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!)