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.