... how to substitute dross for talent

(November 25, 2016)

Be wary when you click through television channels. You have no idea what you’re going to stumble across. Recently I found myself watching the ‘You’re through - You’re going home’ fiasco from that cesspit of human emotions and misplaced musical propensity, ‘The Wrecked Factor’. It is not entertainment. It’s not a talent show. It’s a train wreck. It’s a car crash. It’s a dire demonstration of how to substitute dross for talent. It’s also a vehicle for presenting the self-seeking platitudes dribbled out by so-called has-been celebrities and associated never-will-be hangers-on. It's also a platform for the twittering Irish Dwarf handing out hackneyed phrases about “I’m afraid it’s bad news” to yet another bunch of hopefuls.

The programme presented the latest stream of garbage from the Irish Dwarf as he pretended he’d chosen talentless, ‘certifiables’ because, in his words: “... their talent is the whole package” ... over individuals that could actually sing. This is because singing has nothing to do with his choices. His entire raison d’être is to extend his own media profile. That’s why he selects bizarre, novelty acts from the lunatic fringe ... consider the track-record: the ability-free, obnoxious twins with stupid haircuts, an over-age, oddball, talentless Brazilian, a mad Chinese Tina Turner look-not-very-much-a-like and squeaky-voiced, misplaced drag artist. These deluded individuals only guarantee the Irish Dwarf more media coverage. And to make matters worse, this sycophantic man who is doubtless as hard as nails (a necessary requirement to survive in the UK pop business) pretends (poorly) to be on the verge of tears every time he gives some unfortunate hopeful bad news. There’s also the slightly veiled malice with which he drags out the last desperate seconds of uncertainty before he imparts the news as the pitiable subject squirms and weeps in desperation before sentence is passed.

The banshee-like screeching from the baying mass (erroneously called an ‘audience’) is bad enough. As is the demented crying and kissing from tearful relatives and friends as hopefuls either fall flat on their faces or survive to contest yet more public humiliation. And don’t forget the faintly disgusting and embarrassing cuddling, commiserations and congratulations from the superficial anchor man. But all this outpouring of banality is supremely topped by the Irish Dwarf. Were bogus sentiment, overworked triteness and pointless clichés declared an art-form he could give the most insincere individual on the planet a run for their money.

I cannot comprehend why sane people willingly subject themselves to such derision and ridicule to ‘make a break in show business’. Where did we find talent before this inane rubbish poured out of the tube? Then again, this has little to do with talent. Wait a moment perhaps the key word here is ‘sane’. There are those whose talents range from mediocre to outstanding, sucked into the maelstrom by faint hopes, and then there are the insane. And perhaps with the historical ‘entertainment’ of Bethlem in mind, that’s why the Irish Dwarf chooses the insane ... not to boost his ever-increasing media presence alone ... but to poke the insane with an emotional stick.

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