Ritual humiliation for the masses…

I’ve never been a fan of X-factor, Pop Idol, Opportunity Knocks or any of the other cyclical talent shows that clog up peak-viewing hour on the goggle-box at weekends. I’m sure they have their place, but whatever or wherever this is, it ain’t in my place.

No one with half an ear would ever claim that these light entertainment shows have any great musical worth, being ground from the same karioki roots as ‘Stars In Their Eyes’ (albeit with less fun, less musicality and often less validity). They are blatant money making exercises – slap, snaffle and plop…a musical roulette wheel of fortune for this year’s sickly gaggle of puffed up impresarios.

The latest flavour of milli-vanilli autotunism was launched with much hype, claiming to be based upon a veneer of musical respectability. ‘The Voice’ claimed to be all about the music, not the image – a ‘credible’ alternative to the Callowed wishy-wash of wall-to-wall poppertune-ities. Auditions would be ‘blind’, with ‘mentors’ not judges, thereby ensuring that true talent would shine through the bluff of image and prettification.

Bullshit.

I’ve dipped in and out of the shows to date, in between trips to the loo to decorate the toilet with Technicolor yawns. Because from what I’ve seen, ‘The Voice’ is the most cynical affront to musicality of the bunch, if for no other reason that it takes itself seriously and pretends to be about more than $$$$.

The ‘mentors’ are qualified only insofar as they are recognisable to the viewer. Because let’s face it, those who know this industry would trust the talent-spotting instincts of a successful artist less than they would an office tea-boy. Look at all the artist-owned labels over the years, from Swansong (Led Zeppelin’s ill-fated dabble with labelism) to U2’s equally abortive effort. Recognising talent is an art in itself, best left to those with that rare skill rather than Joe Public on the one hand or Lady Wannagag-a, SmileyIrishEyes, Tom (‘I knew Elvis, Sinatra, Jesus’) or Dollar-Eyes-am on the other. At least Callow knows what’ll sell, and if he gets it wrong he has the muscle to manipulate the market.

From what I’ve seen, ‘The Voice’ betrays its pretentious claims from the outset. If any viewer believes that the last few standing will include more than one taken baldie/fattie/oldie/ugly, then they’re wallowing in Cloud Cuckoo land. The winner will be a twenty-something, photogenic, girl or boy next door type (with her or her signature already scratched into a contract in the producer’s lawyer’s safe). But what is so gut-wrenching is the competitive nature of the show, with contestants paired up in a boxing ring – a bloody boxing ring, for Christ’s sake – and metaphorically poked by the ‘mentors’ to outscream one another.

I’ve rarely, if ever, seen anything quite so tasteless since watching Hughie Green leer at Lena Zaveroni’s twelve-year-old cleavage.

Any self-respecting musician should be ashamed to participate in this sordid travesty of an entertainment show. In its own way, I find it as disgusting as the Black And White Minstrels show, which also justified its existence on the basis of mega viewing figures.

We’ll look back on this string of shoddy karioki competitions with embarrassment, recognising that they did more to damage the standing of pop and rock music than digital file-sharing or Eurovision.

Ten years ago, when Pop Idol sued X-factor and vice versa, Universal GAVE Battery Studios to the A+R man behind Pop Idol in settlement of a law suit bought for signing the winning act in contravention to the contractual conditions participants had agreed when entering the competition. Universal had acquired Battery within the context of their (forced) purchase of Zomba. They tossed it at an irritating litigant to resolve a talent show headache and he immediately flogged the studio to a property developer to cash in his ill-gotten gains, thereby proving that the major record company and the television talent-show mogul were at one in utterly disregarding (if not despising) the mechanics of true music.

A plague on all your houses.

On the other hand…

Huge congratulations to Kate Bush for winning this year’s South Bank Pop Awards in addition to nominations for just about every other award going. She has yet again proved an inspiration to aspiring artists determined to retain their individuality and identity despite the massive pressures to conform to the lowest common denominator applied by wall-to-wall television karioki shows.

It can be done, although it requires a determination and belief (not to mention a degree of talent) that is rare indeed.