Paper bag time . . .

I know, this isn't the idol blog I haven't done yet. It's instead a deep breathing exercise in readiness for the other vote this weekend, one that you might argue rates as slightly more important than whether or not The Gauc wins over Matt Corby (which FYI, she totally should but if I can only win one battle, Natalie my love, I'm sorry but I want this one MORE.)

My first election memory is from 1983 when I was ten years old and Bob Hawke was leader of the Labour Party. Mum and Dad took us to the polling booths with us and Dad wore this shirt (although in my strange childhood headspace, it was entirely Light Labor Union Blue) :

In honour of that shirt and that election and in tremendous hope that tomorrow we rid ourselves of The Blight that is John fucking Howard and Peter shitbag Costello and their ilk and in true FamilyBelle tradition, I shall be wearing my Kevin07 shirt to the polling booth. If this all goes well and according to The Plan then things look brightly upwards for Hillary in the upcoming US primaries as well. It's not much to ask, right?

To quote Ms Fits :

HotCarl. The Journey . . . of HOT.

Auditions - Oh. My. Fucking. God. Thank the gods that I went to the gym and taped Idol because now I can pause the tape and breathe into a paper bag when they show the total hotness that is navy trumpeter Carl Risely. They compound my breathing problems by showing him in his uniform and I have to go have a lie down. Please god, let him be able to sing . . . he Michael Buble's at the judges and he isn’t the world’s greatest singer but he convinces the judges and thank you, because TallulahB needs her some eye candy!!

Seymour Centre - Mixing madness in his method, Holden DARED to put HotTrumpeterCarl Risely in this Bottom 40 – but success! He Harry Connick Jr’s much more successfully then he Michael Buble’d – put him through!! They can keep at least four and still have a Top 100!!

HotCarl Risely sleeps with his trumpet. That is strangely, not a euphemism.

HotCarl Risely the trumpeter is up next and I have to pause the tape and clean up the mouthful of pasta that goes flying across the room when Mathieson says that his horn is his best friend. Dudes, seriously? The trumpet is SO very very hot. His solo includes both the playing of the trumpet and tilting his chiselled jaw at us. His biceps also do a lovely thing when he shakes the judges hands (pausing to kiss Kyle’s – eww, you do not know where that thing has been) after they put him through. You know, sometimes I just plain forget he’s here to sing . . .

Semi's - HotCarl Risely – huzzah! If they keep showing him playing the trumpet, he has my vote for life. Ohhhh, ouch. He has wisely chosen some more Michael Buble, but has sadly chosen his least jazzy song, ‘Home’. But happily, he suits it quite well, his tones are sweet. His nervousness shows in eyelash fluttering and a little microphone flute playing – but he quickly recovers his ground and grows more confident as the song goes on. He does have some weakness around some of the higher notes and this performance probably leans more toward vocal mimicry than pure singing but its my favourite so far. His voice has the same honeyed quality as Buble and Buble is VERY popular in this country, even if Carl could really use some more training – his voice is sweet, but I don’t know if its Idol. Also, in surprising news, he is hot (and I noticed last night, he has a bit of David Boreanaz from Buffy and Angel in him, especially around the eyes and eyebrows).

Wildcard - HotCarl Risely is Harry Connick Jr-ing a version of The Everly Brother’s ‘Bye Bye Baby’. This song really showcases his range quite nicely and I love his scat throw to the band – however, he doesn’t capitalise on it and the physical movement actually leaves him a little breathless and his voice weakens, but he rallies for a lovely ending – although the scat trumpet goes on a little too long. Marcia is SO in love with this boy, she raves about his flavour (he looks like he might taste like toffee . . . just me? Right.) and tells him he’s so smooth and cool, it’s dynamite. Kyle is SO in love with this boy, he tells him he looks exactly the part but that he needs to make more ‘sexy face’ and to demonstrate gives HotCarl a ‘come to bed’ look and my ovaries literally just shrivelled up and DIED. But then HotCarl does it back and they SPRING back to life – hallelujah!!

12 - Oh sweet jeebus, they show HotCarl in his uniform, playing his trumpet AND riding his motorcycle. Guys, you’re KILLING me. Also, continuing the tradition of awesome Idol Parentals, his dad is very cute. I want HotCarl to sing My Funny Valentine SO badly I downloaded Matt Damon doing it from The Talented Mr Ripley soundtrack. Waltzing Matilda? Oh man. Why? No, really, why? I get the patriotic thing, but no. I don’t care how swinging he gets, how cute he is or how well he sings it, it is STILL WALTZING FREAKING MATILDA. And that hat is stupid. The crowd goes nuts? Huh?

Mark tells him his instincts are right on the button. What? Dicko loves the diversity he brings and calls it a great song choice. For real? Am I asleep and this is some horrid Idol shaped dream and not the really nice one I had recently where Mathieson and I had to cuddle together for warmth or something and you guys, Mathieson is a great cuddler and also a really good kisser and I’ve said too much. Marcia ghetto MMMM’s into her microphone and are the judges on crack? What did I miss that made that great? Was I watching the wrong show? Kyle rights all wrongs by telling HotCarl he couldn’t stand it – THANK ALL THAT IS MIGHTY ON THIS EARTH. He calls it naff and HotCarl replies saying he’s showing off his Aussie and if that’s how his freak flag flies, then he should have put on a slouch hat or a baggy green and not that GOD awful trilby thing. I am crushed and have officially downgraded him from HotCarl to TepidCarl.

11 - TepidCarl is desperately trying to get back into my good graces because in his package he wears a tight white shirt, ass hugging jeans and eyeliner. I'm melting, I'm melting . . . boy knows my weaknesses. Now Coldplay's 'Clock's' can absolutely rock out because Magni did so on Rockstar Supernova. However, he didn't invest it with a reggae beat and croon it so much as he rocked the living FUCK out of it. TepidCarl sings this quite well and wisely steers away from the Chris Martin falsetto which I fear would prove too much for him but this is pretty lame for Rock Night, dude. Still, at least it's not Waltzing Matilda! And his jawline is magnificent, so welcome back HotCarl!

Dicko shrugs and asks him if that's rock? Man, Dicko would have HATED Bobby Flynn's cavalier approach to theme's last year. He tells HotCarl that he's just being lazy and then makes one of the few sane remarks he'll make all night by telling HC he could have done a Stray Cats song and been brilliant. My god. Can we have a week where Dicko picks EVERYONE'S songs for them? Marcia abdicates all judging responsibility by making the contestant judge themselves. Unsurprisingly HotCarl thought he did okay. Thanks for your time Marcia, your fee for tonight's show will be donated to charity, right? Kyle says he understands he wants to stick to his 'thing' but that it was a bit of a jellyfish, wobbly performance and he no longer wants to be HotCarl's boyfriend as he radiated a boring vibe. Mark thinks it undermines the competition to do a swing(ish) version of a song for Rock Night and just as I'm about to pass out from lack of oxygen because I can't stop screaming at Holden about how he let Bobby get away with fucking MURDER last year - 'Werewolves of London', 'Arthur', 'Rhiannon' motherfucker!! - the lovely Andrew G channels the sane part of me and dryly notes to HotCarl that they let Bobby do whatever they liked last year and ASIO makes a note of G’s support and wipes his file clean.

10 - HotCarl Risely - for real? You're scatting during Disco? Fuck. And also, ow at your falsetto.

9 - They keep showing Ian Moss during HotCarl’s package and it makes me angry, show me my boy! He says he’s doing Cole Porters ‘It’s Alright With Me’, but he’s really doing the Harry Connick Jr version from Red Light, Blue Light. Good god, he’s playing the trumpet and wearing a suit and who cares if it’s a direct copy of every tour edition DVD that Michael Buble and HCJnr ever released. Fosse texts from his sickcouch to upgrade him from HotCarl to ScorchingCarl and it would be rude to use Shaneequa’s bathroom to have a cold shower right? PGid doesn’t get the love and complains bitterly about his singing again to which I reply, he sang? Huh, I’m too busy thinking rude things about how agile his lips and tongue must be.

Marcia is just so happy that her boy got to play his horn and bats her eyelashes at him. Kyle is back in full on love for HotCarl and comments that a man who looks like him should get the horn out as much as possible. Mark calls him consistent and thinks he did a really good job. Dicko says its fantastic that he didn’t wait until Big Band night to show Australia what kind of stuff he’d do as Our Idol and really, even I’m not that blinded by lust. Look, he’s beautiful and not the worst singer in the world, but if he wins this show then we, the Australian people, should demand to see exactly what the Australian Federal Defence Force has spent our tax dollars on this year and if the number 191010 shows up ANYWHERE on their phone bill, then maybe it’s time to give that Communism thing a try.

8 with Special Guest Blogger, Her Royal Highness Elizabeth II - A rather attractive fellow, the Marquess of Scorch, Carl Risely puports to be singing ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’, penned by some of One’s favourite subjects, The Beatles. One has knighted Paul McCartney. One shall not extend this courtesy to Carl. His swing version is attributed to a Gentleman called Michael Buble. Well. One shall certainly set the corgis on that blighter should he set foot on the palace grounds. One finds this arrangement vaguely offending. His singing is quite adequate, One supposes, but One would appreciate it if he would stop butchering The Beatles. Thank you.

Knave Mark Holden calls it a great start and compliments his higher range. He notes that Carl insists on singing swing but that this may be his Achilles heel and longs for a ballad. The corgis like a good ballad. Our right royal British subject Dicko (O.B.E.) rightly dubs it ‘snuff jazz’ and says that he stamped all over the melody. Really, until One has heard Princess Anne warbling in the shower of a morn, to the Greatest Hits of Ronan Keating, One does not know true pain. Is the Dowager Marcia Hines perhaps a faith healer of some kind? Her tent like garment would suggest so. Daddy used to have faith healers and their ilk run towards the English Channel and drowned. She neglects to lay her hands on the boy, instead telling him to stay who he is. One thinks she may be delusional. The portly gent at the end believes Carl should stick to his guns but that tonight was a little bland.

7 - Or, The Week We Do Not Discuss. Bye Moppet. SOB.

6 - HotCarl has been given the Tom Jones song 'It's Not Unusual' to sing and I almost pitch a fit when he starts off slow, elongating every fucking word but what's this?? HotCarl stops mid note and turns to John Foreman telling him that that's never going to work. John agrees and they bust right into the BIG version and it is AWESOME!! His microphone technique is still for shit and his voice isn't brilliant but MAN alive that was FUN!! Upgrade that man to LavaCarl!

Kyle is back in full on heat for LavaCarl and calls him the frontrunner. When Mark goes to speak the crowd goes completely apeshit for a td. Mark tries to look like he's sick of it but you just know he fucking LOVES it when they demand this from him, it totally reaffirms his belief that he is the most important judge and only his opinion counts. When he gets that look on his face, I like to whisper the names Kate de Rouge vs Emily the Coldly Anointed One and Damien Leith's 'ugly' mug at him and smirk lots. Dicko practically salaams at his feet because he wanted entertainment and he got it in SPADES. He was a little disappointed that no knickers made it up on stage but that's only because Fosse and I weren't there Dicko, LavaCarl totally got some laundry pitched at him from Chez Belle though. Marcia is all about entertainment and Kyle begs her to yank off her Gstring and then demonstrates how that might be done and ewwwwwww. Mathieson speaks for ALL of us when he sternly tells Kyle that if he takes his pants off, he will leave.

5 - Carl So Hot You Could BBQ Off Him 800 Degrees Celcius, For Real Put An Egg On My Forehead And See How Long It Takes Risely is scorching up the screen and laying his hotness on Little River Band’s ‘Reminiscing’. Ummm. Look, he’s still very pretty and the dude has the best male haircut on the show by a country MILE (out of the contestants, that is – I’m not counting the pretty that is G). He rocks an open collar shirt and has a gorgeous neck but the singing? Not. Great. Weak actually, really really weak. Downgrade. LukewarmCarl. How the mighty have fallen. But his smile, oh his smile . . . alright, fine. Back up to ThreeHourOldHotWaterBottleCarl and let's leave it there.

4 - Carl This Genre Is My Bitch, Right Natalie?? Please Don’t Take This From Me, I Have Nothing Left But My Hotness Risely is first hot cab off the hot rank. He’s (hotly) kicking ‘Me and Mrs Jones’ but is (still hotly but) disappointingly taking his cue from Michael Buble again instead of the infinitely superior (and also quite hot) Robbie Williams version. Now, I’m not usually a fan of songs where people are a’cheatin’ on their spouse, but this is a great song, I'm a total sucker for it. Unfortunately, HotCarl just isn’t the best singer when it comes to slow, soulful ballads, it highlights every (hot) weak flaw in his vocals. Shaneequa nastily texts to compare him to Aaron Neville. I sniff and ignore her because she’s obviously not watching the screen. HotCarl’s shirt is open (hot) and his tie is undone (say it with me, hotttttttttttt) and by all that is good and holy on this earth, take me HotCarl, TAKE ME NOW!

Holden has a spyglass aimed right at me because he tells BlazingCarl that there are ladies all over Australia who are feeling the love. I sit in my lounge and randomly throw new nicknames at the screen - IncandescentCarl, SizzlingCarl, ThermogenicCarl, ScaldingCarl, BlisteringCarl, SmokingCarl . . . sigh . . .

(InsertSynonymForHotHere)Carl's second song is the Harry Connick Jr version of 'Just Kiss Me' and is a fast paced Glenn Miller style BB song, featuring some seriously fast speaknotsoeasy vocals and a lovely moment with the brass section who get to tell him to 'get on with it'. It is laugh out loud FUN and is the kind of performance that Carl has made his within the show, not great vocals but high octane energy and memorable. Oh, and also hot. But you knew that, right?

3 - The lovely Casey picked 'You Give Me Something' by James Morrison for HotCarl and give that girl a shiny penny because that is ace song choice, it is in fact one of my favourite songs - drink! HotCarl is sitting on a stool to begin with and his shirt is unbuttoned to about his navel and Fosse and my jaws drop in tandem because - hot! Fosse likes to think HotCarl isn't aware of his studly status but I see the cheeky twinkle in his eye and I know that he knows, and he knows that I know he knows and ouch, I think I broke something. He stands and is wearing some truly tight trousers which, once our eyes are drawn to them, make it difficult for us to look away. I have to rewind the tape and not watch the screen to actually listen to the singing which is actually pretty damn good. Yes, he has the weakest voice of the three but for a ballad, he's doing a lovely job of it and you can see how much he wants this in his eyes. But he shouldn't dance. Even as hot as he is, he just can't get away with that.

Dicko was also worried about the ballad but thinks he's been super strong the last two weeks with his ballads - and lets be frank, us chickies like a pretty boy a'crooning at us. Marcia allows us all to slam down a shot of tequila when she proclaims 'YGMS' as being one of her favourite songs of the year, body shots anyone? Carl? Kyle loves that he's been so constant the last couple of weeks and reiterates that with HotCarl, you know exactly what kind of artist you're getting. Mark highlights the importance of picking the right key (and barely restrains himself from 'sneezing' Natalie's name) as it made his pitch problems much less noticeable.

The Idol producers are trying to kill me. HotCarl's photo shoot is DELICOUS. If we could persuade him and The Gauc to combine their DNA and bear girl childs, Australia would win every Miss Universe/World beauty pageant FOR THE REST OF TIME. He almost paralyses me with his insane hotness - seriously, there is one shot of him sitting on the ground with his trumpet in the foreground that I had to pause the tape on because I had lost the ability to BREATHE IN AND OUT. He gives me a break by being not quite as great or pretty when he performs Stevie Wonders 'For Once In My Life'. Of couse, it goes without saying that it's the Michael Buble version. (You should drink now too.) He throws some emotional angst into his performance and nicely pounds the line "this is mine, you can't take it" and is doing quite well . . . until he terribly unwisely decides to attempt a falsetto and hurts my ears and WHY, HotCarl, WHY would you hurt me??!!

Mark calls him a truly likeable guy and dubs him Idol's MIC (Most Improved Contestant) and queries if he thinks he has the vocal chops he should, but commends his timing and how he works with the band. Dicko feels let down by all the contestants, saying the difference between going home now and going to the Opera House is immense and he expected more from them all, he berates HotCarl for just going through the motions and allowing the situation and the judges to make him nervous. Mark pipes in that the toughest judges are the Aria charts in two years annnnnnd I'll be surprised if HotCarl is impacting the Aria's in two years time, Mark. Natalie or Matt might and even that's questionable. Marcia loved him and thinks the charts will too and Kyle just thinks he needs a couple of Justin Timberlake dance moves. HotCarl twirls prettily on the spot and HotCarl? To do JT justice, a Jaunty Hat you most doff, it makes all the difference. Seriously, when JT came out wearing the Jaunty Hat, I APPLAUDED. Ask Shaneequa.

And then there were two . . .

The Gauc, HotCarl and the other two make four. And then three.

Okay. This time I have a legitmate excuse for being soooo late with the Idol recap. Someone had to mediate the altercation between The Clooney and Fabio, and The Clooney only trusts me for that kind of thing; what can I say, yes it is hard to have him lean on me constantly and always be on the phone asking for help and advice – FYI, I’m the one who hooked him up with Soderbergh in the first place and who laughingly suggested one night over wine and cheese in George’s Italian villa that they remake Oceans Eleven and who knew they’d take me seriously, you know he offered to give me his Syriana Oscar as a thank you but I couldn’t, I mean, could I??! – but really, who else can he turn to? I’m also the one who made that whole Spice Girls reunion tour thing happen, all those girls needed was a night of horror movies, gossip, facials and chocolate – sleepovers cure EVERYTHING. I’m known in certain circles* as the pop culture UN - you know if Britney would just return my calls, I could sort out that whole mess for her too. (PS, Brit? Underwear at all times and rehab. Look into both! Kisses, Lulah xx)

* yes, these circles may exist only in my mind but MAN, it’s a happy happy circle-y place where; Veronica Mars is in its fourth season and Kirsten Bell has received many many awards; Firefly is on permanent shirtless Nathan Fillion/Alan Tudyk/Adam Baldwin/Jewel Staite rotation; Gwyneth Paltrow never won the Oscar over Cate Blanchett; Al Gore is President; I got to go to at least ONE of the Crowded House re-union concerts; David Tennant and The Clooney are happy to share me on an extremely fair and equitable roster system; and Chanel Cole won Season Two of Idol and was swiftly dubbed Dame by the Queen. See! Happy. Go there and try it for yourself for a while, you’ll see . . . I’ll wait here . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . you back? Right. First things first, a quick recap of Swing night. Big Band. Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney putting on Busby Berkley style theatrical shows on a budget of a crate of eggs, pennies from their kid brother’s penny jar and the girls from Home Economics making the costumes out of curtains and burlap sacks - Big Band always makes me think of Sunday afternoon movies with Bill Collins.

Carl This Genre Is My Bitch, Right Natalie?? Please Don’t Take This From Me, I Have Nothing Left But My Hotness Risely is first hot cab off the hot rank. He’s (hotly) kicking ‘Me and Mrs Jones’ but is (still hotly but) disappointingly taking his cue from Michael Buble again instead of the infinitely superior (and also quite hot) Robbie Williams version. Now, I’m not usually a fan of songs where people are a’cheatin’ on their spouse, but this is a great song, I'm a total sucker for it. Unfortunately, HotCarl just isn’t the best singer when it comes to slow, soulful ballads, it highlights every (hot) weak flaw in his vocals. Shaneequa nastily texts to compare him to Aaron Neville. I sniff and ignore her because she’s obviously not watching the screen. HotCarl’s shirt is open (hot) and his tie is undone (say it with me, hotttttttttttt) and by all that is good and holy on this earth, take me HotCarl, TAKE ME NOW!

Holden has a spyglass aimed right at me because he tells BlazingCarl that there are ladies all over Australia who are feeling the love. I sit in my lounge and randomly throw new nicknames at the screen - IncandescentCarl, SizzlingCarl, ThermogenicCarl, ScaldingCarl, BlisteringCarl, SmokingCarl . . . sigh . . .

(InsertSynonymForHotHere)Carl's second song is the Harry Connick Jr version of 'Just Kiss Me' and is a fast paced Glenn Miller style BB song, featuring some seriously fast speaknotsoeasy vocals and a lovely moment with the brass section who get to tell him to 'get on with it'. It is laugh out loud FUN and is the kind of performance that Carl has made his within the show, not great vocals but high octane energy and memorable. Oh, and also hot. But you knew that, right?

Marty ByeByeBye Simpson does not care for the genre we call Big Band in the slightest. He could not show less enthusiasm, although granted his demeanour is normally this carefree so maybe he's hated ALL the genres. Well, Marty, they hated you too. I'm not even going to bother recapping him as he's gone, gone GONE, GONE I SAY Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaahaaaaahaaaaaa . . . sorry, I got a little crazy stuck in my throat there. Suffice to say, I hated his Dave Mathews Band 'American Baby' slightly less then I loathed with every fibre of my being his The Doors 'Light My Fire'. Now, if he'd done 'Light Me On Fire' and followed up with a practical demonstration, I may have been on board. To be fair (and it's about time really) he does have a unique voice, good for recording blah de blah and I might be persuaded to buy his CD, but I will NEVER see this guy in concert and should I catch him busking on the street, I would be FORCED to cross to the other side - the better to avoid eye contact and ear hurtage. Bye Marty, we don't miss you at all 'round these here parts.

Matt I Don't Understand How Y'all Can Look Past The Ridiculous Clothing And Hair And Still Find Him Hot Although His Eyes Are To Die For, Corby totally phones in Michael Buble's version of 'How Sweet It Is' - honestly, its like he's got his iPod in his ear and he's on the train mooching along to school humming it to himself. Bland bland bland. Well sung, but BLANDLY generic with a side order of banal.

There are whispers that young Matt has decided Idol Is Not For Him and the lack of energy and enthusiasm he puts into this and his second song Bobby Darin's 'Beyond The Sea' kind of suggests that might be the case. Also, his scat sucks ass (and is totally about to get shown the door by The Gauc's.) He gets the usual tongue bath from the judges and nervous tinges of conflict from me - I mean, look, I want to like him, he has a good voice and will obviously sell records for the SonyBMG Pop Machine but the Holden Love Train is all encompassing and doesn't stop at my station, it just whizzes past in a flurry of pastel and gibberish. Besides there's no on board catering and the intransit movie is always 'The Goonies'.

I had Natalie I Just Keep Getting Better And Better, Don't I? Gauci's aura read by Shirley MacLaine and you won't be at all surprised by the fact that she is the reincarnation of a melded Billie Holliday and Ella Fitzgerald (with a touch of one of Bai Ling's personalities dressing her.) She comes out to sing the Natalie Cole version of 'Orange Coloured Sky' in a yellow and black beestung number that might have worked if it had been longer in the skirt but who the fuck cares what she's wearing because how frigging awesome does she sound? Her voice PUNCHES through the screen with power and energy and gosh but isn't she having fun?! She moves in time to the jazzy gorgeousness of the beat and my girl crush on her is just in total full on throbbing love, I am love struck. She rocks. In fact, she may be my second favourite girl ever on this show (no one will ever replace Chanel in my heart, but you come close Gauc.)

I own an Ella CD but I'm still not overly familiar with 'How High The Moon', however I don't think you need to be to know that with this final performance of the night, The Gauc has stamped her ownership over this show like a cat marking its territory (yes, that is so much nastier than I expected it to be and I really should have come up with a better analogy.) She bought Big Band and not on sale, she paid full price, and she either made Carl cry a little in the green room or totally and utterly turned him on - and why not, she did me, that dress is KILLER hot and . . . I am straight Mum, I promise, but you've seen her right? She's making it difficult to keep the hetero in my sexual. Her scat is nothing short of brilliant and the whole fantastic thing gets her a Touchdown for the third week in a row. She's just competing with herself at this point as far as I'm concerned, there isn't anyone who comes close to her level of performance, vocally and visually.

Right. So that's that one done. We all danced the victory dance of Go Home, Marty on Monday (although I was at Justin Timberlake and was too busy enjoying the Jaunty Hat, the fab dance moves and the KICK ASS version of 'Cry Me A River' that he did that FINALLY rid my mind of the godawful Daniel Mehsdud version, to do more than a short victory jig. But lo, it was gleeful, ohhhhhh was it gleeful . . . ) and now we move on to . . . . sigh . . . a hard night for me to recap. Coming from the brilliance that was Big Band to the sadly not great but in fact kind of low depths of Is It Over Yet-ness that Audience/Contestants Choice reached. There were only two good performances and neither of them belonged to Matt, so Matt fans, stop reading now.

Gauci Gauci Gauci Oi Oi OY. Audience member Chris puports to be a fan of The Gauc. I ask him then, WHY did he choose Madonna's 'Ray Of Light' for her to sing? Madonna's version has layer after layer of studio distort-y goodness (much like a trifle) and must give Madge heartburn to try and replicate on stage. Natalie suffers much the same fate - she doesn't start off bad, the start is lovely and soulful and very promising - but then she caterwauls into a key that she can not reach comfortably. She looks like she's straining to get there and you can hear it in the top notes, her eyes get The Crazy again which we haven't seen for a while. I HATE that it's not brilliant when she's been so fucking amazing for the last month - gah, I don't want people to vote on this (or rather, NOT vote on this) and forget the awesomeness of 'All The Boys In Town' and 'Man In The Mirror' and practically everything else she's done - Britpop week excused from this list with a note from its mother.

Mark calls her a ray of light but laments that it was a half step too high, whilst Dicko tells her she's an energy saving ray of light and time to move on from the joke now, boys. He shakes his head and notes she's gone from drama and theatre and snapped back to mundane and suburban. Bad song choice, Nat, BAD. Marcia gives her the opp to defend herself and Nat cops to being nervous about the potential Opera House thing in two weeks. Kyle gives it to her straight, calling it a disaster and the worst thing he's seen her do. But lets be fair, her worst is still fathoms better than most people's best, Kyle so back the fuck off.

Her next song is preceded by the annual posing for their CD covers schtick - unsurprisingly, The Gauc looks unbelievably beautiful. She has great eyes, you could DROWN in them and not want to come up for air. Her own song choice is Pink's 'Nobody Knows' and THIS is more like it. By the gods, she sings this well. She builds it superbly and emotes the hell out of it. It really suits that husky natural break that she has in her vocals. MUCH better song choice and outstanding execution. Now go put Natalie in your phone message text area place thing and send to 19 10 10.
Kyle smiles that it was much better and more her, but wishes she'd gotten grubbier with the vocals. Mark calls it a cracking performance, the pitch was perfect, the angst/sadness/intepretation, it was her giving it her all. Dicko's disappointment from her first performance has been swept away as she pulled a rabbit out of her jacksie and I'm sorry, did Dicko just get away with saying Nat pulled a rabbit out of her arse during this timeslot - is that allowed? How did Mathieson and G not jump on that??!! Marcia says that from a woman's point of view, she knew that Natalie felt every single word she sang. Did she feel it in her jacksie though, Marcia?

The lovely Casey picked 'You Give Me Something' by James Morrison for HotCarl and give that girl a shiny penny because that is ace song choice, it is in fact one of my favourite songs - drink! HotCarl is sitting on a stool to begin with and his shirt is unbuttoned to about his navel and Fosse and my jaws drop in tandem because - hot! Fosse likes to think HotCarl isn't aware of his studly status but I see the cheeky twinkle in his eye and I know that he knows, and he knows that I know he knows and ouch, I think I broke something. He stands and is wearing some truly tight trousers which, once our eyes are drawn to them, make it difficult for us to look away. I have to rewind the tape and not watch the screen to actually listen to the singing which is actually pretty damn good. Yes, he has the weakest voice of the three but for a ballad, he's doing a lovely job of it and you can see how much he wants this in his eyes. But he shouldn't dance. Even as hot as he is, he just can't get away with that.

Dicko was also worried about the ballad but thinks he's been super strong the last two weeks with his ballads - and lets be frank, us chickies like a pretty boy a'crooning at us. Marcia allows us all to slam down a shot of tequila when she proclaims 'YGMS' as being one of her favourite songs of the year, body shots anyone? Carl? Kyle loves that he's been so constant the last couple of weeks and reiterates that with HotCarl, you know exactly what kind of artist you're getting. Mark highlights the importance of picking the right key (and barely restrains himself from 'sneezing' Natalie's name) as it made his pitch problems much less noticeable.

The Idol producers are trying to kill me. HotCarl's photo shoot is DELICOUS. If we could persuade him and The Gauc to combine their DNA and bear girl childs, Australia would win every Miss Universe/World beauty pageant FOR THE REST OF TIME. He almost paralyses me with his insane hotness - seriously, there is one shot of him sitting on the ground with his trumpet in the foreground that I had to pause the tape on because I had lost the ability to BREATHE IN AND OUT. He gives me a break by being not quite as great or pretty when he performs Stevie Wonders 'For Once In My Life'. Of couse, it goes without saying that it's the Michael Buble version. (You should drink now too.) He throws some emotional angst into his performance and nicely pounds the line "this is mine, you can't take it" and is doing quite well . . . until he terribly unwisely decides to attempt a falsetto and hurts my ears and WHY, HotCarl, WHY would you hurt me??!!

Mark calls him a truly likeable guy and dubs him Idol's MIC (Most Improved Contestant) and queries if he thinks he has the vocal chops he should, but commends his timing and how he works with the band. Dicko feels let down by all the contestants, saying the difference between going home now and going to the Opera House is immense and he expected more from them all, he berates HotCarl for just going through the motions and allowing the situation and the judges to make him nervous. Mark pipes in that the toughest judges are the Aria charts in two years annnnnnd I'll be surprised if HotCarl is impacting the Aria's in two years time, Mark. Natalie or Matt might and even that's questionable. Marcia loved him and thinks the charts will too and Kyle just thinks he needs a couple of Justin Timberlake dance moves. HotCarl twirls prettily on the spot and HotCarl? To do JT justice, a Jaunty Hat you most doff, it makes all the difference. Seriously, when JT came out wearing the Jaunty Hat, I APPLAUDED. Ask Shaneequa.

Audience participation member Lynda calls Andrew G 'Andy' and BACK OFF, sister, that moniker reserved for Mathieson's trademark slacker-esque use only. She's chosen Evermore's 'It's Too Late' for Matt Shave My Head, Please Corby and can ANYONE in the audience even hear him singing over the ridiculous screaming? Seriously - all of you, shut UP and let the boy sing. Except. Yeeeeaaaah . . . this kind of sucks. What did Vowels do to him to deserve this treatment? Really, what is he doing?? It's too fast, it's not the right song for him and the falsetto, gah, the falsetto is terrible. Holy crap, HotCarl performed the best song out of the first three?! By The Clooney, that was unexpected.

Marcia calls it incredibly good and exciting and well sung and my brow furrows with confusion. What? From the second he walked out, Kyle thought he had nailed it and if people can't already see that he is the best on this show and I black out for a moment or something because what?? I don't . . . maybe I don't understand English the way I think I do because my dictionary says those words mean something completely different to how I think he performed. Mark gets the crowd to sing happy birthday to Matt and THAT sounded better than Corby doing Evermore, but Mark thinks he's the perfect little ready made package. Dicko calls it the perfect positioning statement and that Matt should buy that woman a (non alcoholic) drink and I DON'T UNDERSTAND, DID THE SCREAMING TEENAGERS DAMAGE THE JUDGES HEARING??

Fittingly before Matt does The Beatle's 'Across The Universe', Channel Ten shows the Pascals Eclairs ad featuring Chanel Cole (see, even the ad people are protesting in the only way that they know how that another contestant has been allowed to perform this song; like Michael Jordan's number, it should be retired. It has been done as greatly as it is possible to ever perform any song - Chanel's version of ATU is Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way) and I crack my knuckles in fearful anticipation of having to write angry, hateful things if Holden goes anywhere near giving him a Touchdown for Chanel's Song. And let's be brutally frank. Putting aside any misgivings I have about anyone else doing this number, Corby (who also looks DIVINE in his photo shoot, god the top three are phenomenally pretty people) does not get this song in any way. He just . . . sings it. Brutally loudly and forcefully and without any subtlety, there's no feeling or emotion, like he had his soul sucked from his body during the commercial break. This song should SOAR over the lyric because damn it, NOTHING is going to change your damn world Matt, MAKE MY HEART BREAK. Chanel, you ruined this song for me forever, because if you don't sing it, it is not sung. Damn you.

Every single damn one of the judges neglects to critique Matt in any way, shape or form, instead bestowing upon him the Lap Dance of You're Our Favourite. Dicko gets closest when he notes that Matt needs confidence and should make sure he can walk before he runs. Marcia just thinks he's hard on himself and that will make him a great musician. Kyle talks a bit about what a nice, virginal Christian boy Matt is and Marcia remembers this all backfiring on Dean Geyer so she elbows Kyle to shut the fuck up. He thinks Matt is a true star and is in fact the best they've got and Kyle? The Gauc wants a fucking word with you in the parking lot and she's going to be joined by her three Touchdowns and THEY WANT BLOOD. In short, shut up Kyle. Mark tells Matt that his mantra needs to be the same as Mark's, that he believes in himself, because he's in this for the long haul. Mathieson dryly notes that Mark's mantra is in fact 'left foot, right foot' and the wit of James pulls me back from the brink of Matt Worship Despair.

To sum up. Go The Gauc. Anyone else can be in the final two with her, although for the pretty (and also to see the total stupendous look of disbelief that would/will be on his face), it would be nice if HotCarl made it as well and Matt Corby went back to high school, got a recording contract in a year when he turns eighteen and they all met up at the Aria's to have a beer and laugh about what a crazy old time it was and how great does Natalie's Aria for highest selling album 'The Winners Journey' go with her dress? Shiny.

The Twilight Five

There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to Idol fans. It is a dimension as vast as the list of Marcia’s favourite songs and timeless as Dicko’s smile. It is the middle ground between Mathieson and G, between ripostes laden with dry wit and fierce defence of The Gauc’s dress sense, and it lies between the pit of Kyle's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of stupidity/vacuousness/confusion/Holden. It is an area which we call . . . the TallulahBelle Week Late Blog Zone.

*shuffles awkwardly*

Yeah. Week late. I know, I KNOW. But look, in my defence . . . I . . . have no defence. But I have this to offer you . . . last weeks recap, sans long boring dull reiteration of the Judge’s opinions, huh??!! Huh??!! Deal? Deal. (except when Dicko makes sense and I have to pointedly agree with him and obviously also when Mark awards the Touchdown that earned him back the right of Capitalisation.)

Goldenchild Matt Corby sings the highly overrated ‘Twenty Good Reasons’ by Thirsty Merc and I mutter under my breath at least twelve ones for not doing this song. He seats himself at the piano which I automatically allocate points for and he sings it really well, but I deduct major MAJOR points from him because he does not look at the audience ONCE. They won’t bite you, young one. Except maybe for those screaming fan girlys at the back, they might. Dicko makes the comment that if you put together a concert of Matt’s performances thus far, it would be very very dull. That is one Winners Journey CD I will not be forking out for. Marcia calls it one of her favourite songs – drink!

Sigh! Andrew G’s girlfriend Natalie Gauci is singing The Divinyls ‘All The Boys In Town’ and from the moment I heard she was doing that song, I said to myself that she would have to dirty it up because Chrissy Amphlett could make 'Ave Maria' sound FILTHY. God love her, national fucking treasure, Amphlett is. Bronze that woman. The Gauc infuses the start of the song with a nice touch of self disgust and busts out some lovely growly bits – it all fits, this is a song about being used and allowing yourself to be used by all and sundry and she captures it nicely – and just as I start wishing she hadn’t chained herself to the piano so she could stalk at us a bit because this song demands prowling across the stage like you’re going to have sex with every man you meet in a swirling press of sweat and fluids, she gets off the stool, marches around the piano and CLIMBS THE FUCK ON TOP!! She is begging and pleading the last bits of the song and when she practically STAMPS her foot for someone to ‘get me out of here’ at the end, my chest physically aches. Touch. Down. (oooh, two capitals.) Dicko thinks that the stairs were a bit of a cop out and says Chrissy would never have done that, she’d have struggled up herself. I don’t know, I personally think she would have hauled some sucker up from the audience and dug her stilettos into his spinal cord to get up there – that’s the risk you take when you go and see The Divinyls, spinal damage, baby, that band is only for the fierce. And The Gauc? Is fucking FIERCE.

Marty It’s Time To Ruin A Powderfinger Song Simpson is doing the Finger’s ‘These Days’ and god, it pains me to say this, but when he was sitting in the studio with Holden singing into the mike, he sounded . . . good . . . actually, he sounded great. So it’s the audience and the big scary space that puts him off. Bodes well for his touring schedule because RSLs and little community halls is about all he’ll be able to fill after the show. He does something weird to the phrasing of the song, I can’t tell if its deliberate until the second verse and by then, eh, it’s too late. His voice doesn’t actually sound too horrendously bad but following The Gauc? He might as well not even have bothered to show up. Dicko talks about how they’ve practically had to haul him to the performance nights and nail his feet down and I’ve had that dream too, Dicko! There is also quartering and some scenarios from Cube involved as well, specifically the one where the guy gets cut up like an egg being diced and . . . lets just say Marty isn’t exactly in the same condition at the end of the dream that he is at the start and leave it at that.

Tarasai You Didn’t Know I Was This Frigging Insane At The Auditions, Did You? Vushe sings The Veronica’s ‘When It All Falls Apart’. The song starts off too low for her and her hair has been straightened and bollocksed with to the point where she looks too much like a young angry Tina Turner for me which makes it hard for to me focus because TT would NEVER be caught dead singing this crap. The Whitney poodle ‘do suits her better. She actually sings it really poorly, her voice is cracking all over the place and it sounds painful. Her pitch is crazy wrong and this is deservedly the week she should have gone. Even Marty was better than she was. That’s how much I didn’t like her performance, she drove me to liking MARTY better than her. Ouch.

Carl So Hot You Could BBQ Off Him 800 Degrees Celcius, For Real Put An Egg On My Forehead And See How Long It Takes Risely is scorching up the screen and laying his hotness on Little River Band’s ‘Reminiscing’. Ummm. Look, he’s still very pretty and the dude has the best male haircut on the show by a country MILE (out of the contestants, that is – I’m not counting the pretty that is G). He rocks an open collar shirt and has a gorgeous neck but the singing? Not. Great. Weak actually, really really weak. Downgrade. LukewarmCarl. How the mighty have fallen. But his smile, oh his smile . . . alright, fine. Back up to ThreeHourOldHotWaterBottleCarl and let's leave it there.

The recap showed the night BELONGED to Natalie. So she should have sat on a couch of her own with a sign above it that read ‘Those seated here not anywhere near the bottom three’ but once again the world made no sense and not only did she bottom three but she suspiciously bottom two’d with Little Miss Tarasai. I call shenanigans.

On to Big Band – quick recap before the real thing (which WILL be done in a timely fashion, I’ve done a Time Management Course and learned all kinds of shit!), Natalie continued the Ownage of Idol, Marty sucked in a way that was stupendously awful and awesome all at the same time, ThreeHourOldHotWaterBottleCarl broke all known previously held names and forced me to look up thesaurus definitions of Hot and Matt bored everyone to tears. Marty to go. Right? Seriously, I can’t take much more of him . . .

The Lost Art of Letter Writing

Dear Show,

Consider yourself my bitch.

I own you. I own your children. I own your children’s children. You will carry my books to school. You will do my homework. You will give me your lunch money. You will clean my house. I never have to do my taxes again because you will do them for me. When I require a deep tissue massage, a foot rub or to have my belly gently stroked, you will massage, rub and stroke where and when necessary. You are not permitted to snigger at the rudeness of that last sentence because I own you and do not wish you to snigger. When I say jump, you will not ask how high but immediately begin random jumping. You will convince JK Rowling to write three more Harry Potter books that feature lots more of the Weasley family. You will find out who killed JFK and Marilyn Monroe but tell only me. You will definitively prove or disprove the theory of evolution. You will properly explain the appeal of Nicole Kidman films. Each day you will make me a toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwich, cut it in quarters, take off the crusts and put them on the side. You will let Andrew G date me. You will arrange it so the next election is won by Labour. You will scatter rose petals where I walk. And if I so will it, you will TAKE ME UPON YOUR BACK AND LET ME RIDE YOU AROUND TOWN AS I WEAR A TIARA AND THE LEGGINGS OF MY CHOOSING.

I. Own. You.

Kisses,
The Gauc
xx

PS – My new best friend TallulahBelle who gave me the suggestion four weeks ago to get on top of the piano, will recap the rest of Idol tomorrow. She’s just still too too giddy over the whole piano climbing thing and the Little Miss Tarasai smackdown to be truly coherent. But she mumbled something about Tarasai to go tonight through the huge smile on her face . . .

What do you mean there are only six?

Soooo, you may have noticed there was no Idol blog last week.

Here’s how that happened.

Last Sunday night The Year They Were Born So Ridiculously Long Ago That Crap I Feel Old was woeful. All the Idols sucked varying degree of arse to the point where I felt so ambivalent about the whole freaking thing that I put off writing it until Tuesday, thinking at least I would then have the schadenfreud-y goodness of writing about Marty or Daniel after they were gone and I never had to see them again. And then of course, That Awful Thing Happened. My favourite boy Ben McKenzie got totally shafted. And for the next four days I couldn’t write anything more than a diatribe of bitter, angry, bile fuelled ranting, laden with horrid nasty words my mother would not approve of, and punctuated by long paragraphs of nothing but this:

What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?? WHY DO YOU HATE ME??

Taking the view point that perhaps my karma didn’t need the bad hoodoo I was self inflicting, none of the drafts made it to the ‘finished’ stage. Which is all for the best really, because it was some nasty stuff. Bearing all that in mind, I’m ridiculously happy to announce that none of that really happened because look who is first up singing!!

Moppet’s first song is Judges Choice but he was so disheartened at the choices that he immediately called me – we have special phones that are just for each other, no one else knows the numbers – and I suggested he might righteously croon the living hell out of Five For Fighting’s ‘Superman (It’s Not Easy)’. I am SO right. His voice sounds wonderful on this song and when he sings the line ‘it’s not easy to be me’ and his voice cracks slightly? There is not a dry eye in the house.

Moppet’s second song is his own choice and - my god - it’s Sia’s ‘Breathe’ and he’s sitting at the piano again. His breathy, tremulous husk laden voice is attuned to this song in the most magnificent way and if he loses it slightly in power when he looks down at the keys, it is so brief as to not matter. He is delightful.

The judges adore him. Mark immediately creates a new version of the touchdown, whereby he bends over and invites anyone in the audience who feels the need, to walk past and kick him in the pants. Dicko is too busy mortgaging his house to pay for studio time for Moppet’s first album to really comment, but he gives him a thumbs up and throws another dart at Marty who has been tied to a chair in front of the judges and whose gag may be on a touch tight as he turns purple and collapses like someone forgot to tell him the safety word this week was actually a series of eye blinks and twitches. The people lining up to kick Mark, step over his prone body. Marcia cried so much her eyelashes have fused together in some unholy mix of tears and too too too much mascara. Kyle just sadly nods in awe, because he knows he’ll never be as talented as this little boy.

Little Miss Tarasai is going for the power singing bragging rights, belting out the Taylor Dane version of ‘Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love, Baby’. She looks gorgeous and prowls around the stage sassily but is it me or is her voice starting to sound a little rough around the edges? It’s huskier than normal. She still sounds good singing this song and it’s high octane energy – which is what the first performance of the night needs to be to keep you out of the dread bottom three.

Mark calls it a rousing opening and pays homage to Marcia’s song choice. Dicko agrees but thinks she has 20% left in her. Her eyes shoot daggers at him but her mouth humbly thanks him. Marcia believes in Little Miss T and chose that song so she would go up into the stratosphere but then pulls her up for over articulating. Kyle loved the attitude but along with Dicko wanted her to go full pelt.

Her own choice is – of course – Whitney fucking Housten and is the usual belting number you would expect. She goes waaaaaaaaaaaaaay off course with her lower range and it’s not until she gets to the belt-y bit that she looks and sounds comfy and now I think I might be right about her voice not being in the best condition. And her dress is awful. And the song choice is insipid and dull and she should have gone with something that showed at least a wee skerrit of difference from her first song. Not that I would ever articulate any of that to her face because, well – frankly - she may be little, but she scares me.

Mother Marcia has her disappointed wig on and tells Little Miss that she was waiting for that 20% and where was it, hmmmmm?? Kyle loves her voice but in what will become an ongoing theme for all the judges as they try to prove how relevant they are to the show, pushes his position as Style Guru and queries what the hell is going on with wardrobe. You know, not that I like to ever agree with Kyle, but . . . . word. Mark says it was stunning vocally but he wanted more and he loves the rasp in her voice. The rasp that may lead her to be dubbed Cosima Mk II? Dicko dryly notes that she looks like a badly wrapped oven-ready turkey and promptly dethrones Kyle from his short lived reign as King of the Sartorial Snark.

Marty goes home. Good. Now make him STAY there. Mathieson takes a lovely moment to gleefully ask Marcia if the song she chose for Marty is one of her favourites. The world gasps at his audacity and admires it. Mathieson preens. I suspect Marcia may have been chuffing a doobie (do the kids still say doobie?) when she chose ‘No Woman No Cry’ by Bob Marley because are you serious? This woman? She cry, she cry a lot because you KEEP LETTING HIM SING. He starts out flat and just stubbornly stays there, just like the worm on Channel Nine that is currently SLAMMING John Howard. I want to punch him in the face so he knows the pain he is inflicting on me. Marty that is, not John Howard. Although, also. Thank FUCK this is only 90 seconds.

Dicko thought this was going to be a great choice for Marty but it didn’t quite fit and had ‘all the the choreographic zest of a dole queue’. Love you Dicko, don’t ever leave. Marcia reaffirms him and tells him AGAIN that he’s so laid back he’s horizontal. If I can punch him in the nose, he will be. Kyle strangely loved it. Eh, whatever, waste of space. Mark thought there was no interpretation in it and it’s Marty’s turn to speak so it’s time for Marty’s Excuse Of The Week (formally known as Lisa Mitchell’s Excuse Of The Week). Marty finds being on stage intimidating – the fuck?? – and whinges about the short amount of time they get to sing – totally stepping on my usual whinging point around this stage of the competition where I say the same thing, but fuck it, it’s Marty and I’ll be damned if we agree on anything so stop whinging loser – and Andrew G smilingly slaps him down verbally, telling him that that’s the reality of the FUCKING SHOW HE WILLINGLY AUDITIONED FOR.

I thought Pearl Jam’s ‘Last Kiss’ would actually suit him. It doesn’t. I also thought Eddie Vedder was fairly devoid of personality or charisma but dude, compared to Marty, Eddie is Dame Edna Everage. This is boring and awful and MAKE HIM STOP.

Kyle again loves it. Shut up Kyle. He does rather brilliantly slip in the phrase ‘fingerbanging’, causing The Nation to pause on their respective couches, turn to their spouses/partners/housemates/pets/plants and ask if he actually just referenced a particular sexual act during this time slot?? Mark thought it was a big step up and asks if he was singing it to someone and Marty says yes, a friend who died in a motorbike accident but foolishly cops to only realising the connection after he chose the song and two seconds before he started singing it, allowing Dicko to snarkily slap him down thusly; ‘nothing like a bit of last minute emotion as an afterthought . . .’ Ouch. Not his biggest fan anymore, are you Ian? Marcia is happy to see him happy, so may have lent him her doobie during the break.

The Daniel Mehsdud Top Twelve Scarf Watch has taken a turn for the worse and we only get ONE scarf this week. ONE. For fucks sake Dud, I ask you to do ONE THING. It brings him to a total of ten. I thought we'd be in the twenties for sure by this point in the competition. Of course, I also thought he'd be gone by now, but what do I know? Right? Ewww, Mark is allowing The Dud to crucify one of my favourite Sting songs 'Fragile'. Hasn't The Dud punished Sting enough? Won't someone think of the children?? Actually, he doesn't suck total ass singing this, but he just doesn't have the same honeyed tones that Sting has and his falsetto is for shite.

Marcia tells him he looks sharp and gives Mark props because she loves her some Sting. Kyle found it boring. But Marty was lively and made you giddy? The hell? Mark warbles about incredibly moving lyrics and how Dud got lost in it and vulnerability/heartfelt/delivered. Dicko also thought he nailed it, with great intensity and storytelling. It sucked less than usual, that's what we're all saying here Daniel. Less.

Ohhhhhh godddddddddd, his next song is Eskimo Joe's 'From The Sea' and he is KILLING it. I start giggling hysterically when he reaches for the falsetto in the first sentence and misses it horribly, and I continue when Fosse almost dry retches at the end when he Callea Points into the camera. Fosse grimly announces that Daniel has actually turned him straight. Congratulations Dud, Fosse is totally into chicks now and I need to give him a new name. Fuck.

Mark shrivels back from the places where he was under the pitch and tells him he's choosing song he doesn't have the chops for. Agreed. Sing 'Twinkle Twinkle' or 'Miss Polly Had A Dolly'. Then we can talk. Dicko has unsurprisingly seen Eskimo Joe perform that number and is it just me, or has the man been to every fucking concert by every artist who ever performed? WHEN did he have time to have these children he speaks of?? Marcia dug the aggression in the performance and honestly, that was about as aggressive as a lame blind kitten. Kyle thinks the perf was great but the vocals were dodge and that he's lucky he's popular because that's what will keep him here.

HotCarl has been given the Tom Jones song 'It's Not Unusual' to sing and I almost pitch a fit when he starts off slow, elongating every fucking word but what's this?? HotCarl stops mid note and turns to John Foreman telling him that that's never going to work. John agrees and they bust right into the BIG version and it is AWESOME!! His microphone technique is still for shit and his voice isn't brilliant but MAN alive that was FUN!! Upgrade that man to LavaCarl!

Kyle is back in full on heat for LavaCarl and calls him the frontrunner. When Mark goes to speak the crowd goes completely apeshit for a td. Mark tries to look like he's sick of it but you just know he fucking LOVES it when they demand this from him, it totally reaffirms his belief that he is the most important judge and only his opinion counts. When he gets that look on his face, I like to whisper the names Kate de Rouge vs Emily the Coldly Anointed One and Damien Leith's 'ugly' mug at him and smirk lots. Dicko practically salaams at his feet because he wanted entertainment and he got it in SPADES. He was a little disappointed that no knickers made it up on stage but that's only because Fosse and I weren't there Dicko, LavaCarl totally got some laundry pitched at him from Chez Belle though. Marcia is all about entertainment and Kyle begs her to yank off her Gstring and then demonstrates how that might be done and ewwwwwww. Mathieson speaks for ALL of us when he sternly tells Kyle that if he takes his pants off, he will leave.

LavaCarl's next song is the Donny Hathaway version of John Lennon's 'Jealous Guy' and I'm sorry but if this guy doesn't get you a little heated under the collar then you may want to get yourself to a doctor, you may in fact already be dead. Straight boys? You too. He actually sings this really well and this is a great song choice for him. His confidence level is growing exponentially and it is showing, my hot hot little sailor.

Dicko think he's really beginning to motor along in this comp and acknowledges that when Marcia fought like a DOG (on heat) to Wildcard him, the others argued fiercely against it. He bows to her better judgement - and hey, let's not go crazy, let her have this one, just this one, but no more. I have spoken. Marcia knows what the ladeez want and is more than happy to take the credit. Kyle cops to the others bitching behind her back about it as well because they all thought he was underdone, but that he's turned up the heat, cooked himself and is now crackling. I want a big ol' plate of LavaCarl. Diet, schmiet. My PT won't mind, she watches Idol. Mark says he's listened, he's worked on everything they've critiqued and each week he's gotten better and better. Andrew G comes out and stands next to LavaCarl and for real, my tv antenna totally just melts.

Matt Corby is dressed like . . . I don't even know. Okay, if Marilyn Manson ever played the youngest son Kurt in an off Broadway version of The Sound of Music, he'd look something like Matt does tonight. Mark Holden is a total tool because the song he picked for Matt was from Phantom of the motherfucking Opera, 'Music of the Night'. Never thought I'd ever say this in conjunction with this show but he is NO Michael Crawford. He warbles all over the place and this is no match for last year and Irish's 'Nessun Dorma', it's not in the same ball park, it's not in the parking lot of the ball park, hell, it's playing an entirely different game. His last note is quite nice though.

Mark thanks him for 'singing' it and making the dumb ass girls in the audience scream their fool heads off and then gives him a freaking touchdown. For real, if Natalie Gauci doesn't get one tonight for SOMETHING, he is a dead man. Dicko rains on his parade calling it an idiotic song choice and not indicative of the kind of musician he's going to be. Marcia says its all about versatility and she had tears in her eyes and then gives well deserved props to the orchestra. Kyle is sitting squarely in the middle of all three (uncomfortable for someone) and then hazes him on his outfit, which, yes.

His performance of Death Cab For Cutie's 'Transatlanticism' is the polar opposite. It is lovely and actually quite sublime. His voice singing this is lovely but he really needs The Gauc to teach him how to play the piano and connect with the audience at the same time because he barely looks up until the very end.

Marcia says thats only the third time she's heard that song (everyone: but it's one of my favourites and is steeped in tradition) and thinks its cool that he could do something so left of centre, so moody and dark. Kyle tells him he could sing songs from the Satanic Verses of Satan and he would still love it. Hey, don't knock that CD, the SVS rock an outstanding version of 'How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria'. Mark thinks its fantastic to see him play the piano and tells him he has such wide ranging possibilities for a 16 year old. Dicko agrees telling him that the DCFC song made up for the crap that was PotO and calls it sublime.

Natalie Gauci is fucking adorable and so is her family and if it wasn't for the fact that BEN IS STILL IN THE COMPETITION, she would be my only real emotional connection to this season. She stands stock still to give us Marcia's choice of Sinead O'Conner/Prince song 'Nothing Compares To You' and bats her gorgeous big brown eyes at the camers and belts the living hell out of it. She is emoting all over the place. Shaneequa texts to query what the fuck she's wearing on her legs and I reply, tights. Evil tights, bent on world domination, ergh.

Dicko calls it the perfect song for her - a pop song with an alternative feel - and believed every single moment of it. Marcia also believed and is happy with her choice. Pat yourself on the back, Marcia! Kyle throws Gauci's personal life down on to the table for us all to look at and poke and then picks on her butt. It's the frakking tights, I'm telling you, they are EVIL. Mark says you can choose to let the personal out and she did exactly that. James threatens us with Kyle's ass again and G takes another opportunity to tell Natalie just how hot he thinks she is, awww G's in love.

Andrew G's girlfriend is singing Rihanna's 'Umbrella' as her second song. I don't like this song. I would however TOTALLY buy Natalie's version of it. She has stripped it right back, seated at her piano and she's thankfully left out those god awful 'ella ella' bits. Ninety seconds is not enough, I want to hear more and if Marty's still in the comp next week just add his ninety seconds on to her song so we get more Gauc, 'kay thanks.

Kyle compliments her prettiness and says 'Umbrella' is one of his favourite songs (nobody look at Marcia) and that she did a fantastic version of it. The INSTANT Holden starts talking, the crowd pitches at him to td her and she initially looks a little wary because she's been burned here before, but the crowd builds and builds to the point where Mark confesses it was magical and FINALLY gives her a fucking td, WEEKS after she should have gotten one. Dicko tells her that's exactly where she should be in terms of positioning herself, 'head for pop and turn left, if you go past Delta Goodrem you're on the right road, if go as far as Bjork, you've gone too far.' Hah! Gold. Marcia loves watching her play the piano and sing, she's just so solid and that she took such a chance because Rihanna's so big right now, but it totally paid off. Natalie giggles girlishly on a td high.

Well, they just announced the bottom three on the tv in our living room - Fosse called it the Best Bottom Three Ever, I like to think of it as the Bottom Three We Had To Have - Tarasai, Daniel and Marty. So how does Marty dodge another bullet and go back to the couch? I do not know. The Dud to go, right? Hang on, they're about to announce it . . . it's . . . The Dud! Huzzah! And to make me really happy The Daniel Mehsdud Top Twelve Scarf Watch takes a flying leap from 10 to 23 in his farewell package alone. (Yes, I am counting multiple wearings of the same scarf and also the scarf/blouse combo his mum is rocking.) See ya Dud, you seem like a really nice guy but a great performer and Idol you ain't.

Eight is enough

A Letter From Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, To Her Antipodean Subjects.

My dear Australians,

One was terribly pleased to hear that One’s Colonies Idol was this week paying homage to the Mother Country by performing numbers referred to as belonging to the genre of ‘The Britpop’. One has taken One’s grandsons aside and had ‘The Britpop’ explained to One, however One’s grandsons then scoffed rather inappropriately at the concept that the melange of songs performed on this particular night were in fact anything resembling ‘The Britpop’. Wills and Harry are frankly too chuffed by Our Boy’s defeat of Your Wallabies to really care and have said that you all were mostly ‘close enough’. In the meantime, One is thoroughly thrilled to be given the opportunity to ‘blog’ for Mistress TallulahBelle, who has graciously stepped aside. (Tallulah: You say stepped aside, I say pushed aside by burly men in black suits from MI:5 who threatened my cat until I forked over my password. Your Majesty.)

A rather attractive fellow, the Marquess of Scorch, Carl Risely puports to be singing ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’, penned by some of One’s favourite subjects, The Beatles. One has knighted Paul McCartney. One shall not extend this courtesy to Carl. His swing version is attributed to a Gentleman called Michael Buble. Well. One shall certainly set the corgi’s on that blighter should he set foot on the palace grounds. One finds this arrangement vaguely offending. His singing is quite adequate, One supposes, but One would appreciate it if he would stop butchering The Beatles. Thank you.

Knave Mark Holden calls it a great start and compliments his higher range. He notes that Carl insists on singing swing but that this may be his Achilles heel and longs for a ballad. The corgis like a good ballad. Our right royal British subject Dicko (O.B.E.) rightly dubs it ‘snuff jazz’ and says that he stamped all over the melody. Really, until One has heard Princess Anne warbling in the shower of a morn, to the Greatest Hits of Ronan Keating, One does not know true pain. Is the Dowager Marcia Hines perhaps a faith healer of some kind? Her tent like garment would suggest so. Daddy used to have faith healers and their ilk run towards the English Channel and drowned. She neglects to lay her hands on the boy, instead telling him to stay who he is. One thinks she may be delusional. The portly gent at the end believes Carl should stick to his guns but that tonight was a little bland.

Lady in waiting, Little Miss Tarasai Vushe is showing little respect for One’s Union Jack and has plastered said symbol of One’s greatness across her chest. She caterwauls a song called ‘Somebody To Love’ by a Band Named For Oneself. One believes she may be singing to God. At one point it rather sounds as if she is singing ‘The Way We Were’ by that delightful Barbra Streisand and she tells us it is a story about herself. One believes her singing improves dramatically by the middle of her song, producing a powerful glory note and blasting out a rather brilliant ending. (Tallulah: Word, Queeny.)

Dicko (O.B.E.) tries to get Tarasai to confess who she was singing to/about but she declines to name names. One’s Beefeaters could wring the truth from her. He likens her to a preacher woman and promises her ‘the collection plate is groaning’. The Dowager Hines knows how she feels and is also feeling her. One does not think this woman makes much sense. Camilla talks similar rubbish at breakfast about her horses. The portly gent has been telling The People for weeks that she is a star. The Knave hoots and hollers like Phillip after he has bagged a fox. He tells her she ripped the roof off and then gives her something One has been advised is called a ‘touchdown’. Is this perchance a communicable disease one can catch in the Colonies?

Lord Ben McKenzie is also disrespecting Our Jack. One is perennially unamused. Young sir has mixed the Oasis and Ryan Adams versions of ‘Wonderwall’ and is spinnin’ it his own way. One adores his arrangement and smoky husky voice. One will happily include him on One’s list of performers for this years Royal Gala Performance at Christmas. (Tallulah: Sorry, your Maj but just had to break in to say – amen, this is fucking great, he’s infused this song with all the usual Moppet vulnerability and when he gets off the stool and approaches the audience, he shines.)

The Dowager Hines loves his voice, the light and shade and power, and calls it a job well done. The portly gent backhands him a compliment that appears to push young sir’s buttons, but then tells him he was extremely believeable and it was really well done. The Knave asks him if it was freaky to come out after Tiramisu and One could have sworn her name was Tarasai? (Tallulah: yeah. You’ll get used to him, Liz, I promise, but you still won’t like it.) He then continues, noting that Benjamin needs to extend his vocal range. Ben has proved to Dicko (O.B.E.) that he is a real contender, but he wishes he hadn’t done that song. There is much to-ing and fro-ing about song choice and turning a Gallagher brothers song into something that would roll over the credits of a Disney film. Then Mr James Mathieson notes to The Knave that should he refer to Tarasai as ‘Tiramisu’ again, he will utilise the rules set up by Queensbury and plant him a facer. One has no choice but to twitter girlishly and have him knighted on the spot.

The Duke of He’s Not Very Good, Is He (tis a small hamlet in the county of Shropshire) Marty Simpson, is next. Is The Kooks ‘Naïve’ often thusly performed with a variety of faces pulled and notes missed? One does not approve of such tuneless drivel. One’s ears are thoroughly offended at this persons inability to stay in tune or on time. Off with his head. That will solve the problem.

The portly gent remarks that young Marty has one of the most interesting voices in the competition. Hmm. As a gel, in One’s days at school singing in the choir, that sort of ‘singing’ would earn you a sharp rap over the knuckes from the Mother Superior and it didn’t matter a jot if your Daddy was the King. The Knave berates his lack of timing and tells him his performance and vocal chops need to be brought up to speed, post haste. Dicko (O.B.E.) believes he has a distinct voice but would like One’s Australian subjects to not vote him any further into the competition. One heartily concurs and has penned a Royal Decree ordering Telstra to not pass on any text messages received for him. The Dowager Hines once again prattles about comfort and being oneself. This woman is ridiculous. Sir James and Mr Andrew G question Marty about why he is on the show – he seems to believe he does not handle performing covers very well and One wonders if he has ever seen this show before? Even One knows that Idol involves cover versions of songs and One has decided that should One ever decide to audition, One would perform ‘I’m Too Sexy’ by Right Said Fred. One does a most excellent rendition every New Years on the local pubs karaoke machine.

Viscount Jacob Butler’s girlfriend insists he has been waiting for The Britpop night for weeks. One wonders then why he didn’t choose an actual The Britpop song instead of The Beatles ‘Let It Be’? He is trying terribly terribly hard to impress One, but his voice is showing strain, cracking in his higher register and even when he ‘rocks it out’, he doesn’t really make it work. (Tallulah: Fosse noted that he sings like he’s forcing out a poo. Sigh. I just wish he’d frigging relax, we can still see him trying. Take a Zanax, dude.)

The Knave calls it a tough song to sing, that it shows the strengths and weaknesses of his voice. Dicko (O.B.E.) says he is reining it in but why choose this song? It is widely regarded as a ‘dog’ and is a faux gospel song and that even Sir Paul didn’t do it justice. One has contacted Sir Paul who had this retort: Bollocks. The Dowager also refutes that The Beatles wrote any ‘dogs’ but also that she thought Jacob might have started a touch lower in his register. The portly gent thinks he would have scored a few votes - with the old person’s vote (One disagrees, One shall not be voting) and to those who appreciate well groomed Gentlemen and those who know how to perform.

Mistress Belle has insisted One refer to this next young pup as The Dud. One was fully prepared to do as One pleased and call him by his real name as is sanctioned by Polite Society. But then One heard his version of The Police’s ‘Message In A Bottle’. One has since contacted Gordon and the boys who have agreed to never allow any of their songs to be utilised on such a show again. The Dud (indeed) has ludicrous hair. One would never allow One’s grandsons to wear it at such a length. The cost of mousse and gel would be scandalously high. This churl smiles altogether too much. One finds it disturbing. (Tallulah: and his singing sucked too. Let’s ditch Marty this week, people and next week The Dud.)

Dicko (O.B.E.) claims this song means a lot to him and calls it another case of over arranging a song to within an inch of its life. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. Indeed. One doesn’t simply send One’s soldiers out to reclaim One’s Empire by force, does One? But One could, if One wanted to. Oh, yes. The Dowager is confused about what the show is about. She argues with Dicko (O.B.E.) about crescendos and levels and then tells The Dud that he is damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t. He certainly is. The portly one says The Dud ticks every box but there is something that he just doesn’t like. The Knave says he is developing really well and has worked on his mid range, complimenting his falsetto and the arrangement. One is concerned for Mr Holden’s sanity and has authorised a stay at Bedlam Asylum for the duration of his madness. (Tallulah: God, he’ll never get out. Actually . . .)

One is currently quite concerned regarding the health of popstress Amy Winehouse and believe a stint in ‘Rehab’ would be most beneficial. Failing that a turn around the rooms at Bath works wonders. The Right Honourable Lady Natalie Gauci is without a doubt one of the most - what was the word Mistress Belle? (Tallulah: Foxy.) Aaah yes, - foxy young women One has ever seen. She is delightful to behold. One is not as impressed with her rendition of Ms Winehouse’s tune. It is exceedingly well sung and performed (Tallulah: especially the dancing, yowzah!) but One feels she lacks a little something, grittiness perhaps? (Tallulah: sadly, yes.)

The Dowager compliments her appearance and says she was sexy and sassy. The portly gent enquires after her health but then says she did too good a job and needed to be more ‘junky slag’. He did appreciate her ‘crazy eyes’. The Knave wants her to do well but thinks he’d gone to The Planet Disney – is that like The Planet Hollywood? One rather enjoyed their milkshakes with oreo’s. Dicko (O.B.E.) is also terribly concerned for Ms Winehouse’s current condition and believes that there was no need for Lady Gauci to be so jolly whilst singing that song. Lady Gauci defends her performance by debating the meaning of the song. She is admirable in her defence and One finds her delightful but she is wrong and One would like her to stop talking.

Our final performer of the night is a deliciously pretty young girl with rather magnificent eyes and ripe lips (Tallulah: Uh, your majesty? That’s a boy.) No. It can’t be. (Tallulah: no, it is, his name’s Matt Corby.) Really? What are you people doing allowing your sons to wear their hair so long and unkempt? (Tallulah: I know, I KNOW, but apparently all the kids are doing it. What are you gonna do, right?) What is One going to do? Never allow you to leave One’s Commonwealth for one thing, honestly you obviously can not be allowed to govern yourselves freely. Also, what is he singing? Is this perchance the dullest song released by One’s subjects? (Tallulah: The Verve’s ‘Bittersweet Symphony’? Fuck yeah. Matt has an undeniable knack of picking songs that annoy me but he’ll get a td from Holden for it, regardless of how monotonous and dull we might find it. And by The Clooney, he has made a dull song even duller.) Yes. One believes One shall ignore The Knave’s judgment on this one.

The portly gent truly believes this girl, sorry, boy is a sensational, ready made star and thinks he can do amazing things internationally. Well, he certainly shan’t get past customs at Heathrow with that hair if One has anything to say about it. The Knave spoke and did that ridiculous thing again. Dicko (O.B.E.) wants to push him farther but believes there is one thing missing for him – personality and edge. Quite. Before she passed, Mummy in her nineties had more edge than this young child. The Dowager says Matt shows us who he is with every pore of his being – the young chit does have most excellent skin, One wonders what exfoliant he uses.

Well. One would assume that the Bottom Three would consist of Marty, Jacob and The Dud but One presumes that it is not that simple? Mistress Belle? (Tallulah: yeah. Who knows at this point. It’s a total crap shoot – I mean, pissweak rendition of Coldplay song aside, who really thought RunMdC would go last week? So while it should by all rights be Marty who sings at us again, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Jacob either.) One shall watch with interest. But fair warning, Australia, One shall not relinquish sovereignty if Natalie or Ben are removed. In fact, One shall send Fergie as One’s ambassador – the Duchess, not the singer – if either of them is sent home. (Tallulah: You tell ‘em, Lizzy!)

Yours etc
Her Royal Highness
Elizabeth The Second

Just because Red and I were talking 'bout The Clooney today

and then because I'm ridiculously in love with this other guy too . . .

Sigh. Prettttttttty . . .




(we were talking about The Clooney because Red is in Sydney and she texted me this morning that she saw that guy from Idol last year, she wouldn't have recognised him except for the outlandish hair but what was his name, and I replied Bobby Flynn and she told me I was great, and I said well, great or obsessed with a reality tv singing show, you say potato, my shrink says potato and then she texted me again to ask exactly how much did I love and adore her and I replied with why, did you bump into Tim Brunero and force my mobile number on him because ALL my friends know that that is the rule, if they bump into Tim they must my mobile number give, he'll never call but still, he'll have it or at least, he'll have it and then immediately throw it in the bin and complain to his friends about the stalker chick in Melbourne and her crazy fucking friends and then I called her to make sure that wasn't the case because if it was then I needed to quickly bone up on some current Australian politics before he called but she had just managed to steal some magazines from the plane and the hotel that had stories/photo's/feature stories regarding The Clooney. Hence the pics. And here's one last one to make me happy . . . )

number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 number 9 gosh, that IS annoying

Acoustic night. Ian Moss pimpage, Idol unplugged, judges unhinged, a general lack of understanding about what 'acoustic' actually means and touchdowns arbitrarily dispensed in a manner that leads me to believe that Mark’s doctor has instructed him to randomly jerk his right arm at male members of the competition with big hair or risk losing his hearing completely. It’s the only explanation, right?

(I have taken away the capital ‘T’ on Touchdowns and downgraded them to simply touchdowns and that way they shall remain, until Mark gives Natalie and Ben one each and stops playing such blatant frigging favourites.)

Tonight your Idol viewing pleasure streams direct (indeed, may I say fast tracked) from the loungeroom of Chez Avoca with Shaneequa, Chrispy and Klaus von Puppy in attendance with the odd text message from Fosse on his sickcouch and roving rogue reporter PGiddy in Sydney. Shaneequa, the wholewheat pasta with lentil based sauce was much much tastier than it sounded, cheers!

RunMdC is up first and is there a clause in the Idol contract this season that states that a Coldplay song must be performed every show because he’s doing frakking ‘Yellow’, which I’ve bitched about before as being my least favourite Coldplay song but after RunMdC performs his Garth Brooks inspired version of ‘Yellow’, I will never complain about the Coldplay version of this song again. He sings it competently but it is cheesy and just WRONG and well, I’ll let Chrispy’s words speak for me – “this song had its bag packed but its flight was cancelled”. Da Costa might be in trouble because that went NOWHERE. And was BADLY enunciated. Mark, it is THING, not THANG. God.

Mark loved the bluesy arrangement and the versatility he’s showed by doing three shows where he did nothing but rock and then this show where it was a . . . softer, countrified rock. Dicko calls it honky tonk Coldplay and an inventive treatment and is chuffed he moved away from rock. Marcia loved the originality of it, the bluesy feel, but mostly loved the humour. The humour? In a Coldplay song? Why yes, I’ve always considered ‘Yellow’ to be the Buster Keaton of the Coldplay playlist, what the fuck Marcia? Kyle admits to treating music like he treats his women and by all that is holy, now you’re asking me to feel MORE sorry for his fiancée Tamara? I mean, Kyle has shown time and time again that he has a ridiculously scant amount of respect for music outside of his very narrow Fox FM pop genre, so I can’t begin to understand how little that means he knows about women. I feel like sending him a copy of Where Babies Come From and The Female Eunuch. And a dictionary.

Natalie Let’s Remake The Fabulous Baker Boys With Her As The Michelle Pfeiffer Character Because I’d Totally Pay To See Her Crawling Over A Piano Gauci has chosen Michael Jackson’s ‘Man In The Mirror’ and whilst there is initial scepticism in the Avoca loungeroom, Shaneequa assures us she has heard a stripped back version of this song and that it is duly righteous. Happily, Ian Unsurprisingly I Have A CD Coming Out Moss makes my day, as mere seconds after I comment that I hope she leaves the lyrics ALONE, he convinces her to stay with ‘man’ in the mirror, rather then ‘woman’ or ‘girl’ or ‘non specific gender’ (actually, non specific gender is what MJ originally sang but his manager dubbed it in postproduction). Natalie sings this GORGEOUSLY, she builds beautifully and her key change is sublime. Chrispy starts a Touchdown chant (still a capital ‘T’ at this stage of the night). Shaneequa looks askance at me as if waiting for me to bag it and I shake my head immediately because I know greatness and this chick is IT, she fucking ROCKED that.

Dicko comments how without all the bells and whistles of most weeks she shines the hardest the week they go unplugged, calling her a commanding figure and taking back last week’s Ticko From Dicko and instead gives her Fully Sicko From Dicko. It is slightly less ridiculous then the TD that is later foisted upon us. Marcia nonsensically tells Natalie about how much she’s suffered in this competition, even as she’s blossomed, she’s suffered and what? Shut up Marcia. Kyle loved it, it was beautiful and then Holden disappoints everyone greatly by saying the great thing about her is she listens to them and she always builds her songs and SHUT UP Holden and just give her the fucking TD. He shares with us that she only made the decision that day to play the piano and at this point Dicko nudges him and pesters him and practically gives him a chinese burn to give her a TD but Stingey McIDon’tLikeTheGirlsThisSeason sits on his hands and refuses.

They keep showing Ian Moss during HotCarl’s package and it makes me angry, show me my boy! He says he’s doing Cole Porters ‘It’s Alright With Me’, but he’s really doing the Harry Connick Jr version from Red Light, Blue Light. Good god, he’s playing the trumpet and wearing a suit and who cares if it’s a direct copy of every tour edition DVD that Michael Buble and HCJnr ever released. Fosse texts from his sickcouch to upgrade him from HotCarl to ScorchingCarl and it would be rude to use Shaneequa’s bathroom to have a cold shower right? PGid doesn’t get the love and complains bitterly about his singing again to which I reply, he sang? Huh, I’m too busy thinking rude things about how agile his lips and tongue must be.

Marcia is just so happy that her boy got to play his horn and bats her eyelashes at him. Kyle is back in full on love for HotCarl and comments that a man who looks like him should get the horn out as much as possible. Mark calls him consistent and thinks he did a really good job. Dicko says its fantastic that he didn’t wait until Big Band night to show Australia what kind of stuff he’d do as Our Idol and really, even I’m not that blinded by lust. Look, he’s beautiful and not the worst singer in the world, but if he wins this show then we, the Australian people, should demand to see exactly what the Australian Federal Defence Force has spent our tax dollars on this year and if the number 191010 shows up ANYWHERE on their phone bill, then maybe it’s time to give that Communism thing a try.

Jacob God Save The Queen Butler can not give up the British Isles, because he’s doing another British bands song, Keane’s ‘Somewhere Only We Know’, or as I like to call it, the song guaranteed to make an appearance on the soundtrack of any and all Zach Braff films. A fierce and cruel discussion is undertaken between Fosse, Shaneequa and Chrispy regarding Jacob’s weight whereby Chrispy posits the theory that Jacob has been eating the outgoing contestants. Hmpf. The views expressed by contributors do not reflect the opinions of italktoomuch. Because I still think he’s kinda cute. I try to convince the Avoca household that Jacob’s actually easier to like when you don’t watch him because then you can’t see him trying so heartbreakingly hard to win us all over but they will have no truck with it. In fairness, he has slowed this down ridiculously and it meanders all over the damn place very sedately and it unfortunately highlights a weak upper register.

Kyle calls it dead boring and likens it to something to be heard on the Channel Nine Xmas Carols. Ray Martin vehemently disagrees; there will be NO Britpop performed at HIS Carols, thank you. Then Marcia subverts everything by speaking next, when it is CLEARLY Mark Holden’s turn to nonsensically babble and bitch out at the contestant. She doesn’t agree with Kyle and says a great performer takes you to a place and she wanted to follow Jacob and Chrispy HATES Jacob because he snidely remarks that although that may be the case, sometimes the place they take you is Sarajevo which is not so much known as a pleasant touristy destination. I ask Chrispy to cease and desist being funnier then I am, thankyou. Dicko thinks Jacob just tries too damn hard (a la Ricky Muscat and the Eyebrows of Determination & Tunnel Vision – that should totally be the name of Ricky’s band. I call copyright!) but that this time he was simple and pure and mesmerised Dicko. Mark is at a bit of a loss because he knows what Jacob was trying for but thinks it didn’t quite hit the mark (and again, Jacob, should you actually hit Mark I will self fund your CD), it was at 60/70% when it needed to be at 130% and I’m no maths genius, I mean those Fifth Grader Kids could totally kick my mathematical arse, but even I know that that’s just a stupid thing to say.

Next up is Matt See The Pretty Girl In That Mirror There, Corby who wants me to hate him, there can be no other explanation for him singing ‘The Blowers Daughter’ by Damien Rice. And he’s successively made it dull and booooorrrrriiiiinnnngggggg and has left out all the pretty high bits. It gives us all the opportunity to have a quick nanna nap before waking up for the judging. Irish singing this for about a minute at his initial audition last year moved me more. The cellist is however, awesome.

Mark wows us all by admitting to thinking Matt is one of the handful of the most brilliant people they’ve EVER had on the show. You thought that about Emily Williams, Lee Harding and Dean Geyer, Holden, YOU HAVE NO CREDIBILITY. In fact, I will lay at least 65% of my dislike of Matt squarely at Holden’s feet, because the kid is talented, he seems lovely and doesn’t annoy me endlessly but I am OVER Holden’s blatant favouritism. The other 35% (see, I know how percentages work) is that he comes across as trying to hard to be A Grown Up. All his talk of Led Zepplin and blah blah and it just seems slightly forced and fake. It probably isn’t, he’s probably completely serious about his love of older music and bless him for that if it’s so, but it doesn’t ring completely true to me. Anyway. Dicko nods at the slightly obscure song choice but says he had the courage of his convictions to make that work. Right. Tell that to Holly Wienert. The chick who went out the first week on an obscure song, remember her? No? Marcia is just really very proud of Matt and his gift and has nothing else to add. Kyle thought it was so beautiful he wants to become gay lovers with Matt and somewhere backstage the twinkle in HotCarl’s eye dims slightly.

The Daniel Mehsdud Top Twelve Scarf Watch (which I missed last week owing to previously mentioned hospital visit time etc – everyone wave to Fosse who as at today is BACK in hospital, I’m off to watch the Results Show with him once I’m done, get well soon dude) is at nine, with two scarves this week. Mehsdud can’t say acoustic, he says A Cue Stick - which makes Shaneequa purse up her lips in total Teacher Mode – and he’s decided this week to destroy Kiss classic ‘I Was Made For Loving You’. I DESPERATELY want Gene Simmons to come on wearing those big motherfucking boots with the spikes and stomp on The Dud's tongue. I don’t like him. Or his hair. And I really don’t like this cheesy grin-ny version that he’s doing. No no no no no.

Dicko loves his mellow voice and says it was measured and one of his better vocal performances. Marcia calls it a semi RnB version and that a large part of being a performer is taking risks. I’d like him to risk feeding a great white. Kyle calls ‘IWMFLY’ a great love song and NO, it is NOT. It’s a song about getting your hips and the hips of another person working in tandem to produce pleasant tingly feelings in the groinal region. It is not hearts and flowers and sunny days and kittens, you IDIOT, its about SEX, seriously, do we need to get Kyle a copy of the kama sutra? Mark wants to know if the arrangement came from His Head and then. Gives. Him. A. Touchdown, sorry touchdown. It is time to retire the touchdown or at the very least take it away from Holden who is currently rankly mismanaging it and give it to someone who will use it wisely because for the second week in a row, someone else got Natalie Gauci’s td and I am getting a whiff of eau de Kate de Rouge.

Moppet is singing an Imogen Heap song ‘Hide and Seek’ and I announce to the room that I preemptively love this because a) it’s Moppet, b) he’s singing, which is totally like my most favourite thing for him to do and c) he is playing the piano. His husky soulful voice is astoundingly suited to this song and the room stops talking while he’s singing. Surely if The Dud got a td, this has to? Right? It is gorgeous and with tonight’s performances, he and Natalie have finally convinced me to vote this season. This kid connects with his lyrics so much more than Corby and I hate that he’s getting less of the love because he’s not as ‘pretty’. I think he’s freaking adorable and Shaneequa dreamily notes that a Gauci/McKenzie final two would be ace. I have no rebuttal because, yes.

Marcia didn’t know the song but she loved it and loves him. Hell yeah, Marcia, hop on board, we have plenty of room for the crazy! Kyle calls him a freak because every week he surprises him. Mark loved it too and calls it an incredible accomplishment because it’s a difficult song melodically to pull off and he did a terrific job whilst playing the piano and then he just . . . . stops talking. At which point the crowd, realizing there will be not td for Ben, lets out a HUGE disappointed ‘Ohhh’ which is a lot politer then what I said. Dicko thinks he was a little spooked by the whole thing because he’s heard him sing better (better? My brain would implode in the presence of such greatness) and says it shrunk him a bit, it was too meek but that on the bright side, he will inherit the earth. Oh Dicko. All is forgiven!

Little Miss Tarasai Vushe is singing the Des’ree number from the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack ‘I’m Kissing You Australia, Rather Than Smacking You In The Teeth For Not Voting And Putting Me In The Bottom Three, HOW DARE YOU’ and she’s taken over Lana’s job of overenunciating. She sings prettily but it’s a little overwrought and Shaneequa derides her breathing technique. She’s taken a slow song and slowed it down slowly. With a side of leisurely slothfulness and gradual delaying torpidity. It’s not hustling along anywhere, is what I’m saying. Her key change is lovely, but where is the glory note?

Little Miss T is Kyle’s current favourite (because he’s SCARED of her) and he likes that she’s consistently good and that every week we get to see a new personality of hers – how freaking many has she got hidden away? Mark notes she showed great vocal control but wants her to choose songs that she’s experienced so she deeply and profoundly mean them. Does that mean that the new guy who replaced Yellow Wiggle Greg Pane, did he first have to juggle a hot potato and then randomly go round to Jeff Fatt’s house late at night to wake him up before they would let him sing any of their songs? That’s a tough gig for Captain Feathersword. I wonder if he gets seasick? Dicko risks the wrath of Little Miss T by calling it P&O, cruise ship singing and cheesy. Little Miss T’s angry side, the one who made a brief appearance last week when she made Bottom Three, surfaces again to tell him that when she sings the song, it isn’t cheesy. And then she goes to parking lot and cuts his brake lines, boils his bunny and prank calls him for the rest of the night. Marcia understands where the guys are coming from and says she sang it beautifully but she wants the girl from backstage, the wild and woolly child to come out. I’m scared that wild and woolly child might cut someone . . .

Oh, Marty Clone of Jack Johnson Simpson, what ever shall we do with you and your song choice? Chasing Cars songs don’t work unless you have the cast of Grey’s Anatomy in the video clip with you; preferably whilst Izzy looks gorgeous in pink, George looks adorably overwhelmed by everything and everyone, Christine looks generally pissed, McDreamy looks . . . well . . . dreamy and Meredith looks pinched and like she needs a sandwich. He unsurprisingly Jack Johnson’s ‘Open Your Eyes’ and it is boring. He sings it better then he has sung ANYTHING thus far but it is still far below the bar set by everyone else on this show, except for maybe The Dud. He is totally without. Either he or The Dud must go, damnit.

Mark says it was lovely work, he promised to prove himself once he had his guitar and he did. Dicko recounts The Story Of Marty as being overpromise and undeliver and that he had to up his game this week and he did, but that he still needs to watch his vary speed, which yeah, dude can NOT keep time with the music. Marcia is just happy that he got to play because it’s been so difficult for him and sweet baby jesus, if you’re going to allow them to play their instruments at the audition let them play them during the show, I am repeating myself ad nauseam here. Kyle tells a sweet story where Marty ends up in a caravan with some girls and it ends happily ever after for me.

General consensus is the boys must lose one of their own tonight. There are only two girls left, it HAS to be an all boy Bottom Three, even through Little Miss T underwhelmed. I’d say in trouble are Jacob, Marty, RunMdC and possibly hopefully fingers crossed The Dud. In fact, I’d be more than happy with Marty or The Dud going home and if it was The Dud and he had to sing a song he got a td for and was STILL going home and therefore Holden had to face up to the fact that his opinion means SHIT? That would be schadenfreudelicous.