Author's Note (20/4/15): This was written in 2010 and doesn't represent my current views. I apologise for the attitudes expressed herein.
What a load of shite.
I like to watch the yearly waste of time that is the Eurovision Song Contest, mainly to laugh and poke fun at foreigners, but that's beside the point. No, this is a review of the assinine selection process now known as "Your Country Needs You."
Unlike what was a fair(er) selection last year, this time we've been plonked with our terrible six and the insane public have been forced to vote for three people that Peter Waterman has seemingly picked up off the streets of London, as if this was a last-minute thing and not an annual event. It was a ceremonial burial of 90s pop, which I detest due to my birth in close proximity. Among the tortured souls were ABBA, Steps and Bananarama, things you would expect from Peter Waterman, lovingly inebriated by the six acts.
First up was an interloping Geordie woman who had a voice deeper than host Graham Norton, singing something that my mind has desperately tried to eradicate, and by the time of writing has suceeded in doing so. Nonetheless, my vague idea of the song was flat, dull moan that tended not to vary in tone, pitch or quality. Needless to say that even poor senile Waterman didn't send her through to the public vote.
The second act was a slightly better and slightly Swedish looking act called Alexis (from London) that gave a bit more effort and actually cared about the position for reasons other than a television position. He was put through to the public vote.
Then there was unfortunatly named group Uni5, a group of students (from London) replicating Steps and singing a Bananarama song. In my opinion they were the best there, the best individual singers and the best group. Apart from one of the men, who had eyes like glass marbles polished in vinegar.
Then came what I call the Token Ethnic, "Esma", a woman (from London) so out of tone and pitch the words she was singing were no longer recognisable. It reminded me vaguely of a little girl singing in front of a mirror into a hairy hairbrush, where there's hopefully no one watching. She was put through by a seemingly tone-deaf Waterman.
Then there was Josh, another bloke (from London) that was hopelessly committing grevious bodily harm on Jason Donovan. He didn't have any emotion, and was an admitted kareoke singer, something which became slowly apparent as the night went on. To complete the ensemble, he was put through.
I won't mention the other act, a girl group with one set of clothes between them, and instead take a look at the guest acts. Judge jade Ewan, former winner and Sugababe, performed with her unlikely comrades and I suddenly felt worried for the state of the future of human culture and of my own psyche.
Then came the Norweigan entry from last year with a song that derservedly won in 2009 and still sticks in my head today. Simply brilliant. It dwarfed everything that went before it.
So it came to the three. Alexis, Esma and Josh. The moderatly Good, reliably Bad and the considerably Ugly. First out was Esma (I regained my hope for the human race) and... Josh won (and then I lost it again.)
What do other countries do? They use proffesionals, people that have established careers, people who can sing. If the British do insist on this farce, then at least do it right.