doing the only song I’ve ever heard of Brandy’s, which is ‘Have You Ever’ and whilst I loved this to start with, a second hearing highlights all the flaws in Jess’s voice during this one. She blends nicely with the backup singers but when they drop off and she starts Trilling For Africa, it is disappointingly shrewish sounding. Slightly screechy in the high bits. She’s giving it her all, and I hope that its just her voice is still scratchy. I pop some honey and lemon in an express post envelope for her and then worry if that’s stalkerish . . . Oh, who cares, she’s adorable and I still think every house should have one. Mother Hines briefly resurfaces from behind the candyfloss confection jacket that threatens to put me in a sugar shock coma every time she’s on the screen to call Jess one of the most natural, blessed singers she’s ever heard. Mark acknowledges that Jess is the first contestant to perform without stringėd wooden thing and calls her voice her instrument. Kyle praises her look (Fosse wants her shoes, I think they’re too busy) and says she made him forget the other performers and their instruments.

Sidebar : Y’all may want to just skip the blathering, sycophantic bit that follows. You have been warned.

Seriously? I have to watch Irish make sweet sweet love to Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Game’ three times before I can shake off the delightfully warm toasty feeling I get from hearing him NAIL that song and actually write something comprehensible that isn’t just the written equivalent of me swooning. Damien starts off a cappella and pitches it perfectly. His vocals are brilliant, the arrangement is dope and I am head over heels in love, I am a smitten fucking kitten. He is incredibly good. I acknowledge to Fosse in an attempt to be as honest as possible, that I am a sucker for a pair of soulful eyes and a guitar on a boy, so basically I am helpless and at the mercy of my uterus. His voice is a gorgeous melange of Chris Martin, Jeff Buckley and Isaak himself. Fuck. Please be advised that I can no longer be trusted to be in any way considered even vaguely impartial when it comes to this man. I am besotted. Mark welcomes him back, applauds the arrangement, calls it beautiful and gives him a touchdown. You bet your sweet fucking ass you do Holden, because I would have had to hunt you down if you hadn’t. Mother Hines Aesop’s at him about not getting angry, just getting even. Kyle asks him to compare last weeks Disco to this weeks performance and Irish doesn’t know where to start – I suggest my bedroom and mentally chant my address at the tv screen (he’s married, he’s married, he’s married). Kyle calls it so perfect, its ridiculous. I sigh and rewind the tape again.

Lisa is doing some Coldplay song. I just find Coldplay a wee bit lyrically bland. Feel free to cast as many stones as you want, Coldplay fans. Lisa's fingering is excellent (shut up, on her guitar, perves) and she looks in her element, it’s the most comfortable she has appeared to be, but there is still the slight sense of gangly awkward teenager that you just don’t get with Jess. And I guess on one hand, that’s great because you don’t want everyone in the music industry to be the same - god we’d be stuck with a billion Britney’s - but on the other hand, she kind of makes my chest ache a little because I am so worried about her getting totally and utterly screwed over by some hideous, demonic, soul sucking industry type, you know? Anyway, she does her usual Lisa thing, looks sideways at the camera, awkwardly smiles, sings interestingly flatly, but by GOD I am bored. It is totally Music To Try And Kill Yourself By. Scene : our antihero has injected himself with smack in an attempt to drown out the wailing of the post apocalyptic neo nazi nine to five desk job he’s had to get to support his wife and young child and its gotten too too much and he’s sorry but he needs it to stop and the music swells as he starts to drift away and the light beckons him but his wife has called the fire department and they bust in the bathroom door just as he finishes talking to his childhood sweetheart who died of consumption at sixteen and who has told him to be brave and go back and face the world because its not his time to die and he is saved and hasn’t remotely given himself brain or organ damage because it’s The Movies. End scene. Roll credits. (as suggested by the good people at Fussy Fosse Films Incorporated). Mark could have listened to that for another hour and a half – Mark, if you need a nap, take one. He says some people find her boring, others beautiful and that he is smack dab on the beauty side and pimps some more for her to stay so we can hear her original stuff. Mother Hines was hypnotised by Lisa’s guitar back in Albury - which still doesn’t explain her outfit – and then apologises to Lisa for having to go through so much to get here. Here? So much? Marcia, do you mean you’re sorry she had to perform JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE to get to the week where she could play her fucking guitar? How about next season you and Mark just save us the fucking bother of watching and wasting our money on votes and next time you get someone like her, just pull them out of the comp until it’s the week you think they’ll shine, mmkay? Shut up, Marcia. Kyle says something, but honestly I was so busy scribbling hateful remarks about Marcia that I don’t have the first clue what he said. But Irish makes me happy.

Ricky wants to go home. There can be no other reason for him to sing a Robbie Williams tune. No other. He’s doing ‘Feel’ and it is too . . . shiny. Too new looking. Too well enunciated. There isn’t any grit to it, no grunge. I’m not asking him to carbon copy Robbie, but if you’re going to do Robbie, either be his clone or make it your OWN. Ricky kind of does neither. He is a little shouty. He is wearing his best leather jacket and two day stubble but the song is too low for him and this is the worst singing he’s done. I thought this might be the last week for Ricky and I think I may actually be right for once. Mark has his face dialled to Not Happy and he lets Ricky know in no uncertain terms that He. Hates. Him. Mother Hines tells Mark he needs a time out and sends him to naughty corner with no dessert. Kyle spins a fantastical tale of being Best Friends Forever with Robbie Williams, proving Kyle lives in a world where I don’t think at all that Robbie Williams would beat the living tar out of Kyle for so much as making eye contact. Kyle says good friend Robbie would have laughed himself silly at that. I know something else Robbie would probably laugh at, Kyle. Care to take a guess at what that might be?? Schmuck. Kyle calls it Ricky’s worst performance of the comp. I still think it was better than Bobby but obviously not as good as Irish.

I don’t honestly think it could possibly be anyone else tonight but Ricky who goes. He’ll have his pissed off face on, which is always fun. Joining him in the bottom three should be Bobby and one of the girls. Anyone basically, so long as it isn’t – and feel free to say it with me, here – Irish.

TallulahBelle out.

Theme, shmeme, lets call the whole thing off.

It's Disco Night! Or is it? Once again, our noble contestants take a running, leaping stab at hitting the theme and . . . well, they mostly kind of miss. And a pre-emptive warning. I love Irish. Shut up. No, really, shut UP. I don't care how bad you thought he was last night. I DON'T CARE. I love him, you can not shake me from my love for him and if I want to love him, I will. Go ahead, try and stop me, you will fail. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER.

ahem.

This week's Opening Performance I Won't Be Able To Remember By The End Of The Show Until They Recap, is Chris. He's singing Wild Cherry's 'Play That Funky Music' and . . .
Well . . .
I've . . .
Man.
I've just run out of ways to say : he sings well, he runs all over the stage, he brings out his Jack Black and he's pretty good. Because this is what he does every week and you know? I'm a little bored by it. This was probably one of the best performances of the night, he sang well, he used the stage he blah blah blah blah I'm BORED. The only thing of note was that Irish has lent him the group falsetto for the night and he avails himself of it admirably. So. Well played. See you next week. And do we really need to know what the judges thought? They'll say the same thing as well, Mark thought he was hot chizizzle (up the dosage Mark), Marcia gives him the Mutto excuse of singing through an illness (which we don't need to know thanks Marcia, he actually sounded exactly the same so we couldn't tell he was ill) and Kyle tells him he owns the show and (proving once and for all that the pulse his finger is on, is one set about five weeks behind everyone else on the planet) notes that the Jack Black thing is awesome.

Lavina has chosen The Emotions 'Best Of My Love', which is a personal favourite disco number of mine and which has also been used in at least three seperate Sandra Bullock film montages where she makes a fool of herself in front of the Hot Leading Man Of The Moment, before pratfalling, whilst learning something about herself and making him fall head over heels in love with her. Lavina has gone sleeveless again this week, in a big old Fuck You to Kyle. The tatts are on full display. She looks like she's having a hell of a lot of fun and sings it quite prettily, if not brilliantly. Her pitch is still flawless, she doesn't really break out any big notes but she still gets a good lengthy scream at the end from the crowd. Mark still hates that she's not Emily and has to take a moment, allowing Marcia to inanely prattle about how the song was made for her to sing and for Kyle to praise her voice and then harp on about styling issues again. Having composed himself, Mark then takes his turn and says he feels like he's repeating himself and she's not giving any emotion, not having any fun. I freeze the tape at the exact moment where her jawline becomes clenched. You can see her fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him in disbelief and ask him exactly what the hell he's talking about. I have no such qualms and yell at the television for a minute and a half.

Intense Ricky is back! Look! The eyebrows are furrowed, there's a tiny vein pulsing at the side of his temple! Its the crazy eyes!! Huzzah! Oh but his song is a little dull. Ouch. Kool and the Gang's 'Get Down On It' is a DULL snoozefest of a song, bland and repetitive, how I wish he had chosen something a little brighter. At least his singing is still extremely good and I don't know if you noticed, but his trousers were awesome. I begged for the cameras to pan around and give me a backview but alas, alack, they did not. Bastards. He asks me to get down on it and I nod at the tv that I would in fact, if so asked, get down on that. Mark freaking HATES this boy, Chanel/Marcia style, and calls it a long two minutes. But Marcia disagrees, calling it dynamite. Kyle subverts the world and rearranges the stars. He agrees with Mark, but - and this is the crucial bit - he actually tells Ricky what he needs to do in order to avoid being boring again by hooking the audience in within the first ten seconds. I hate hate hate it when Kyle is the voice of reason, but he's doing it more often than not this season. We call this frustrating.

Irish. My love. You are my heart. You represent the soul of this competition to me. I love every note that wistfully wings from your lips. Your beauteous celtic throat is a thing of wonder to me and I desperately want you to do ever so well. But, and my heart I mean this in the nicest possible way, you should never ever dance to disco music on stage, in front of people, actual living breathing people who are able to draw breath to laugh, ever ever again. Ever. I personally found it delightfully geeky and terribly British of you, but it is my understanding that others did not. That's why Mark was in the foetal position under the judge's desk when you had finished the Kylie Minogue version of 'Celebration', a woefully inadequate disco tune that I hope not to hear repeated anytime soon. Kyle calls it the worst thing on television ever and when Damian tries to defend that he was getting into the spirit of the theme, something not all the contestants did - BOBBY - he is shot down horribly. Mark hopes he won't be going because it will mean he'll have to listen to that song again. Marcia stands up for my boy saying that "at the best of times, all you can do is the best that you can do" and Mark denounces the stance, crying that if that's the best he can do then he should go. My darling delightful James throws their comments right back at Mark and Kyle telling them they're not watching enough tv if thats the worst and most bizarre thing they've seen and is beeped out by Channel Ten, I think, for referencing Dancing With The Stars . . .

And then in comes young Lisa, swooping in like a falcon from on high, to save my beloved Irish from having the worst performance of the night. Blondie's 'Heart of Glass' is an insouciant song, sung in the manner of a bored woman retelling her many tales of men who have disappointed her. It's high pitched, it's high strung, it's heightened and a little bit angry but mostly resigned. It is a mature song that should be sung by someone who has been betrayed in love many times and expects nothing less. It should not be sung by a sixteen year old who probably only recently felt that betrayal for the first time upon the realisation that Orlando Bloom was not in fact a silver haired, pointy eared elflord but was instead a skinny, kind of funny looking, appallingly bad actor. She is ridiculously flat, she misses a giant chunk of the second verse and the song is at least two octaves lower than it should be. It is much much worse than Irish's daggy dancing. Mark and Marcia practically claw each others eyes out arguing about Lisa and then Marcia - oh Marcia! - brings up Lisa's age and asks Mark to bear that in mind. I resist the urge, as I often do, to scream to the heavens about age restrictions and maturity levels and how NOT EVERYONE CAN BE JESSICA, MOST OF THE TIME THEY'RE CASEY and sixteen is too too young. Kyle thinks Lisa looks like she's being forced to perform by a stage mother and says if she makes it to next week - the famed guitar week - then she had better be fucking brilliant. I hope she goes, please, I'm asking for HER, let her go.

Fosse and I heard Dean's performance of Vicki Sue Robinson's 'Turn The Beat Around' in the car and he astounded us by actually sounding good. I was hoping that when we saw it, we'd see that he'd come out Peter Allen style in a slit to the navel jumpsuit with sequins, holding maracca's. Dean sounds the best he's sounded and backflips off the stage, which gets a wow from me, but Fosse shrugs it off, dryly noting that Dean didn't do the backflip, God did. I laugh so hard, the coffee I had an hour ago almost spurts out of my nose. He pops another one towards the end and the screaming fangirlies go out of their freaking gourds for forty seven seconds - I timed it. Mark just loves that Dean listens and learns because Mark so very desperately wants him to win. Marcia and Dean have formed a little mutual admiration society and just thank each other back and forth, whereas Kyle, who hated the song choice, loved the perfomance. Mathieson notes that in four years of Idol, no one has ever backflipped and I pause the tape to turn to Fosse and screech that in fact, Marcia backflipped on Chanel, thank you very fucking much.

Bobby has stripped all the disco from Rick James' 'Superfreak'. It's like he carjacked it at an intersection and he's going to sell it back to us and is just hoping we don't notice what he's done. I make vague muttering noises at the screen about having seen this all before and Boner calls him one dimensional. Don't get us wrong, we all acknowledge that he is a new and interesting talent and deserves to have some kind of career, but we're getting bored of seeing it on Idol. It's exactly the same problem I'm having with Chris. They're great singers and performers but so one note. Meh. All the judges rave about the arrangement so the audience at home realises how freaking brilliant Bobby is, yeah yeah, we get it. Kyle backhands all the other contestants who tried and failed to STICK TO THE THEME. Mark raves about how Bobby turns the genre upside down each week, making it sound as though if the others did what Bobby did that they'd get the same kudos. I call shenanigans and also bullshit on that remark, because the other contestants would get eaten fucking alive if they did that. And then he gives him a touchdown. My hands are up in the air, my forehead is creased and you are giving me WRINKLES, Holden. I'm ridiculously unimpressed but content to be on my own on this one.

Jess proves herself to be head and shoulders above the rest, once again, performing Donna Summer's 'On The Radio' with aplomb. She even has 70's disco Countdown hair, flat to the middle and curly at the bottom. In stark contrast to Bobby, Jessica is not afraid to stick to the theme, showing her amazing versatility. She rocked rock week, her number one song and incredibly deserved touchdown was amazingly good and she has picked great songs (Pussycat Dolls hate aside) pretty much every other time, she only sucked last week when she was ill. She has fairly consistently knocked it out of the motherfucking park. Her singing still has a slight strain to it - I hope she's not doing any damage to her cords - but they are still stabs at greatness. Her notes are almost all pitch perfect and only a little shaky in bits. She is great, she is mixing it up, she is an absolute contender for the top spot. Mark liked the key and that she's always got great pitch, but that she needs to let loose her tiger. She has a tiger? Man, they have really lax pet laws in the Northern Territory. She should bring that kitty to the show and let it loose in Mark's dressing room. Marcia thinks Jessica has one of the finest voices she's heard and Kyle notes she came from a sad looking bush frump (but a sad looking bush frump with a TIGER, Kyle!!) to someone who can potentially sell a lot of CDs internationally. Awww, I think it is SO sweet that they still think someone from Australian Idol will be an international star. So deluded, yet so much fun.

So who's going? Come on, you know I'm no good at this. I've picked Lisa based on a truly woeful performance but I will literally be gobsmacked if she goes. If Irish goes, I'll go into a week of mourning and wear nothing but black. Hey, it could be anyone, but I would like to see a bottom three of Lisa, Chris and Irish, with Bobby as my reserve, only because those three boys have never been bottom three and well, they need to know that their schtick is getting old and they need to mix it up. But no more dancing Irish, yeah? Promise? Thanks.

TallulahBelle out.

(And Irish? Start visiting the TWoP boards. You would have seen my request for you to sing the Scissor Sisters song 'Don't Feel Like Dancing', which would have suited your falsetto down to a freaking tee and also? Song about not dancing. Do you see where I'm going with this?)

We're entertainment, right? What do you got for us?

Driving home from rehearsals last night, it struck me that although we couldn’t watch Idol, Fosse and I could listen to it. On Fox. (shudder) My fingers trembled as I reached for the preset station, also known as The Last Resort, Only To Be Activated If There Are Ads On All Other Stations, TalkBack On JJJ And Nothing In The CD Player. Actively listen to that network? The network that foists both Kyle ‘Undisputed King Of What Constitutes Good Song Choice, I Mean You’ve Heard My Girlfriend’s Song Ooh Aah, Right?’ Sandilands and his vapid radio partner Jackie O It Hurts To Listen To The Inanities That Spew Forth From Her Mouth on us? (Having said that, I currently hate those two remarkably less than I really hate their replacement, the loudmouthed, crass and sexist fuckwit Lowie – ohhh, how I loathe thee Lowie and your particular brand of ‘entertaining’. . . )
My radio appeared to flinch as I pressed the button and although I swear I heard a metallic cry of protest from my speakers at the indignity, my conscious mind insisted I had just run over an old coke can in the street. And so we listened, as Lisa, Dean and Mutto performed, marvelling at how pure Lisa’s voice sounds when you’re not distracted by the shiftless wandering, wryly acknowledging that Dean – although still flat in places – wasn’t anywhere near as painful when you can’t see his cheesy grin and ‘pointy pointy’ moves and wincing as Mutto murdered two big notes at the end of his song, but also agreeing that he still sounded better than he has on previous occasions. Was it the stereo system in my car? The advantage of not being caught up on the visual? We jumped out of the car and raced inside to watch Lavina . . .

Lavina’s version of the Bee Gee’s ‘Too Much Heaven’ is lovely and restrained, I like that she doesn’t feel the need to smack us about the face with the glorynoting but that when she does, she absolutely belts the living hell out of it. Her key change is sublime. Lavina knows how to take someone’s song, their baby, and treat it with respect. The Bee Gee’s don’t oversing their songs, they make slow lyrical love to them, and she respects that by restraining herself, resisting the urge to overdo every single line, by choosing carefully where to let fly, where to let ‘Lavina’ into the song – it’s an extremely well walked tightrope. Mark absolutely adored it and compares her to Diana Ross but still holds back on the Touchdown. Marcia calls it simply beautiful. Kyle, who can’t pick on her singing, instead picks on her tatts. True, girlfriend has a lot of ink, but when you’ve been watching Dilana on RockStar Supernova for the last couple of months, it just becomes background. Lavina very succinctly stands up for herself verbally as her eyes flash a big old fuck off at him and she gives her boyfriend in the front row the nod to take Kyle outside and beat the living daylights out of him after the show. Now Lavina, I called dibs.

Chris jogs onto stage as the band breaks into the opening chords of the Eagles’ ‘Life In The Fast Lane’ and proceeds to have the time of his life. He rocks out completely, bounding around the stage like he’s performing at Wembley Stadium to a crowd of 150,000. He interacts with the band perfectly, like he’s been playing with them for years. And this is a really good song choice for his voice – love them or hate them, the Murphy boys know music. There’s a familiarity to the performance that has Fosse hypothesising that Chris plays this song with his own band all the time – I concur, he knows this shit backwards. He rightly gets thunderous applause at the end but Mark wants more of a ‘shock and awe’ campaign from him. Marica – diametrically opposed! Must not agree with Mark!! – thinks if he did any more he’d hurt himself on stage (which gets me thinking what the Idol OH&S situation is . . . would he get Worker’s Comp, because that would kind of be sweet . . . ) and Kyle just wants him to get rid of the ‘Jane Fonda’ poses because he thinks Chris is the most consistently great contestant. I had earlier remarked to Fosse that I thought Chris had actually lost weight since the show started so hell, if he IS Fonda-ing it up, let him, Kyle Fatty McShouldn’tThrowStones.

Rewind the tape . . . . and it’s Irish up first! Yay! And he’s singing Elton John’s ‘Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest I Can’t Believe He’s Doing ANOTHER Ballad Word’. His dancing is daggy as hell, but the arrangement is great and his singing is just so freaking bloody good that I forgive him the fortyseventh ballad in a row (next week is Disco – try and ballad that bitch out, Irish!!). He falsetto’s – as we have come to expect – and finishes with a nice little vocal flourish at the end and a sincere stare down the camera at me. I wave, with a girlish giggle. Mark is tired, oh so tired of the ballads and wants Irish to stop bringing the dork. Irish tells him to fuck off, nicely. Marcia rightly (oh, I hate that) states that Mark would have ‘dogged’ him anyway and tells him to just sing what he wants as long as he’s good at it. I hand Irish the phone book and the music to ‘Chopsticks’. Kyle berates him for giving a midday television performance and Irish takes his fuck off back from Mark and hands it to Kyle. What I like the most about having older contestants this year, is their ability to stand up for their decisions. Irish cites 1976 as a great year for births but not a great year for music and then headbutts Kyle into a coma. And all is good in the world . . .

Ricky is doing one of my least favourite Aussie tunes, Men At Work's ‘Down Under’ and his punishment is a naked baby photo Nirvana CD cover style. Heeeee, look at the teeny peenie (I am twelve years old). I have a HUGE grin on my face (NOT because of the photo, you pervs) the entire performance because seriously? Great. It’s a strange, but strangely awesome song choice and I’m starting to think its impossible for him to hit a bum note. He makes me like the song and his arrangement is choppy but it works. Marcia pot-kettles it, calling it strange and Mark rubbishes it, shrugging the performance off as nothing more than RSL quality, nothing compelling or interesting about it. They really don’t want him to win, do they? Kyle calls it the lamest song choice ever and Ricky takes up where Irish left off, defending his song choice, citing some mysterious list that only had a few songs on it that he knew – I suspect they’re given a list of pre-approved songs and he chose the one he knew so he wouldn’t forget the words or fuck it up. I’m down with that. Shut up Kyle.

Did Jessica’s puppy die? She’s lost her sparkle a bit tonight, it might be the song choice because both the Phil Collins and Brandy version of ‘Another Day In Paradise’ are dull dull dullsville, baby. I’m bored in about four seconds of this. Its also at least an octave too low for her and her voice gets lost at the end of almost every sentence and her usually infectious grin is remarkably out of place when she’s singing this particular song. Ohhh, Jessica baby. You’ve got me worried. Mark also queries if the song was out of her range and Jessica cops to a scratchy voice. Marcia thinks it was great but honestly, the contestants could sing the wrong song, in a different language, without their microphones turned on, with their backs to the audience and Marcia would tell them they were great, she really felt that and the bit when you spat blood on John Foreman and then sacrificed a baby, whilst copulating with a goat was awesome babysistergirlfriendsolongasyoufeelyoudidagoodjob. Kyle, who tonight has taken it upon himself to really drill them all about song choice, drills her about her song choice and does she think that was a ‘wow’ performance. Jessica confesses to not being able to do the ‘licks’ (read trilling and vocal gymnastics) but Kyle doesn’t care about the vocal issues, he just thinks it was shit.

Heeeeeeeeeeee’s baaaaaaaaacccccccckkkkkk. Bobby has chosen one of my favourite Bowie numbers, the classic collaboration with Queen ‘Under Pressure’ (Ice Ice Baby) and Bobby fucking makes my day, by coming out with raccoon eye makeup. The band of black and silver he has across his eyes is just so Bobby Freaking Stardust, I almost stand and applaud. This arrangement is very very very cool. His big notes are totally buff and he croons the rest Bobbystyle. It’s my favourite Bobby performance since Under The Milky Way, in fact, I like it more. Mark french kisses the arrangement and lays it down on a blanket under the stars to make sweet sweet love to it. Marcia enjoys The World Of Bobby, buy a two day pass, get one day free. I fast forward through Kyle because I’m sick of him already tonight.

Lisa makes me feel so old. Sigh. There is briefly banter between G & Mathieson about the possibility of a little MC Hammer but Lisa is doing Steve Miller Band’s ‘The Joker’ – which Fosse and I already know, having listened to it in the car. It sounded brilliant. She is looking less uncomfortable on stage these days and seems to enjoy the sheer ridiculousness of the lyrics of this song – seriously, what IS the ‘pompatous of love’? That isn’t even a word. She just chooses great songs. Her performing is still lacking something but she’s improved and she sounds great. Marcia congratulates her on her song choice. Mark was concerned but says she pulled it off admirably because she was having fun – this comment sends Fosse into a paroxysm of fury because Ricky’s level of fun having has been blatantly ignored, pushed aside and treated as unimportant and his performance was about 100% more fun to watch. Kyle bitches about her shoes and I la la la la la as he talks.

Cheesy Dean is cheesily singing that cheesetastic 80’s anthem by Bon Jo-cheese-vi, ‘Shot Through The Heart’ and he doesn’t fail to add a little gouda to it. When he Callea Points at the screen about three seconds into it, Fosse screams in pain and declares Dean Dead To Him. Every time he Callea Points at the screen (about eight times all up) Fosse twitches in pain, it’s hilarious. Dean’s singing is better than it has been in weeks, but there are still flat patches and when he tries to hold his notes, he wavers. He twists some more notes out of shape and finishes with a finger flourish Fosse freaking point and then blows kisses to the audience and gives someone the thumbs up. I put my head in my hands, you guys, he is JUST so painful to watch. Mark wants him to dirrrrrrty it up, Marcia loves his Godfearing self, and Kyle cracks me up by bringing up Dean’s virginity. To be fair, Dean made this part and parcel of his package, he uses his virginity as proof of his GodLove and whether its for real or just part of his endeavour to get the Guy Sebastian vote, it is public domain now. Kyle says he can be a virgin in the bedroom as much as he wants but that he needs to sex it up majorly on the stage. I pause the tape to go and have a shower.

Mutto is trying out his Steve Tyler by singing the Aerosmith biggie ‘Dream On’. He doesn’t have the power of Tylers cords. He has words written on the inside of his left palm and when he gets to the first chorus he looks down at his hand – lyrical crib notes? Cheating!! His voice wavers too much on the big notes for me to be happy with it, but it is still tons better than anything he’s done recently. He wins points for actively involving the audience and for getting out there amongst them but he loses massive points however, for CHEWING GUM WHILST HE’S SINGING. Ugh. Mark liked the show of experience and thought his use of the crowd was fantastic. Marcia says great about eight times in a row and Kyle loved his song choice but proceeds to pick on his hairdo, his facial hair and people who listen to JJJ. I run outside and change my car radio station back to Anything But Fox and do NOT hear a relieved sigh from my car. No siree.

So. To recap. Don’t have the first clue who is going tonight. By rights, the bottom three should definitely have Mutto and Dean in it, who although they were greatly improved over previous weeks, were still two of the weakest performers. Jessica should probably join them. And that pains me. Because I love the little cutie so very much. But Mutto’s fan base has kept him out of the bottom three on weaker performances, so he might actually still be okay. In which case, expect to see Ricky in the bottom three because people just don’t seem to have warmed to him. Or Lavina so don’t be surprised if you see her there as well. You shouldn’t see either of them, but the quality is so much better this year that ANYTHING could happen. But if Irish is bottom three I will get medieval on someone’s ass. Possibly my own for not voting. Dean is my tip to go, ergo he’s safe.

TallulahBelle out.

PS - today's title comes from Dog Day Afternoon, a film that wasn't released the year I was born, just in keeping with the majority of the perfomers not actually doing songs from the years they were born. But they were probably filming it the year I was born, therefore like Down Under and The Joker, that counts, right?