X Factor Diva Night!
Our Muesli Musings
More from Intern
There must be something in all the OTT melodrama of the X-Factor – all those cries of “This is the biggest moment of my life EVER…this is my LAST chance, and if I don’t get this right, it’s all over…” and you’re thinking: “You’re like, twelve, so I’m sure it isn’t all bad…” – that can turn the head of even the most seasoned of stars and starlets.
This week and last we’ve witnessed the tentative return of two ubiquitous musical divas. No stranger to ecstatic crowds, bright lights and dodgy dance moves, is it too much to expect something like perfection? Something for those young upstarts (Cheryl Cole’s androgynous boys mainly) to aspire to? You would think so…
Last week – witness Robbie Williams and his rabbit-in-the-headlights expression, spouting something about “Bodies in the Cemetary…”, wafting across the glittering stage as though looking for a likely exit. Too harsh? Well, perhaps only on the X-Factor stage, under the armchair-critical glare of the nation, with Simon Cowell’s bitchy faculties twitching with a desire to tell him: “Average. Wedding-singer material”, that he faltered. Or maybe he was just trying to work out that most baffling of cosmic conundrums: the inexplicable, and continuing, popularity of Take That…
Robbie is one thing. But for the diva of all divas to succumb (and on diva night of all nights!) is just plain sad: as soon as Whitney had warbled her last – appearing transfixed by the very presence of Dermot O’Leary (is it just me or is he shorter than anyone else alive?), and chosen her words more carefully than she chose that dress when describing the contestants (“They are very young…practice, practice, practice…”) – I got a damning verdict in the form of a text from my brother: “Wot woz wrong wit her? Woz she on something?” And that dress…one sorry former member of the Houston entourage is surely queuing up in the Dole office this morning after that near-booby…
On the plus side though – kudos to Cheryl Cole, and her multiplicity of marching dancers. And at least her song buzzed on in my head for a long(ish) while afterward…well, longer than Whitney’s ditty anyway.
Lesson to all: never let yourself be upstaged by a dress.
Words: Nigel MCDowell