X Factor Live Show Week 9: Club Classics

In Simon Cowell's world, a song has to only be conceived to be thought of as a 'classic'. But at least he lives in the real (ish) world, unlike Louis, who is descending further into madness...
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So next week is the X Factor finals, something that seems to come around as surely as the death of an elderly relative in January. And with that comes the inevitable shunting off of some poor desperado in this weeks semi-finals. And I don’t want to put words in anyone’s mouth, but it’s definitely going to be Mary.

This week was Club Classics night, and Rebecca ‘kicked off the show’ (quoting Dermot) with ‘You Got To Show Me Love’. However, I was more interested in her tripping the red carpet for the Narnia premiere and meeting ‘Mr and Mrs Boris Becker’. If anything would seal my reluctance to enter a reality TV show, it would certainly be the prospect of being seen with Becker anywhere with cameras. Rebecca’s performance was remarkable  for two reasons; being flanked by dancers wearing cataract glasses, and for Simon Cowell admitting he was ‘wrong’ in being uncertain about the song choice. Somewhere, the world briefly spun off its axis and some birds fell from the sky.

Next up was Mary singing ‘Never Can Say Goodbye’. Apart from tonight, where we’ll have the pleasure of watching her sob through her ‘best bits’ like a choking elephant. Surrounded by dancers dressed in Liberace’s wallpaper, poor Mary looked as though she was waiting for the guillotine to fall any time. Oh well, at least there’s always cake. Worryingly, Simon speculated on the similarities between the set dressing and Louis’ bedroom; really? I didn’t see Nicky Byrne gaffer taped to a bondage cross anywhere.

Matt Cardle has been sick over the past week, and was forced to make a dramatic return to his parents house to be lovingly nursed back to health. Across the nation, a million women patted their Olbas Oil hankies and stroked the television in hazy-eyed sympathy. Was it just me who found this vaguely pathetic? The man had a ‘strained voice’, he hadn’t had his head blown off in a high street car bomb explosion. Nonetheless, he recovered well enough to bastardise Candi Staton, looking very much like Hugh Grant playing ‘Killing Me Softly’. And I don’t know if it was the Vicks VapoRub he got his stylist to massage into his chest, but he also looked a little like a rheumy-eyed alcoholic who’d been sitting in a hedge for a few days.

I always know when One Direction are taking the stage because of the hysterical screaming of angsty teenage girls, broody mothers and kiddie fiddlers

As usual, Cher could barely speak - let alone sing - for the amount of make-up holding her face together, and did that odd little dance like she was trying to shake Alsatian shit off her high-tops. Is it just me, or is it clear that this girl is a Class A cunt? Her hair alone seems to grow every week to triffid proportions, but it’s the look in her eyes that says, ‘If you don’t let me wear Urban Outfitters, I’ll slash your face up’. ‘We like a happy Cher’, beamed Cheryl (who was an interesting colour this week, a bit like a sick child’s nappy). Of course you like a happy Cher, I don’t think SyCo productions could afford the lawsuits from shaky stylists with MAC brushes shoved up their arses. Apparantly one stylist dared to suggest that Miss Lloyd should try experimenting with two pairs of false eyelashes instead of her customary three. My sympathies to her family, but at least she died doing what she loved.

I always know when One Direction are taking the stage because of the hysterical screaming of angsty teenage girls, broody mothers and kiddie fiddlers; and they didn’t really help the latter by claiming they’d missed ‘Uncle Simon’ dearly over the past week. Like Cher, One Direction have an unusual trademark dance that looks a bit like they’re negotiating an accident they’ve just had in their Pampers, but we all had to feel a bit sorry for them because they had a really hard week this week. I had a tough week too, lads; I lost my purse, had £100 quid nicked out of my pocket and some twat slashed the tyres on my car. What happened to you? Oh, you had to rehearse without Zane? And you missed Simon while he was spluttering into gold-rimmed hankies and bathing in Pegasus tears to heal his cold. And you had a free shopping trip to Topman and they didn’t have anything small enough to fit you? Just excuse me while I go and sever an artery.

And then there was a commercial break, and the semi-finalists sang songs they hoped would take them into the final. Matt grufted through ‘She’s Always A Woman’ with an in-explicable staircase in the background, Rebecca looked even more like Dina Carroll, Cher rapped, Mary took on Streisand and One Direction did favourite ‘first dance’ wedding song, Chasing Cars. Interesting, the hit article on the X Factor website last night was ‘Get Cher’s quirky look! Recreate the androgynous look from last night’. If you’re interested, you have to wear harem pants and a ‘trendy fitted blazer’. Or you could just nick a tux, sleep in it, smear gloss all over your face and dig out the trainers you bought at Chester-Le-Street flea market twenty years ago.

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