Here we go. Finally! Cutting the dross down to the Semi Finalists. Let’s cut right to the chase, let's kick this puppy and how!
Sixty three are left to be put through the mean, nasty, psychosis inducing process of one on one yes/no drawn out interviews with the judges. They’re putting through 12 guys and 12 girls – sucks if you’re that 13th guy who is massively more talented then the 12th girl they put through. I call that guy Dewayne Everett-Smith. I also call the judges massive tools.
Tarasai Vushe and her big, booming Gift From God voice, is the first girl through. Her solo performance is waaaaaaay oversung but I do enjoy the vaguely gospel-ly aspects of it, and when she pauses after BELTING a note, to cheekily ask if the audience heard her, she gets a laugh from them and me. Keep the humour, love but slow down on the Praise Jesus and the bigger then Ben Hur notes and we’ll get along fine. (Also – never again match your eye shadow to your top. The Fug Girls will fug you like they fugged Amali.)
Daniel Misfud is up next and no-one really thinks this guy isn’t getting through, right? It’s not backwards day or anything. His solo perf is laid back and Irish has been kind enough to lend him the Idol Falsetto. That’s sweet. Now go and buy his CD. Now, bitches.
Both Mildura girls Jesse Curran and Holly Weinert go in together because omigod, they are like so totally the same person, can you even tell them apart because I know I can't, they are such total bookends!! I mean, they're like both TOTALLY blonde and both really good singers and both from Mildura!! Totally!! For real!! Maybe they’re related?!! Oh my god, are they twins??!! Stupid show. I personally prefer Jesse’s voice, she has a gorgeous natural quaver going on. Holly’s solo was ‘Blackbird’ (by way of the Sarah McLachlan version, I believe) and I have to say, I didn’t care for it at all but that’s more about the arrangement and less about her voice.
WA boy Mustard gets knocked back. He takes it gracefully. This will be a recurring theme until we hit Jasmine.
Cat eyed Brianna Carpenter is still my current fave (go check out her Myspace page, her original shit is AWESOME). She thinks she’s quirky and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s self aware or a little pretentious. Time will tell. Hope it’s the former. She wants the show to embrace left of centre and you can practically see Marcia’s hackles rise there because she can smell Eau De Chanel Cole – and that ain’t one of Mother Marcia’s favourite things, boys and girls. Through clenched and gritted teeth, Marcia tells her she’s in.
Dylan Yeandle's cheeky passion and actually quite awesome rendition of The Cure’s ‘Love Cats’ isn’t enough to get him through the SemiFinal door. He is heartbroken but I am glad to see that his often previewed hissy fit moment of shoving a glass off a table is done in light (broken)hearted jest. Bravo on taking it so well, young sir.
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 . . .
Cheray Doughty is another of my favourites right from her first audition. Her solo is the usually career killing Four Non Blondes ‘What’s Going On’ but her version is gorgeous in its restraint and I loudly applaud her arranging skills. She is overjoyed to make it through and it’s at this point that I notice young Ben McKenzie is one of the first to hug whoever comes out from panel.
Jordan You Can Never Be Too Orange Paris, is wearing a white suit that is colour co-ordinated to his teeth. His flashbacks remind me that, crazy suits and overtanning aside, he doesn’t have a terrible voice but he cheesily overperforms ‘Right Here Waiting’ for his solo and as much as thinks he is in, he isn’t. His lip literally quivers and my cold bitchy heart breaks a little for him.
The silky voiced motherfucking awesomeness of Dewayne Everett-Smith doesn’t get through. I’m so FUCKING FURIOUS about that, that I can’t even LOOK at the judges without wanting to punch every single one of them in the middle of the throat. They ask him to come back next year and Marcia is crying and I scream at him to PUNCH THEM DEWAYNE, PUNCH THEM HARD.
Johnny Depp impersonator Husny Thalib strangely chose my favourite karaoke song ‘Torn’ for his solo performance. It’s not bad. It’s not great though he is definitely individual and completely different to anyone else in the competition. There’s a place for him in the Semi’s. (BUT NOT FOR DEWAYNE. NEED TO PUNCH SOMEONE SOOOO HARD).
Our favourite nutter Jasmine Anderson, who I still thought was a dead cert to get through based on her original audition and her solid solo perf of ‘Lean On Me’, obviously pushed her luck waaaay too far with her group shenanigans and even her tearful mea culpa to panel will help her now. She FABULOUSLY loses her shit (and although it’s for herself, I like to think a little of it was for Dewayne). It is a hissy fit worthy of Joan Collins in Dynasty, circa 1984. I fully expected her to throw a glass of whisky in Mark’s face and have a catfight in a waterfountain with Marcia with both of them wearing ear high shoulder pads – come on, you know Marcia could lend her something without even having to get clothing out of storage. Call her crazy, but chick can still totally rock out a tune. But, yeah, killer fatigue. Killer.
Wonderful little crooner Sarah Lloyde, who made the Top 100 in 2005 but has never gotten any further, giggles giddily when she gets in. Awwww, she's cute. And friends with Jacob.
Group Nicole, Tim, Nikki and Chad go in together and are all told no. Time saving, I likey. Me no likey? When the next group brought in, which consists of Annabel, Daniel, Shaye and Jack Byrnes is told that it's a no. Except for one of you. So that's, let me see - amazing low. Followed by amazing speculative scary potential high. And then amazing bottoming like a drunk out of three dollar hooch low for the three people who aren't Jack. It's like a quick lesson in what its like to have bipolar disorder. Cruel, show.
MiniJohnButler, shaggy haired and over eyebrowed Marty Simpson sings Tom Petty's 'Won't Back Down'. It's got a laid back beachy feel to it and he has a pretty good voice, but he isn't impressing the judges with his personality. He however, is still in. I am still pissed about Dewayne.
Like Daniel before him, Matt I Am NOT Dean Geyer Mark II Corby doesn't really need to be put through this rigmarole bullshit we're so sorry but we have to . . . put you in! Hah! Faked you out totally, right? Please. Don't waste our motherfucking time. Now, I put it to you that the kid has a good voice (he's sixteen, he's sixteen) and is pretty cute. But I'm making the call now - he'll make the Top 12, of course he will. He won't win. Brand me foolish. Laugh at me if you will, but like Anthony Callea and Dean Geyer before him, the tween vote won't be enough. He'll need to persuade us oldies, we control the Idol vote, this ain't Big Brother. If Tim Brunero could sing, he'd have cakewalked Idol.
Let's move on to Ben McKenzie, adorable little ragamuffin who is told they think he's too young (he's the same freaking age as the last guy you saw, wankers, but yes, he IS too young and so is Matt . . . ) He's in. I will spend his performance biting my nails worrying about him. God.
Jacob Butler, oh you silly silly boy, 'Across The Universe'? Do you not know that Chanel Cole fucking owns the Idol rights to this song? And no one else is allowed to sing it. Ever. Don't make me hurt you - if you come on the show and do 'Constant Craving' or 'History Repeating' I will have to break your arm. They put him through and he runs outside straight into the arms of Ben McKenzie - seriously, that kid is getting body time with everyone.
Joining the ranks of cute girls through is Natalie Gauci who kicks ass with her own version of 'Crazy'. She's very very cute, I love her scarf and she knows how to sing a song at her loudest and proudest without strangling the notes. I like more of the girls this season. Some really good voices.
Rather pretty Lyall Adonis makes me like The Verves 'Drugs Don't Work'. It's lovely and restrained - I'm a big fan of restraint, its more emotional than the belting the living hell out of and oversinging vocal gymnastics favoured by 'big' singers like Tarasai. I'm relieved we appear to only have one of them this season. He is through and my goodness, we DO have some hottie boys this season. Yowzah.
It's 4.30 fucking am before they get to the final two girls. Dude, that sucks. It's not good for your nerves to be tortured for that long - can we get the Geneva Convention altered or the UN on to this or something? The last two are Rosie Ribbons and Cyndi Dietrich and I'm sorry Cyndi, but Rosie is amazing, you have to know going in that it's her and not you. Rosie's voice is just great and she didn't make Top Six of UK Idol for nothing. Cyndi sang Sarah McLachlan's 'Angel' and again, why do a song that a previous Idol (in this case, Hayley) owned? Silly. Redundant. Rosie sang 'Stand By Me', a song that I'm not thrilled by for this kind of competition and I hope her song choice is better at the semi's, but when Marcia asks Rosie what this means to her, her answer is perfect in her simplicity; "I don't believe that I'm not supposed to sing". That's how you acknowledge destiny or fate and praise whatever higher power you believe in. Rosie goes through, Cyndi is understandably sad and I note that not one of Jasmine's group got through.
The last two boys to see panel are Dave Andrews (who is keeping his daughter up at 4.30 am, bad daddy!) and James Davies. Both guys are quite good singers, both with their own unique qualities and although they tell James that he's the one they think is ready, they put Dave through. I'm ambivalent about this one, I must admit. I don't think Dave will make it past the semi's and I'm still just red rage coma inducingly pissed that they didn't put Dewayne in. Remember season one, when they brought that guy back who made it to the top 100 but not the semi's? I don't remember his name, but they Wildcarded him, maybe they'll see the error of their ways and Wildcard Dewayne. Otherwise, someone needs to be punched. Punched.
Oh, and as usual we didn't get to see some people who made it to the Semi's - this year they completely ignored Junior To'o, Mark da Costa, Sally van der Zwart, Lana Krost, Madison Pritchett and Morgan Hosking. So odds are, as no one knows who they are, unless they ROCK the hell out of their semi final perfomance, they won't make it to the Top 12.
Sunday night, the boys are up first - Matt (dead cert), Jacob, Lyall, Daniel (dead cert), Husny and HotCarl.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
Daniel Johns made zero (0) friends today
It’s the Seymour Centre? Already? Really? Didn’t that both fly by and crawl painfully? Idol Contestant Hopefuls about to have their dreams crushed out of them like so many fingers caught in a garlic press, bound gaily into Australian Idol Sponsored Mazda’s and marvel at the many sights Sydney has to offer. I marvel at the rather significant amount of them who appear to not be wearing their seatbelts as they gad about town. Then I tut. Then I realise that I just channeled my mother and get the full blown body creeps. (love you Mamma, hola!)
Never one to suffer large numbers gladly, Mark Holden immediately breaks the news that because his abacus broke and he counted his toes too many times, they accidentally put a smidgen too many untalented fools through and like kangaroo’s in the outback, there’s a cullin' a comin'. Forty of the least likely to make it through are told to sack up or go home, and I would argue that if they’re that unlikely to make it to the Semi Finals, here’s a revolutionary idea – DON’T SEND THEM TO SYDNEY IN THE FIRST PLACE.
MOTHERFUCKERS.
For real, forty really excited singers who legitimately thought they were in with a chance to soar the dizzying heights of Idol fame, who didn’t sleep for the WEEK before they flew in to Sydney, who told EVERYONE they know that, yes, they made it to the Top 100; didn’t even get to raid their mini bars properly. They now have to go home and tell their parents, their friends, their singing teachers, that no, they weren’t good enough. I imagine that probably stung slightly, don’t you?
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!! All ten of the first group get return tickets home; lone Anthony Newcote is the only one from group two; two unnamed lasses from group three and then Kyle Chorus Line’s group four and the people in the front line go home. They all look, understandably, pissed. HotCarl is safe. Phew.
Solo line singing for the rest . . . Daniel Misfud and his bouncy hair don’t sing Green Limousine nearly as well as Chanel, I don’t care how hot Fosse thinks he is. Sarah Lloyde and Sally van der Zwart (that ain’t going to work across an album cover, love) both sound fantastic singing Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and Tennessee Waltz, respectively. All three singers make it through and I comment to Eupholoofo that we’ve already seen more singing in the first twenty mins then we did ALL last season Seymour Centre.
Singer after singer attempts to screech their way through instead of singing and unsurprisingly, that doesn’t so much work. Mark DaCosta rocks the living HELL out of Evie – damn, Idol is determined to make me like this song, isn’t it? Morgan Hosking sings some hauntingly gorgeous melody and if anyone knows what that was, please email me! Jacob Butler is letting his growl out and Euph is not ashamed to report that he has made her knees tremble since his X Factor days. I see it, but do not share it.
Casey Marangon-Elliot’s quite well performed number gets slammed by Kyle and starts an argument about song choice in which the conclusion is; Kyle Knows Jack Shit. We are all astonishment.
Shamara-Lea Hassett does not sing as well or look as comfortable as she did during her sit in audition, she looks like she hungers to have her guitar in her hands and gets herself sent home along with roughly twenty three others as we are left with a grand total of seventy seven – yes, 77 – still to torture.
Mathieson and G stand in the cold Sydney rain as Euph and I launch ourselves at the tv wanting to give them both hugs – G needs a hug! Look he’s cold, vegans have no body fat! I have body fat! Hug me G!! I’m warm blooded!
Holden breaks the apparently awful news that the group songs will be unisex. Yeah? So? And then that they won’t have any help from John Foreman or Erana Clark. Right. Well, now I call bullshit. This fucking process is obviously difficult enough, so why – WHY – take away any shred of decent musical support and give them one of their shit stirring judges? They need impartial help at this point. Not someone who is going to *spoiler* slink around the fucking corridors looking for trouble or who will lurk on the end of a walkie talkie to hear from the camera crews where he can cause the most trouble. BULL. SHIT.
This years group songs are two really quite difficult ones that you should never attempt to harmonise as a newly formed group of nervous singers trying to impress three bitchy judges and the Wigged One; and an obviously really quite smart choice, smarter then the other two to the point where I can’t believe they didn’t have it highlighted in bright pink marker and with some kind of motion sensing device attached to it so that everytime you looked at, it beeped at you and cried in the voice of Stephen Fry, ‘pick me, pick me’ . . .
Straight Lines – silverchair (no, not this one)
Knowing Me, Knowing You – ABBA (nuh-uh, keep going)
End of the Road – Boys II Men (ding ding ding!!)
Supergroup Matt Corby, Rosie Ribbons, Daniel Misfud and Natalie Gauci (may I potentially introduce you to your Final Four?) decide on EotR after Matt comments that Straight Lines is ‘a really hard song’. This will become DEAFENINGLY important very very soon to other people. But not these four. These four are grown up, gorgeous and golden.
Killer Fatigue takes out players all over the damn hotel as Husny Thalib argues with his peroxided groupmate Phil, an argument that just goes on and on, when they should be shutting up and getting the fuck on with it. Dude.
But wait! There’s more and better shit to hit the fan as we quickly move to Northern Territorian Jasmine whose wig has completely flipped - her group of Chad, Dylan and persistent three times this season auditionee Cyndi Dietrich eventually decided to try on Daniel Johns’ falsetto and Jasmine is breaking in pieces right in front of our very eyes as she realises that THEY CAN’T. More specifically? That SHE won’t . . . Holden, in an act of what I can only imagine was pure LUCK, stumbles on to their hotel room and immediately uses his spider senses to hone in on Jasmine’s jacked off visage. He pokes the tiger, saying the group song is to see who can handle pressure and who will crack. Crap. It’s about good tv. It’s about mostly unseasoned and non professional kids staying up all motherfucking night to learn a fucking pop song, trying to work with other non professional kids to harmonise so they don’t sound like cats on heat, then coming in the next day on no sleep, hungry, starving for YOUR approval Holden, dehydrated because they don’t know how to look after themselves and dancing like monkeys for our unadulterated viewing pleasure. The group song NEVER means anything. It barely registers in regards to who you put through to the semi’s. If it did, we would see actual consequences and year after year you put through weaker group performances because they aced their individual auditions. We’re not stupid. Shut up Mark.
Jasmine, who is magnificently backed into a corner by the famous tv star who will later be JUDGING HER strangely looks sullen as Holden berates her and tells her she’s a miserable cow. Awwww, that’s helping, Mark, good work. Yes, she’s being a pain but hey, nonetheless, that’s stellar advice. How she didn’t jump up and just stab him, I don’t know.
HotCarl Risely sleeps with his trumpet. That is strangely, not a euphemism.
Those Lynx BamChicka ads are fucking gold.
More shit goes on. Jasmine says she’s pulling a Jorge Bec and leaving. Then she’s telling her groupmates who basically don’t give a flying fuck because its THREE IN THE MORNING, then lo and behold Holden comes in on his white steed of Mischief to convince her to stay. Even if her voice is shredded. They obviously want this girl in the semi’s. All I’m saying. Because there is no other way on this green earth that her group gets through otherwise. They are bollocks. Cyndi is the only one keeping her shit together in any way, shape or form and is the ONLY one who deserved to get through. The fact that they put all four of them through stinks of shenanigans to me and says Jasmine is in the Top 24. She has a great voice, but she’ll need to keep an eye on the sullen, methinks. She breaks down afterwards – ohhh, lookee, our first real emotional damage of the season. Huzzah! Well done, show.
The silverchair songs proves to be everyone’s downfall – we pause briefly to hate on Tarasai who tries to start a Hillsong convention in the auditorium. HotCarl’s group does not a great job, do (but Monday night previews show him so he makes it through). Then Matt, Rosie, Daniel and Natalie save the day – their End of the Road is pretty effing awesome, right up there with Chris Murphy and Dean Geyer’s Beautiful Day from last season. They communicate very well on stage and you can pick the kids who’ve done this sort of shit before, they have their asses together. Then it’s a cascading waterfall of good group after good group – most of whom have chosen EotR and not Straight Line – Daniel Johns sits at home watching Idol, chuckling evilly to himself and getting more friends addicted to Facebook.
We see lovely individual performances from Lana Krost, Jack Byrnes and Junior To’o and then G & James break it to us that there are sixty four left.
You . . .
Ex . . . cuse . . . me?
The fuck?
We just had seventy seven. We had group perfs and there are STILL SIXTY FOUR? You wankers only ditched THIRTEEN from the group performan . . . . fuck off show. Just fuck right off. I can’t speak to you right now. I’ll see you Monday night as you continue to not show me any Brianna Carpenter.
Bastards.
Never one to suffer large numbers gladly, Mark Holden immediately breaks the news that because his abacus broke and he counted his toes too many times, they accidentally put a smidgen too many untalented fools through and like kangaroo’s in the outback, there’s a cullin' a comin'. Forty of the least likely to make it through are told to sack up or go home, and I would argue that if they’re that unlikely to make it to the Semi Finals, here’s a revolutionary idea – DON’T SEND THEM TO SYDNEY IN THE FIRST PLACE.
MOTHERFUCKERS.
For real, forty really excited singers who legitimately thought they were in with a chance to soar the dizzying heights of Idol fame, who didn’t sleep for the WEEK before they flew in to Sydney, who told EVERYONE they know that, yes, they made it to the Top 100; didn’t even get to raid their mini bars properly. They now have to go home and tell their parents, their friends, their singing teachers, that no, they weren’t good enough. I imagine that probably stung slightly, don’t you?
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!! All ten of the first group get return tickets home; lone Anthony Newcote is the only one from group two; two unnamed lasses from group three and then Kyle Chorus Line’s group four and the people in the front line go home. They all look, understandably, pissed. HotCarl is safe. Phew.
Solo line singing for the rest . . . Daniel Misfud and his bouncy hair don’t sing Green Limousine nearly as well as Chanel, I don’t care how hot Fosse thinks he is. Sarah Lloyde and Sally van der Zwart (that ain’t going to work across an album cover, love) both sound fantastic singing Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and Tennessee Waltz, respectively. All three singers make it through and I comment to Eupholoofo that we’ve already seen more singing in the first twenty mins then we did ALL last season Seymour Centre.
Singer after singer attempts to screech their way through instead of singing and unsurprisingly, that doesn’t so much work. Mark DaCosta rocks the living HELL out of Evie – damn, Idol is determined to make me like this song, isn’t it? Morgan Hosking sings some hauntingly gorgeous melody and if anyone knows what that was, please email me! Jacob Butler is letting his growl out and Euph is not ashamed to report that he has made her knees tremble since his X Factor days. I see it, but do not share it.
Casey Marangon-Elliot’s quite well performed number gets slammed by Kyle and starts an argument about song choice in which the conclusion is; Kyle Knows Jack Shit. We are all astonishment.
Shamara-Lea Hassett does not sing as well or look as comfortable as she did during her sit in audition, she looks like she hungers to have her guitar in her hands and gets herself sent home along with roughly twenty three others as we are left with a grand total of seventy seven – yes, 77 – still to torture.
Mathieson and G stand in the cold Sydney rain as Euph and I launch ourselves at the tv wanting to give them both hugs – G needs a hug! Look he’s cold, vegans have no body fat! I have body fat! Hug me G!! I’m warm blooded!
Holden breaks the apparently awful news that the group songs will be unisex. Yeah? So? And then that they won’t have any help from John Foreman or Erana Clark. Right. Well, now I call bullshit. This fucking process is obviously difficult enough, so why – WHY – take away any shred of decent musical support and give them one of their shit stirring judges? They need impartial help at this point. Not someone who is going to *spoiler* slink around the fucking corridors looking for trouble or who will lurk on the end of a walkie talkie to hear from the camera crews where he can cause the most trouble. BULL. SHIT.
This years group songs are two really quite difficult ones that you should never attempt to harmonise as a newly formed group of nervous singers trying to impress three bitchy judges and the Wigged One; and an obviously really quite smart choice, smarter then the other two to the point where I can’t believe they didn’t have it highlighted in bright pink marker and with some kind of motion sensing device attached to it so that everytime you looked at, it beeped at you and cried in the voice of Stephen Fry, ‘pick me, pick me’ . . .
Straight Lines – silverchair (no, not this one)
Knowing Me, Knowing You – ABBA (nuh-uh, keep going)
End of the Road – Boys II Men (ding ding ding!!)
Supergroup Matt Corby, Rosie Ribbons, Daniel Misfud and Natalie Gauci (may I potentially introduce you to your Final Four?) decide on EotR after Matt comments that Straight Lines is ‘a really hard song’. This will become DEAFENINGLY important very very soon to other people. But not these four. These four are grown up, gorgeous and golden.
Killer Fatigue takes out players all over the damn hotel as Husny Thalib argues with his peroxided groupmate Phil, an argument that just goes on and on, when they should be shutting up and getting the fuck on with it. Dude.
But wait! There’s more and better shit to hit the fan as we quickly move to Northern Territorian Jasmine whose wig has completely flipped - her group of Chad, Dylan and persistent three times this season auditionee Cyndi Dietrich eventually decided to try on Daniel Johns’ falsetto and Jasmine is breaking in pieces right in front of our very eyes as she realises that THEY CAN’T. More specifically? That SHE won’t . . . Holden, in an act of what I can only imagine was pure LUCK, stumbles on to their hotel room and immediately uses his spider senses to hone in on Jasmine’s jacked off visage. He pokes the tiger, saying the group song is to see who can handle pressure and who will crack. Crap. It’s about good tv. It’s about mostly unseasoned and non professional kids staying up all motherfucking night to learn a fucking pop song, trying to work with other non professional kids to harmonise so they don’t sound like cats on heat, then coming in the next day on no sleep, hungry, starving for YOUR approval Holden, dehydrated because they don’t know how to look after themselves and dancing like monkeys for our unadulterated viewing pleasure. The group song NEVER means anything. It barely registers in regards to who you put through to the semi’s. If it did, we would see actual consequences and year after year you put through weaker group performances because they aced their individual auditions. We’re not stupid. Shut up Mark.
Jasmine, who is magnificently backed into a corner by the famous tv star who will later be JUDGING HER strangely looks sullen as Holden berates her and tells her she’s a miserable cow. Awwww, that’s helping, Mark, good work. Yes, she’s being a pain but hey, nonetheless, that’s stellar advice. How she didn’t jump up and just stab him, I don’t know.
HotCarl Risely sleeps with his trumpet. That is strangely, not a euphemism.
Those Lynx BamChicka ads are fucking gold.
More shit goes on. Jasmine says she’s pulling a Jorge Bec and leaving. Then she’s telling her groupmates who basically don’t give a flying fuck because its THREE IN THE MORNING, then lo and behold Holden comes in on his white steed of Mischief to convince her to stay. Even if her voice is shredded. They obviously want this girl in the semi’s. All I’m saying. Because there is no other way on this green earth that her group gets through otherwise. They are bollocks. Cyndi is the only one keeping her shit together in any way, shape or form and is the ONLY one who deserved to get through. The fact that they put all four of them through stinks of shenanigans to me and says Jasmine is in the Top 24. She has a great voice, but she’ll need to keep an eye on the sullen, methinks. She breaks down afterwards – ohhh, lookee, our first real emotional damage of the season. Huzzah! Well done, show.
The silverchair songs proves to be everyone’s downfall – we pause briefly to hate on Tarasai who tries to start a Hillsong convention in the auditorium. HotCarl’s group does not a great job, do (but Monday night previews show him so he makes it through). Then Matt, Rosie, Daniel and Natalie save the day – their End of the Road is pretty effing awesome, right up there with Chris Murphy and Dean Geyer’s Beautiful Day from last season. They communicate very well on stage and you can pick the kids who’ve done this sort of shit before, they have their asses together. Then it’s a cascading waterfall of good group after good group – most of whom have chosen EotR and not Straight Line – Daniel Johns sits at home watching Idol, chuckling evilly to himself and getting more friends addicted to Facebook.
We see lovely individual performances from Lana Krost, Jack Byrnes and Junior To’o and then G & James break it to us that there are sixty four left.
You . . .
Ex . . . cuse . . . me?
The fuck?
We just had seventy seven. We had group perfs and there are STILL SIXTY FOUR? You wankers only ditched THIRTEEN from the group performan . . . . fuck off show. Just fuck right off. I can’t speak to you right now. I’ll see you Monday night as you continue to not show me any Brianna Carpenter.
Bastards.
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