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Karl Lagerfeld Kinda Has A Point When He Says Adele Is A Bit Fat

Lady Robotnik — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 13:00:05 +0000

Karl Lagerfeld has the feminists and fat chicks bunching their panties in disgust over his latest outburst.

Remember. This is an outburst from an old man who works in the fashion industry.

We don’t know what magic mirror Lagerfeld is looking into, but despite looking like an anorexic-shell-less-tortoise/panda hybrid, Lagerfeld takes it upon himself to be the aesthetic judge of the universe. And this time, he’s decided to pass judgement on Adele. You can see where this is going can’t you?

However, we can’t help but think he has a point here: speaking of rotund songbird Adele , the spindly one said:

“She is a little too fat, but she has a beautiful face and a divine voice.”

Right. And this is news to who? Lagerfeld might as well have stated that bears like to defecate in woods, or that Lindsay Lohan probably won’t be around to pick up her pension.

Considering his previous pearls of wisdom have included his theory on ugly men being the largest cause of Russian lesbianism, how no-one loves a fat chick and that all Greek have filthy habits, Adele got off pretty lightly. He didn’t even recycle a Yo Mumma joke or that one about fat chicks being like vespas.

Extra credit: Phil or Karl? Which quote is from loveable rogue Prince Phillip, and which is pure Karl.

1. Nobody wants Greece to disappear, but they have really disgusting habits. Italy as well.
2. People in magazines are 50% bimbo and 50% pregnant women.
3. What are you doing here? Well, you didn’t have to come.
4. My thing is to work more than the others to show them how useless they are
5. (Talking about Beijing) Ghastly
6. Bugger the table plan, give me my dinner!
7. I’m rather pro-prostitution
8. Cats kill far more birds than men. Why don’t you have a slogan: ‘Kill a cat and save a bird?
9. I have no human feelings
10. (Talking about Stoke-On-Trent) Ghastly

Answers on reverse of page

Adele’s New Boyfriend Quite Possibly Married To Someone Else

hecklerspray staff — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 16:30:35 +0000

The Queen of New Boring has come under attack for having the temerity to get all pelvic and grunty with a man who might not be entirely divorced from his estranged wife.

As if it wasn’t enough that she can’t get through a day without a million more people buying her album, she’s had to take to her blog (which is a step up from taking to Twitter, at least) to tell everyone that

a) he’s not married and b) it’s none of their goddamn business.

Taking a break from sitting down and bellowing ballads, Adele made these words happen to her bit of the internet:

“Contrary to reports and headlines in the press today, Simon is divorced and has been for 4 years. Everyone in our lives separately and together wish us nothing but the best, and vice versa. These are the facts.”

So, that clears that up, then. He is definitely not still married, not to anyone, not even a little tiny bit married.

Now, you might ask yourself why it would even matter if he was 100% definitely still married, given that marriage in itself is an antiquated and ridiculous ritual, divorce is expensive and that opting for mere estrangement at least leaves you with one person who can’t testify against you when your participation in the biggest crystal meth ring this side of Albuquerque is finally revealed.

And well done you, for asking questions instead of dumbly buying it like you bought Adele’s album.

It doesn’t really matter either way. What matters is that his nickname is Swampy, he went to Eton, and the two of them were introduced by human pumpkin Ed Sheeran.

That’s where the real story is, people.

This article was written by Becca Day-Preston who is willing to punch you for money. Careful.

BRIT Awards Nomination Sadness: Ed Sheeran Still Horrendous

Euan L Davidson — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 13:00:30 +0000

The annual circle-jerking of overrated, but cosy, inoffensive British acts on major labels are all getting a trophy and a party bag. The Wanker Olympics Category Thing – or the BRIT Award Nominations as they’re more commonly known – have been announced, much to the chagrin of anyone with the remotest taste in music.

Sub-Jack-Johnson-and-no-really-there-are-worse-people-than-Jack-Johnson ginger Ed Sheeran has been nominated for 4 awards; if you don’t know Sheeran, he makes sickly, boring ballads for drunk, fat people to sing at 3am outside clubs, and all of his fans are terrible. It’s even worse when he tries rapping.

James Blake was nominated for British Male Solo Artist along with Noel Gallagher, Professor Green and others, which is insulting, because James Blake is genuinely talented [if you like drip-hop that has all the verve and guile of a life-support machine slowly dying itself, that is - Ed].

Meanwhile, The Wanted’s “Glad You Came”, a song about “doing your bit”, foreplay-wise, is considered amongst the best songs that came out of Britain last year, along with Pixie Lott’s “All About Tonight” and Jessie J’s “Price Tag (ft. B.O.B.)”. Perhaps they are some of the best songs by UK artists in 2011, if you’ve only NOW! compilations in your CD collection and you’re a complete buffoon.

Despair.

In the Album of the Year stakes, Adele, a woman who exists solely for the benefit of people who’ve never actually heard a soul singer before, is up against Beaker from The Muppets, Coldplay, Florence & The Machine (Really? Did her album sell well? The woman sings like she’s drowning) and PJ Harvey, who won the Mercury Music Prize, where actual people who’ve listened to music decide on things.

Maroon 5 look like a sure-shot for International Group, which is depressing beyond words, while Blur are being praised for their Outstanding Contribution to Music.

There are more categories but frankly, this is all way, way too much.

The idea of being in the same country as Bruno Mars, for example, even if it’s just for a few nights while he’s polishing his International Male Solo Award, is enough to turn any reasonable human being who enjoys things like an interesting chord structure or clever lyricism into a pitchfork wielding (clever, right?), angry lunatic.

Go and illegally download some albums or something, you dicks.

Adele In Cancelled American Tour Rider Shocker!

Matthew Laidlow — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 11:00:35 +0000

You might not enjoy the music of Adele, but when award season rolls round, she won’t have enough room in her bathroom to show them all off. With six Grammy nominations and probable Brit nods, she’s likely to sweep the board.

You can’t escape Adele’s music due to her success, and so, an extensive tour was always on the cards.

However, major chunks of the gig schedule were thrown into chaos when her voice took a turn for the worst. We imagine that punters wouldn’t want to see her sing through a robotic voice emulator on an iPhone. It might ruin a subtle ballad if she sounded like a Smash robot.

And it was Adele’s American fans who were hit by her illness the most as her ten date tour in October was completely cancelled. A few months later her tour rider has leaked online, displaying no real egotistical requests, but instead a heart warming demand that anyone receiving complimentary tickets makes a charity donation.

In the past, we’ve often wondered why solo artists specifically need to have four dressing rooms for themselves, seven bulldogs sprayed neon green and for anyone on-site to call them a different name. On a ten date tour of America, it would have been likely to see loads of freeloading journalists getting in for nothing and potentially slating her.

According to the rider, it was clearly stated that:

“Guests are asked to give a minimum of $20 “when they collect their tickets” to Sands. There will be no exception to this rule.”

Assuming that the gig cost around $40, that’s still a cheap night out than what the majority of the audience will be paying. For those interested in what the charity Sands is, it’s

“A UK based charity and supports those affected by the loss of a baby, as well as promoting research into premature death among infants.”

We don’t know the exact reasoning for Adele’s choice, but it’s a noteworthy one that only an idiot would protest to when asked to pay a small sum on the tour.

So what else did the rider cough up? Amusingly, it shows a complete disregard for American beer. Anyone who drinks Budweiser may as well use a Sodastream to make their urine fizzy. And since the beverage is the new sponsor the FA Cup, it hasn’t done any favours for itself. Adele seemingly shares our opinion as her rider stated on tour that she required.

“12 bottles of the “best quality European lager beer. ie Becks, Stella Artois, Peroni etc. North American beer is NOT acceptable”

You know Adele is serious as it’s written in shouty capital letters. Alongside the usual request of fizzy drinks, crisps and sandwiches, there isn’t really a lot to add. Though an element of mystery remains for the promoters as in the after show requests, it’s mentioned that:

“We will require food (Pizza? Sandwiches? Something more exciting?) to feed 26 hungry people.”

Something more exciting? How about a pizza sandwich? Instantly solving all of the dilemmas tours throw up.

Lady Gaga Warned “Adele May Want To Eat You”; Lesbian Fan Fiction Goes Wild

Robin Darke — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 15:30:16 +0000

Normally when we see the ridiculous antics of groups of girls and younger gays on Twitter, clubbing together to form an online “army” and ruining Trending Topics for everyone, we usually want them all to die in a Lady Gaga inspired fire.

There’s armies for One Direction, Justin Bieber, Cheryl Cole; if you’re a modern popstar cum bumwipe, chances are you’ll have yourself an army of devoted fans eventually.

But what happens when Armies turn bad? Well, that’s what Adele is finding out as she is getting some awful things said about her over Twitter recently. Truthful and hilarious, but still awful things.

So what’s got the Gaga Army all riled? Well, Adele’s success apparently. Both the stars are up for one of those fancy award thingies (like the one that we won for being the Best Celebrity Blog Ever) to become the bestselling artist IN THE WORLD.

Alarmingly, Adele has overtaken Lady Gaga and sold one in 10 records this year. That means that not only will Adele have a rotten amount of money and we’ve got to wipe our derrieres on old copies of the News Of The World, but that 10% of all record buying peoples are clearly dicks.

Bet they all tell everyone to shut up when ‘Someone Like You’ comes on and call it ‘their song.’ Even though it’s about having an unwanted love for someone. It’s hardly the most romantic of songs. It’s the thing of violent revenge attacks. It’s literally the soundtrack to Raoul Moat’s life.

It also means that it looks like Lady Gaga will be losing out to the eclair-loving songstress.

So what do the ‘Little Monsters’, the ridiculous name given to Lady Gaga fans, do? Congratulate the “talented” singer about her success and hope her the very best in her future endeavours? Of course not. They’ve been slating her with some hilari- sorry, horrible comments. The best we’ve seen is

“Confirmed: Gaga will not be wearing her meat dress because she is afraid Adele will eat it.”

Which is funny, because it could possibly be the truth. Cheryl Cole is thinking twice about wearing her choux pastry hat with sugar strand shoulder pads for the occasion.

Obviously we would normally only criticise someone because they’ve been attacking their girlfriend Chris Brown style, or if they make Moves (on children) Like Jackson, but we do have a special bucket of hate for Adele, with her depressingly mainstream pop songs that everyone loves all the time and that she’s basically stealing the shtick of most soul stars for the past sixty years.

But we wouldn’t change a thing Adele, mainly because seeing people get harassed on Twitter can be sometimes hilarious, and is a lovely way to spend time on the toilet.

Especially during a ‘distress poo.’

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Doctor Announces That, Regrettably, Adele’s Throat Surgery Has Been A Success

Mof Gimmers — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 15:00:27 +0000

Adele, the most successful British singer since the last British singer did well in the United States of America, has been having problems with that throat of hers. Mainly, the terrible singing that emits from it.

Sadly for Adele’s bank manager, she’s been cancelling gigs left, right and centre because there’s something wrong with her.

As such, she’s had to had surgery on her throat. THERE IS A CHANCE SHE’LL NEVER SING AGAIN! JUST IMAGINE!

Sadly for ear-owners and people without menstrual tendencies, the quack who operated on Adele’s vocal cords has hailed the surgery a success.

Regrettably, she will almost certainly be singing again really soon.

Dr. Steven Zeitels, who has previously treated Steven Tyler, Julie Andrews and Cher, performed the operation at Massachusetts General Hospital and bosses at the medical facility have now released a statement hailing the surgery a success.

We can only hope that Adele comes back sounding like Cher in ‘Believe’ ALL. THE. TIME. because that would be amazing. More amazing than Cylon and Garfunkel in Futurama.

The doctor’s statement reads:

“Adele underwent vocal cord microsurgery by Dr. Steven Zeitels to stop recurrent vocal cord haemorrhage (bleeding) from a benign polyp. This condition is typically the result of unstable blood vessels in the vocal cord that can rupture… Dr. Zeitels expects Adele to make a full recovery from her laser microsurgery.”

Benign polyp, eh? That sounds delicious.

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X Factor Week 8 Review: American Weird Stuff in London

Sophie Hall — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 09:30:11 +0000

Before we begin, we just want to say one thing. We’re sorry. No, listen. WE’RE sorry. Remember how you watched The X Factor for 2 and a half hours on Saturday? Well we’re going to tell you about that in quite an unnecessary amount of detail now.

And what’s more, you’re going to like it. Yeah, in a sexually testing sort of way. Yep. Yeah, you’re going to feel vulnerable and alone afterwards. No, we don’t do cuddles, that’s how people get attached. You kind of knew what you got yourself into when you turned on ITV1 on the 20th of August 2011.

Or when you then subsequently googled ‘Kelly Rowland’, followed by ‘The point of anything in the universe at all’ with mild curiosity. So, in a way – you deserve what is about to happen to you.

So this is it – the first X Factor live show. The first of 12. That’s 12 weeks. That’s three months. Do you know what you can achieve in three months? Well, yeah you COULD obtain a basic level motorcycle license, and sure, you COULD learn how to make your own yeast, and sure, MAYBE, your unborn foetal self could develop fingerprints.

But what actually is going to happen, is that you are going to spend quite an inordinate amount of time gunning for a wistful pale girl called Janet Devlin who sings about her hair. Well, if we’re going to do this, let’s do this properly…

WOW THE X FACTOR! Look here! Black and white slo-mo shots of our potential Bowies, Springfields, Franklins and Cardles making their way up to their first auditions, where we first got to hear their raw, cutting, and totally unedited talent in it’s unhoned gestation period. Like, literally looking at baby tadpoles, if baby tadpoles sang Adele covers and then weeped uncontrollably at their own brilliance.

Actually, that sounds like the framework for a Cadbury’s viral video at some point. ESCAPE KEY. ESCAPE KEY.

So, who’d have thought it? The X Factor survived the departure of Simon Cowell and became THE NEXT GENERATION! YEAH! LIKE STAR TREK OR THE RUGRATS ‘ALL GROWN UP’ AND STUFF. THE FUTURE. THE BETTER, MORE IMPROVED FUTURE. Even Scott Mills was excited about it, and you know how much of a serene beacon of broadcasting he usually is.

“There’s only one goal. To find a Superstar.” Says Sincerity Barlow, but then unbeknownst to him, ITV1 cut to one of the rubbish auditionees singing rubbish straight after this – which is really, really funny because that’s a juxtaposition of two abstract concepts.

“LIVE FROM LONDON!” Peter Dickson squawked against a tracking shot of London in case we dared not to believe. Dermot O’Leary legged it out on to the stage looking sickeningly excited, and tells us that the theme this week is ‘US vs UK’ Ah! A tongue in cheek reference to the notably more financially viable and successful US X Factor there. Aha! Very classy and very clever. Cool. We get that. X Factor ½, right? Professional post-structuralist theoriests the world over must be absolutely creaming themselves chuckling at that one, because we know we are.

Oh our respective GODS. In replacement of the standard Simon Cowell salute of 2010, Tulisa engaged in a fucking Gladiators fist pump. Kelly Rowland attempted to compensate with jazz hands, but in all frankness it was so-so, BUT she is wearing the front cover of a special edition Goosebumps book as a dress, so props to her man. Props.

But first thing’s bloody first. You’ve all been dry humping the backlog of Digitalspy forums all week to find out. The big twist. That big, bloody twist. What could it be? What could the big twist that we all found out about last Thursday be?

Dermot exclusively revealed with all his pervasive acumen of a QI researcher that the big, big twist was that there was no public vote this weekend, the judges are effing-off truckloads of the contestants instead (or ‘four’ for the more mathematically minded of you out there). Be still, our aching myogenic muscular organs!

Gary explained to Derm that the reason for doing this was because there’s oh so much pressure on the contestants. True. So much fame, and expectations and ITV1 lighting fixtures. All those highly medically taxing things. But never mind that right now, because at the moment we’re going to pretend we don’t know anything about it but then tell you at the end, because we are like the Christopher Nolan you never had.

First up was Amelia Lily, who now has pink hair. Do we smell ROCK STARDOM? Oh no, no, that’s just our loins burning. She sang a vaguely heavier composition of Billy Jean if you can imagine such a thing, and then if the sweat from our collars couldn’t glue to our neck hairs any tighter, she only went and wore a leather jacket AND a denim skirt! The judges were a bit like ‘meh avril lavigne bleurgh not even legal yet bleurgh meh bleh’ but Amelia wasn’t at all arsed. Good.

“Here’s Johnny!” said Louis as he announced his first act. We assumed he was quoting the more innocuous Johnny Carson style “Here’s Johnny” rather than the Shining’s “Here’s Johnny” because we’re sure Louis would never liken any of his acts to terrifying myers from Kubrickian psychological horror of course. Oh no wait, it’s Johnny Robinson, we hereby retract all of the above.

Hey guys, question. What do you do with someone when they sound like autotune BEFORE the autotune? Cake them in bacofoil and masquerade them as a ‘diva’ we suppose. Okay, here’s another question. What do you do when someone sounds like autotune when they’re incredibly weak and riddled with osteogenesis imperfecta? Do EXACTLY the same thing, just with larger sunglasses to cover the crevices a bit more. Johnny sang Believe by Cher, obviously, and look, it was just amazing. What do you want us to say? The man is 502 years old and we’re honest. Tulisa called Johnny her ‘guilty pleasure’ and everyone elses. AU CONTRAIRE Tulisa – we have nothing but sincere respect for Johnny’s italo-disco musical aspirations. Guilty pleasure. Pfft.

This guy is Kraftwerk reborn, and Gary Barlow agreed with us, as he told Johnny with all the precision and seriousness of Ghandi that he is seriously disappointed in Johnny; in particular the embarassing lack of UNKLE samples and the mostly misjudged 1/16 paced sequencer rhythm. Johnny waved this all off with a sexually repressed limp wrist and a “OohbettyI’mfree” to the delight of pretty much the universe.

Gary on the other hand was still gravely concerned about the lack of musical integrity Johnny is displaying. To be fair though, Gary is gravely EVERYTHING. Louis tells Gary to listen to the public because they LOVE him. Yeah Gary, listen to the mentally unstable shivering humans surrounding you that are so grateful they managed to break into the building without being shot, that they’re rogering themselves to death with their own self-made oxygen masks out of sheer excitement. Just listen to them, Gary – because they know.

But Gary persevered, telling Johnny he looked ‘cheap’. ‘It costs a lot to look this cheap, Gary!’ Johnny hit back with lightning fast comic precision. Don’t you just love unscripted live TV?

And then an ad-break came and totally widdled one out on our chips by telling us that ITV have given Jeremy Kyle a QUIZ SHOW. It’ll probably have questions like: “For a hundred pounds – what the hell are you doing with your life and why are you even bothering trying to contribute to the failing human race by trying to have sex with this lovely innocent drug dealer?”

After this awful revelation, the mostly (and by mostly we mean entirely) pointless group category were next to take to the stage. Taking out the EURGH out of Eurythamics – introducing RHYTHMIX! They sang… wait… we should say rap AND sing! It was all urban and amazing and we really couldn’t care less. It was fine, but evidently not going to wash on a programme where we much preferred a dying eunach coked off his mind on lo-fi and foil rather than this lot, no?

Regardless, Tulisa – with all the power of her legs and opinions and misjudged bleach gave them the first standing ovation of the show. No fair. Louis would have probably done the same if he hadn’t swapped his leg muscles for Westlife in a drunken bet made decades previous. In a moment of pure, unadulterated clarity Gary called them ‘the best girlband that have ever been on the X Factor’ which is a truly amazing achievement in his cruel girlband-less, world.

Regrettably, next up was Frankie Cocozza, who hadn’t so much as had his terrible chauvinistic personality shaped as he had his eyebrows. Frankie explicated in his introductory VT that his life is already changing so much. “There’s girls screaming outside, there’s girls asking for my autograph…” girls agreeing to consent without calling the police… It’s all going on for Frankie as he got up on stage. It’s kind of good that he did in a way, because we always did wonder what would happen if there was such thing as a midget John Cooper Clarke impersonator, and if it would be a good or bad thing.

We now know.

Then came Sophie Habibas, or Sophie ‘HER NAME SOUNDS A BIT LIKE ‘HER BOOBIES’ as Peter Dickson delighted in bellowing. Sophie sang brill cuz she’s brill, so that’s that. Louis figured out she was singing a PIANO-LED KATY PERRY COVER about three quarters into the performance, and wrote down some fake notes about how brilliant that is. Can we at some point try and get a copy of Louis’ notepad by any chance, because is it not just a star quality/YOU LOOK EXACTLY LIKE MARIAH CAREY/you belong on that stage Venn diagram?

Following directly on from that last statement was Jonjo Kerr, who is a soldier who impregnates his wife when he’s bored, ie: ALL THE TIME. Imagine being the world’s most boring person in the world, and THEN being bored.

Jonjo covered You Really Got Me by the Kinks while showing us what the worst thing we have ever seen in the world looks like. And we’ve seen a cat eating it’s own premature born kitten. It even had a misjudged camera zoom at the end, and Jonjo squatting in a suit. If you don’t believe us, here’s the link to Jonjo’s groundbreaking performance.

“IT WAS NOT MY IDEA.” Louis screamed over and over as the performance came chugging to a halt. “I’m guessing the girls in hot shorts weren’t your idea as well” quipped Gary, because homosexuality is wrong. Jonjo (who is a professional warrior) retaliated with something boring and blokey and then went back to the war where he can shoot someone in the face in the most boring way imaginable.

Mercifully, ‘totz amaze’ Two Shoes came to save our tedium, allowing us to yell ARGH, ONE OF THEM IS PREGNANT AND WE DON’T KNOW WHICH ONE, WE’RE TERRIBLE PEOPLE! And oh, Two Shoes. You were so amazing in your eccentric pink car and effeminate songs from Veet adverts. All the judges are dancing, except for Gary who was watching it from a serious singer-songwriter’s point of view, as per. Tulisa and her roots chastised Gary for this, and told him that he was WRONG and that Two Shoes are AMAZING because Essex is SO CURRENT right now. That’s true actually. The only way IS Essex…

‘Two shoes or NOT Two Shoes? That is the question!” queries Dermot, except that it is not a question, because shoes isn’t a verb which would take the subjunctive out of the original quote’s context so that wouldn’t really necessitate the correct sentence structure to…well, we don’t really want to get into that right now.

Next up was something gut wrenchingly terrible, and his name was Vervey Spiv McRinglets. Oh, okay killjoys – his actual name was *Mumbles something incoherent about Google and 404 errors* Anyway, the facts are – he appeared to be a human man, or something to that effect, so don’t tell us we don’t do our research. In his VT, he bursts into tears on a 834 seperate (But all totally permissable, obv) occasions due to the fact that his family are stupid and have misjudged issues with real estate. So all in all, a terrible human being. His hair looks like Ben Stiller’s ejaculate hanging from his ear, which is probably a cool post-ironic Topman trend that we must have missed because we were too busy being happy that day.

He sang The Carpenters’ version of Ticket to Ride on the set of Oliver Twist in a three piece suit and it was the funniest thing we had ever seen for about five minutes until it got incredibly awful and psychologically arduous of course.

And to think that this guy gave up public school to play the guitar. We’re really glad he did – because that E minor chord is sounding spot on, mate. You know what? Sod all the other ones, just play that one consistently throughout the entire performance, LOVE that chord. Sounds all sad and thoughtful and such.

And you know what else? Less IS more. Less music that is. WE LOVE MUSIC. Oh no wait, sorry. We’ve just mistaken this for music. This is just an audio rip of a snake shedding it’s skin over a 72 hour period. Just a pile of ponce. We bet his boots smell of Urban Outfitters perfume.

Misha Bryan was next, equipped with an Adele song. You know what, bring that. Bring fuckloads of Adele covers, all dolled up in a dress made of newspapers! Remember, Misha’s too poor to afford real clothes. Fabric ? MAVERICK more like. She sang a remix of Rolling in the Deep and ‘cool things’ because she is cool. It’s totz awesome obviously. But so is the sound of rotting sand after James’ performance.

Then came Nu Vibe – (yes, Samuel Johnston. Phonetic spelling! Imagine!) who all hate each other with intense lustful agony. They sang via the Matrix because they’re all massive fans possibly, except for the one on the far left who thought the sequels narrative structures were a bit convoluted if he’s being honest.

They sing one of those songs you hear on ‘Radio 1’ and it’s cool and dewy and…and existant…and ABREAST. It’s all of those things, and more besides. Mmm-hmm. Yeah. One of them shows off their saucy abdomen at the end. Lovely culturally relevant abdomen. The clarkgablemoustache one (See, this is why JLS had an accessible colour co-ordinated system, guys) says that this is the stuff that dreams are made of. Aw, that’s quite touching, actually. Not to be a dick or anything, but FYI, dreams are actually made from emotions and sensations generated during the REM state of the unconscious brain muscles, so technically dreams are made of neurotransmitters, serotonin and histamines rather than say, appearing on The X Factor in a jacket. Technically.

We were then treated to Marcus Collins. Boy, where do we start on Marcus Collins? After all that Marcus Collins-y based hoo-ha has been swimming around the ether for the past 200 years. God, we love Marcus Collins so bloody much and have absolutely no idea who he is.

“One minute you’re a hairdresser from Liverpool, the next you’re being scrutinized by the press.” Gary philos in Marcus’ VT. Ah, that old chestnut. But who cares because Sammi Brooks, the one of eyebrows and misjudged turbans is back!

She’s not supposed to be here, but because Goldie had a dense eccentric fit, she here she is, to absolutely everyone’s joy and merriment. Hopefully she’ll fill in the rest of the post-disco eras that Johnny didn’t have the bone marrow to muster. Oh, that she did! Look at her go in her sparkly tunic and leggings, the little minx! Coleen Nolan must be clawing her TV down to the core with desire, hammering key words into Debenhams online.

Tulisa then promptly went about telling Sammi that she is quintessentially (okay, she doesn’t say ‘quintessentially’, the residents of Camden would have her stoned again) ‘the voice’ of the competition, and then treads down a slippery slope of trying to comment on Sammi without saying ‘YOU’RE FAT AND OLD’. She goes with ‘You represent…’strong’ women.’ Good one. Gary tells Sammi how friggin’ incredible she is and how she’s exactly like Mary Byrne without all the emotional problems and children. And so she should, because for every great soul singer, there should be a sparkly bolero. Sammi has earnt hers. And just quickly, let’s just write this down…

Gary says to Sammi – ‘If you’re not here next week, I am leaving this chair.’ Right, let’s see him get out of that one. Set in WORDPRESS DRAFT STONE, that one, Gar’.

Then Risk happened. Well. Didn’t happen. BORING. Craig Colton then waddled on-stage, and he’d picked his own song because he’s really into anarcho-primitivism just really likes this song. To rapturous applause, Tulisa took a pop at him for ‘hiding behind all the comedy’. What comedy? That’s not comedy Tulisa, that’s mild obesity. Not a laughing matter at all.

Anyway.

You know how you’re all wasting away and your stress levels have reached weird levels to the point your hallucinating various floating pieces of medieval torture devices and your doctor’s a bit iffy about the whole situation? Hi there Kitty Brucknell.

So, sometimes things sound great on paper, and sometimes people just turn up on the X Factor dressed in all the remnants of the Foot and Mouth disaster (RIP The Moocows of 2001) and scream incoherently about immortality for a few minutes or so. Kelly was concerned for Kitty due to the fact she was shaking during her performance. Kelly, the woman is clearly quad-polar, 80 times over and sucks the milk loafs in Sainsburys in the vein hope of extracting alcohol from them, of course she was shaking.

And last of all (YEAH I KNOW, WE’RE SO HAPPY TOO! No, don’t cuddle.) is Janet Divbin. Janet has red hair now, because red haired people are endearing. No not Nicole Kidman, she’s a natural blonde. No, not Christina Hendricks either. No, not Lindsay Lohan, we said ENDEARING redheads. Anyway, whatever. Shut up, because Janet is sad. She is sad because she doesn’t get time to play her guitar in a house full of people and just wants to be alone and wear paisley and walk on lots and lots of pebbles, but she just CAN’T, because she’s so famous and successful and some idiot called Janet Devlin put all her videos up on the world’s most globally recognised video sharing website and everyone just loves her to such stupid degress and it’s NOT FAIR IN THE SLIGHTEST.

Janet warbled Chicken Huntin’ Slaughterhouse Mix by Insane Clown Posse some wet by Coldplay and it’s just a real testament to Janet that she can make a song that is already of the highest proportion of Twee to new levels of quaint dainty balls. It sucks arse, in other words. And then Tulisa, Gary, Kelly and Louis had the audacity to tell Janet how amazing she is even though all she wants is to be alone in a desert eating cucumbers making origami swans.

But then Kelly says “As you’ve gone through the competition I’ve watched you come into yourself.” Oh, well, erm, *tugs allegorical collar* Well, just carry on Janet, carry on.

THE RESULTS

Oh yeah, one last thing. Guess who totally got shunted off the show last night?

Only bloody Jonjo, 2 Shoes, Amelia Lily and the dickhead who ruined music forever! We know, right? On the results show, absolutely bupkis happened.

Even Matt Cardle turned up halfway through, as some sort of sick, sick joke. CeeLo Green couldn’t even be bothered to sew lycra to his face and sing Kung Fu Fighting, but still – that was an hour of our time that we spent not having sex with absolutely anybody that we are obviously ruthlessly trying to get back now.

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Top Ten Bond Themes

Robin Darke — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 16:00:03 +0000

With the news that Adele (her again!) is like, totes, going to write and release the theme for the new Bond film, us handsome devils at hecklerspray are going to take a look at the Top Ten Bond themes.

So get comfy, pour yourself a drink and get ready to agree with every single one of our choices.

Right?

DAA DAA!

(BOOM!)

DAA DAA!

(BOOM!)

DA DA D’DAA DAAAA!

*ahem*

Here’s our Top Ten Bond Themes.

The Man With The Golden Gun

Before getting her fanny out on Strictly 2011, Lulu thought it would be fun to have a pop career that sort of spanned four decades (mainly because there was a gap between 1969 and 1993 that she filled with awful, awful songs) which piqued when she was chosen to sing the theme to ‘The Man With The Golden Gun’ in 1974. Nothing happened for 19 years, and then she released ‘Relight My Fire’ with Take That. It’s a shame when good things happen to bad people.

The Living Daylights

If you sing ‘WOOOAAAHH THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS!’ at the top of your lungs you get the best feeling. Better than probably any drugs that Michael Jackson took.

The World Is Not Enough

Up until the mid-90s, most of the Bond themes had been sung by individual artists who had a modicum of talent (Sheryl Crow, you can probably go and get a glass of milk or something, we’re not talking about you), so when Garbage, the famous 90s alternative band, were announced people were excited.

Unfortunately, the song wasn’t very good, despite the video being about Shirley Manson being a suicide android fitted with a bomb. But the song being bad doesn’t necessarily mean that the overall finished product was awful. With a change in Bond, came a change in musical attitude with it. An edgier “rockier” vibe fought off the camp twinge that the themes seemed to have fostered. Obviously the film was still the campest thing since Johnny Robinson ate a unicorn and farted glitter, but for the first time, it became exciting to see what a Bond theme was going to be.

Diamonds Are Forever

Although Diamonds Are Forever is Bassey’s second Bond theme (and the first one our list) her vaulting vocals and a sinister undertone gave this Bond theme an opulent edge that would keep this theme as one of the most famous ones. Even Kanye West wanted a piece on his Diamonds From Sierra Leone, and we all know that Kanye West doesn’t make ANY bad decisions ever.

Goldeneye

In the 90s, the World was forgetting James Bond because he wasn’t involved in a combat pant wearing girlband or had curtains, so Albert Broccoli needed everyone to realise what an absurd name he had and decided to release a film so terrible that a character Xenia Onatopp wasn’t the worst thing about it. That film was Goldeneye, obviously. Can you see Xenia Onatopp being in the Lion King? But regardless of how ball-clenchingly awful Goldeneye is, the title song is all sorts of fantastic.

Sung by Tina ‘Whats Love Scot To Do, Scot To Do With It’ Turner, but written by Bono and The Edge from that U2, it went on to become one of Turner’s biggest hits. Unfortunately someone decided that getting Nicole Sherzinger to record a version of it for the 2010 re-release of Goldeneye for the Wii was a good idea. There’s literally nothing that that woman won’t ruin. First Goldeneye, then Cheryl Cole’s career.

Goldfinger

‘Goldfinger’ is generally seen as one of the quintessentially Bond-esque themes from the series, with Shirley Bassey’s soaring vocals reminding people that there really is a career for men to dress up as women and sing show tunes. Didn’t do Paloma Faith any harm. This is the song that people sing with an accent more than any other (disregarding Shaggy OBV).

A View To A Kill

Simon Le Bon. The Eiffel Tower. Grace Jones. Hot.

For Your Eyes Only

Sheena Easton was pretty big news in the 80s. Her broad Glaswegian accent kept people confused while she flooded the charts with songs about morning trains (not a euphemism for a morning erection) before releasing a song so filthy that it would make Christina Aguilera blush before thumbing herself off in the car park of a Best Buy somewhere. Obviously after singing about your vagina the only way to go next is singing with pint-sized pop penis Prince.

A vagine warbling ballad isn’t what the Bond people were after, so they got her to sing a song that was, although immense, has no oblique reference to vaginas or anything vaginal. Although if you listened to it thinking of vagines, it does take on a more twisted, and sexier edge.

“You can see so much in me, so much in me that’s new. I never felt til I looked at you.” the filthy bitch sings.

We Have All The Time In The World

Although this Louis Armstrong song may be more iconic from other places, it’s the setting that makes it memorable. Taken from ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’, played over the closing scenes after Bond’s wife’s murder at the hands of pussy lover Blofeld, it resonates the tragedy that although Bond may be one of the most powerful characters in fiction, he will always have danger surrounding his family. That and regular STD checks.

You Only Live Twice

The most iconic, and covered Bond themes (but we can’t hold Robbie Williams against it, Cee Lo Green we can), You Only Live Twice is the Bond theme that most people will hum if they were asked. Swirling violins and romantic horns remind everyone of lying almost comatose on a hungover filled Bank Holiday and wanting the pain in your head to stop.

The angelic vocals from Nancy Sinatra compliment the song to such an massive degree that we can’t say anything bad about. We’ll just leave you to listen to it and compose ourselves in the corner.

Are we crying? Of course not.

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James Corden Does His Best Adele Impression; Still Doesn’t Make People Hate Someone Like You

Robin Darke — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 10:00:08 +0000

Some people hate James Corden. They want the ground to break open and swallow him right up, with all the “stupid” “comedy” things that he says. His amiable, cheeky chappy demeanour just rubs people up such the wrong way that not only would they not piss on him if he was on fire, but they would probably light sparklers on his burning corpse and start a carnival.

Imagine the things you’d see. The sights and sounds of burning fat spitting on possibly e.coli contaminated hotdogs. Lovely.

Whereas on the other side of the coin, there’s people who adore the ground that he walks on and will happily tune into whatever he does. These people would probably not piss on him if he was on fire. They would probably phone the fire brigade and stand idly by and bite their nails waiting for Dennis the Fire Engine to turn up. Maybe taking a picture and uploading it to Twitter, or that fancy new Google Plus. Technological mavens that they are.

Us, well we wouldn’t say one way or another how we feel about James Corden. You don’t come to Hecklerspray for angry reactionary prose about things. Imagine, right? Right.

Well Corden is doing a massive publicity drive to drum up sales for his autobiography which has a handwritten title no doubt… and what’s the best way to drum up some attention for something? Well by dressing up as a woman is how. Just look at Corrie. Once they became Transsexualisation Street, the ratings went through the roof. Not just because they made it seem to Roy Cropper wasn’t going to embark on a paedophile inspired kidnap culminating in a dash from Underworld with a toddler under each arm into a white van.

But because they were addressing ‘issues.’

Obviously Corden isn’t addressing any issues, apart from making us aware that everyone STILL loves Adele, but that doesn’t stop him from popping his penis between his legs and dragging up. Maybe they even went the whole hog (so to speak). Who knows?

Talking to Heat, between rearranging his flattened package, Corden gushed

“I love Adele so much. I find what she’s achieved and keeps achieving an inspiration to any young singer-songwriter out there. I met her on her first-ever performance on T4. You could just tell then how huge she was going to be. She’s exceptional. It makes me excited about presenting the BRITs next year, knowing that the biggest-selling female artist in the world is going to be there. And she’s part of our little island. She’s just taken over the World.”

Obviously what Corden meant to say was she’s “part of our little island” because she’s an actual counterweight so Britain doesn’t keelhaul us all into the English Channel. While Adele stays around, we can live happy without sliding into the Sea.

So let’s put our hands together for James Corden. It seems that flashing his magina keeps the Great Sea God Adele from dooming us all to a life of floating on doors and rafts made from broken settees.

It didn’t do Leonardo di Caprio so well at the end of Titanic is it? Winslet couldn’t save him from a watery grave could she? So presumably it’s just fire that she can jump through with the lithe of a thousand Batmen. And maybe when all those powers combine, Kwame is Joseph Gorden Levitt and Tom Hardy is still a hulking dick.

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Adele Releases Video For Someone Like You, Which You’re Already Sick Of Hearing

hecklerspray staff — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 13:00:23 +0000

Imagine just for a second that you’re Adele. You wake up to the contractual Lazy Susan of creamed pastries and important news.

As you separate your breasts from clapping together when you roll over to the eclair sideboard, you hear that someone on the X Factor is totally stealing your shtick and that song that you’ve rammed down so many throats that the Nation doesn’t have a gag reflex anymore? Well the video is out. You’d probably have a celebratory glass of whole cream as you sit down to watch it.

Aaaaaaaaaaand, end scene. Well done everyone. Take five and grab something from the green room.

If you haven’t guessed already, the video for ‘Someone Like You’ has finally been released. The video that nobody wanted filming can finally be viewed. And in our honest hecklerspraying opinion, it’s a bit of a flimsy attempt to capitalise on the, somewhat, waning mega-success that she has already had with it.

Maybe it’s because she has to pay almost half of the profits to HMRC so she wants to squeeze every last drop out of it before finally giving up the goat. Or perhaps she just wanted to go for a wander around Paris and have someone film it. Which is very arrogant isn’t it? Bad Adele, no eclairs for you.

Obviously we all know that it’s so she can release a deluxe version of ’21’ with added features like the videos and shit on there in a few months time.

To be honest though, because there’s an almost Instagram-esque haze throughout the whole video, it’s difficult to definitely say that it’s Paris that she’s about to rob of all it’s baked products. It could easily be set in Blackpool or anywhere else that has a tower in it.

Why someone in Adele’s management decided to release an official video for this song, when the performance at the Brits did the song more justice than anything anyone can create, is baffling. You can watch it here, but trust us, you’ll have a confused feeling in your stomach afterward. Like having sex with David Hasslehoff. It’s unnecessary and will make you feel a little unwell after.

At least she’s wearing a nice coat. So she’s clearly thinking of the weather.

This article was written, blindfolded, by the debauched nincompoop Robin Darke who you can find out more on via this stream of twaddle.

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X Factor Week 6 Review, Part 1: BOOT CAMP! THIS MEANS EVERYTHING TO US!

Sophie Hall — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 10:00:40 +0000

God, it’s been an exciting week, hasn’t it? All that meth and all those Curly Wurlys you’ve been eating. Your excitement has literally burnt through your eyes so you can fully necessitate new levels of awesome and amazingness and degenerative myopia.

Now to top it all off, it’s Boot Camp on the X Factor. It’s like all those wars and murders and hurricanes never really happened, when you think about it.

And hey! All that pesky retrograde amnesia we all happen to suffer from can be such a bother sometimes, can’t it? Thank the stars for ITV1, that they cater to our whims and remind us about what happened on every single X Factor episode (except for anything that could prove the continued existence of Kate Thornton) at the start of every new show. It’s just ever so helpful, because nothing really solves a problem like Maria brain trauma like an X Factor double bill as we always say.

Oh double drat and darn it, we’ve only gone and forgotten again. God, if only there was an official hecklerspray guide on what happened on the past five weeks of X Factor 2011 to jog our waning, stupid brains!

And TALKING of official hecklerspray guides on what happened on the past five weeks of X Factor 2011…

HERE’S THE OFFICIAL HECKLERSPRAY GUIDE ON WHAT HAPPENED ON THE PAST FIVE WEEKS OF X FACTOR 2011!

Week One – A man sung a song. He didn’t get through because he was ugly and sad. We don’t like ugly and sad men much anyway, so it was no bother, especially after years of putting up with Martine McCutcheon.
Week Two – Someone didn’t sing Adele. Sorry, we just can’t take all these lies and depravity any more – Someone did actually sing Adele. Sorry again.
Week Three – The episode was a figurative emotional rollercoaster which took our emotions literally up and down, akin to that of being on an actual rollercoaster.
Week Four – We ALL know what happened. Let us not talk about it again.
Week Five – We were so inspired by what we learnt about music, that we went back in time, gave Mark Chapman a gun and a Kelly Rowland album, and let nature take its course.

Thank god that happened. That pretty much puts us up to date. As it stands, this Saturday’s show left us with the 187 Greatest Singers in The United Kingdom who were then put up against each other to see who could sing the most annoying Cee Lo Green cover, and then were to be whittled down to the 32 Greatest Singers in the United Kingdom instead.

And Tulisa Condomsduringtherenaissanceweremadeofintestinesandbladder uttered, without a trace of irony:

“Great isn’t good enough, they have to be amazing.”

Yes. Tulisa says this despite the solid cold fact that in the N Dubz song ‘Defeat You’, the lyrics clearly declare – “Yo, 2008! Or should I say GREAT?” which would imply that Tulisa has had no problems in the past associating with musicians who think things are great instead of amazing. Just saying.

“Two words. Car. Crash.”

Says Gary to raucous cackles from Kelly Rowland. Nothing funny about car crashes if you ask us, guys. Pretty serious business, we think you’ll find.

The actual show bothered to kick in about forty minutes later, and we were greeted to a lovely selection of home truths from all the contestants that we already know are getting through to the live shows, due to the ITV1 editors being numbheads and us being utter sexy geniuses. Craig Colton talked of his fears of just wanting to ‘prove to the world that I can sing’, like we were all in major dispute about the matter for several years prior to even knowing who the hell this guy was. “This is a lot scarier than what I faced in the army” another contestant confessed. Ha! Take that, honesty and logic!

Firstly, the judges used the set of Logan’s Run to eliminate some of the contestants that they put through in the first round when they were completely caked off their faces on Kelly’s home-made brownies presumably, whilst we were forced to watch all the potential X Factor contestants dance at a ‘party’ having a ‘good time’. God, to be a fly on the wall. Not at an X Factor contestant party, obviously that’d be awful. Just a general fly on a wall. One of those Jeff Goldblumm-y ones. That’d be cool.

After making their certifiably REALLY TOUGH DECISIONS, the judges made all the contestants stand in a field and shooed away the ones that they didn’t like. Then they cry. Fortunately, the supreme loveliness of the field washes away any doubt we may or may not have had about the cruelty of the music industry.

Literally twenty minutes into the programme, some smart-ass has the absolutely amazing idea to let the remaining contestants actually sing on a TV show about singing. Well, kind of. Queue shedloads of CandiStatonbutnotreally covers of ‘You Got the Love’, which is our favourite song in the entire world to be strangled to.

The most amazing part of the section was the bit where the contestants actually got genuinely upset at one another because they wanted to sing a particular portion of Florence Welch’s improvised whale moan. It’s really terrible and awful, obviously. Can’t Bob Geldof sort this out or something?

Lots and LOTS and LOTS of people continued to sing You Got the Love to continuing levels of mass suicide, including a man called Max Vickers who had the audacity to wear a jumper and attempt to get away with it, sing like a Warner Brother’s cartoon and, to top it off, dare to just walk around calling himself Max Vickers and expect us all to just deal with that. Absolutely no respect, whatsoever.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, along camesa joker called ‘Eskimo Smile’. Christ on various means of stinking transport! That’s really going to be hard to get over. Thank god we are expressively professional about all matters such as this all the time. Sorry. Really. We will never ever mention the name Eskimo Smile ever again. Never again will the worlds Eskimo Smile escape from our lips. RIP hecklerspray talking about how Eskimo Smile is called Eskimo Smile. Eskimo. Smi-yul.

Elsewhere, Janet Devlin tragically did not suffer any degree of laryngitis and returned to the stage to sing a song about ‘hearts not breaking even’ which makes no sense, Janet. A number of things are problematic about a song which discusses ‘hearts not breaking even’, but if there is any particular way to make it sound as momentously and categorically more hideous than it already does, it’s by singing said song with a head band stapled to your forehead.

Alright, credit where it’s due – maybe Janet just really, really likes Rambo. But she doesn’t, because she watches Juno whilst liking ‘Juno’ on Facebook, thinking about how great Juno is. What an endearing little shiteseagull. She was then rather annoyingly followed up by a guy called Lemuel Knights, which is just exhausting. Lemuel Knights… Just stop, please. Just stop being called Lemuel Knights for FIVE MINUTES. Lemuel Knights… Really. Was that even recommissioned by Channel 4, anyway?

From this point on in the show, things began to progressively dip from ‘amazing’ to ‘great’, just like we all feared. Because obviously from there, it’s just a slippery slope from ‘good’, to ‘okay’ to ‘STOP SINGING YOU LOOK LIKE CANCER.’

Nothing like Johnny Robinson to waltz on in and provide us with the latter in a menagerie of ways – most specifically with his version of Firework. A version of Firework that was so utterly terrifying, we will take it to the grave. Actually, come to think of it, we will definitely not take Johnny Robinson’s interpretation of a Katy Perry song with us to the grave, because we want to be cool sexy ghosts.

… Moving swiftly on, our absolute favourite woman in the universe (who has auditioned for X Factor) was up next in the shape of ‘Goldie’. You remember Goldie from the audition stages of course vomiting profusely into a bag before raping oxygen rapidly over and over until someone told her she could go through to the next round out of sheer exhaustion. This time, Goldie did not disappoint, and thrusted her raw, confused body with such purpose and devotion to a Born This Way backing track that we genuinely believe she has the potential to be one of God’s Chosen Flesh Peddlers. Hallelujah! Sincerest Man to Ever Come From a Non Descript District of the North West Gary Barlow pretends to look sincere as Goldie throws bits of her labia all over her face. No, not metaphorically. Don’t be stupid. Louis pretends not to look liberated and goes for a mortally offended facial expression instead, just to cover his tracks.

The rest of the show can be summed up with these closing pieces of information.

*The woman with the stupid eyebrows no longer has stupid eyebrows. She now has a stupid turban as well.

*More than one person can sing the song You Got the Love with all the exact same flecks and nuances as Florence Welch.

*Nobody bothered to mention to one woman the fact that she had melted corpses soaked in Ribena in her hair when she categorically definitely did have melted corpses soaked in Ribena in her hair.

*Joe Cox has LOW SELF ESTEEM, probably because of his really weird face. Fancy a snuggle?

*NotAdele Jade McNotAdele or whatever her name is, is going to be all over our faces and souls for the next couple of months, so get all your sexy sex-cells out of your system now before she saps the love and natural lubricant out of every single one of us.

*Lots of people were made to go home and they all cried. Coincedently, lots of people wear fingerless studded gloves. By further coincedence, lots of people are idiots. Cheers for that one, ‘fate’.

In part two, the whittled down contestants will be further whittled down until they are merely bloody stumps of human flesh who had the privilege of talking to Gary Barlow once. See you then, if you can handle it. (You totally can’t.)

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Adele: Banned In Ireland (No Stairway)

Mof Gimmers — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 14:00:59 +0000

Adele seems to split people into two camps. The first is the Oooh! She’s like a proper singer! She’s not like those thin, manufactured ones! She’s a proper soul singer! She’s a real person! The other is the She Makes Really Boring Records And I Just Don’t Get The Fuss camp.

Of course, there’s a third group which sneer I Don’t Have Anything To Do With Popular Culture Because I Do My Own Thing And Feel Vastly Superior And Simultaneously Ostracised By It, but the less said about those bores the better.

However, there’s a fourth camp now. They’re called the Gah! We’re So Bored Of Hearing The Same Song That We’ve Actually Banned It. Let us explain.

When you have a hit single, it is constantly in danger of overplay. This means that people end up hating pieces of music regardless of whether they initially liked it or not.

And so, in a music shop in Dublin – called Opus II if you care in the slightest – they’ve banned Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’.

Basically, they felt the need to impose a ban after the workers got beyond tired of hearing the song. It appears that every time someone sits at a piano when they’re shopping, they start playing Adele’s ballad.

Now there’s a sign up saying: “Strictly NO Adele”.

A shop assistant says:

“It’s become the piano equivalent of ‘Stairway To Heaven’, everyone thinks they can play it. The sign was a bit of a joke, but the song can drive you mad.”

The store has also banned Beethoven’s ‘Für Elise’ and absolutely any Michael Nyman music from being played.

Good work.

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X Factor Review, Week 4 – Part 2 Fast, 2 Furious

Sophie Hall — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 10:00:28 +0000

Right. RIGHT. So, the X Factor is still on.

Here are the opening titles. Here’s Dermot O Leary’s voice hurriedly aired in from Skype. It’s time to face the music. No, not time to face the music and dance. You are mistaken. Just time to face the music. Just maintain eye contact with the music until you start feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed and just want to go home.

Look, there’s an X Factor helicopter. Okay, so let’s talk about X Factor helicopters.

X Factor helicopters. Here at Hecklerspray, we absolutely arse-rape X Factor helicopters. There is literally no object in the universe that carries quite as much purpose as an X Factor branded helicopter gliding merrily over an open field system to an indeterminate location. X Factor helicopters. Just a really good idea.

Now, although the X Factor has always been achingly spontaneous and a bit like The Lady from Shanghai but with more Kelly Clarkson covers, it is still important to maintain the televisual rules of basic continuity, so we are treated to a conglomeration of young people with hairstyles and shirts and skin informing us that they will literally commit actual suicide if they don’t win the X Factor in the next five minutes because the prospect of not-winning makes them genuinely physically ill.

One young woman professes that when she thinks about not being a singer, her heart beats really fast, which is actually quite lovely and inspirational. Or Type 2 Diabetes.

Most Successful Person To Come Out of Manchester From Cheshire Gary Barlow has now regretfully downgraded his upbringing as simply being from the slightly more ambiguous ‘North West’ so he can champion the talent of Liverpool in this episode instead. God, it’s like Sophie’s Choice, but instead of a gassed rejected child, it’s a Merseytravel rail card.

So, as this is a double bill X Factor weekend – some pretty fucking special juju is most certainly going to go forth, wouldn’t you say? You couldn’t be more utterly right if you tried. It’s Tulisa’s birthday. How do we know? Because we care. Louis Walsh told us on an escalator.

Queue a whole massive chunk of quality TV about how Tulisa celebrated a birthday about three months ago, which is the most deserved celebration of someone’s life on television since ‘Living Lohan’. This sequence of Tulisa pretending to be happy goes on for about twenty years, which coincidently is the same amount of time it takes for Asbestos to embed into the typical human lung, which are obviously two radically different incidents, but still probably worth pointing out.

This is getting a little bit silly now. Let’s try a bit of reverse psychology. CAN WE HAVE SOME SINGING NOW PLEASE?

No we may not, apparently. What is available however is the brand new changing room segment of the show – where (we assume) contestants stand in a room holding up hair straighteners, and shoe boots and tampons and for some reason – dancing. Just constant, terrifying, disheartening dancing. It’s a really upsetting thing to try and put into words. How can we put this? We know. Did you ever see that documentary about that heroin addict whose veins were eventually rendered useless to the point he had to start injecting it into his groin? No? Oh. Okay. Have you ever seen Glee? Right. It’s exactly like Glee.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, it’s the first contestant of the show. His name is INEVITABLY Marcus Collins. Marcus coyly divulges to us that he has toned down his hair to a more ‘relaxed colour’ for his audition today, which interestingly enough is much closer to his natural shade anyway. He goes into this matter in further detail, but it’s a pretty sensitive topic to discuss so we don’t really know if we should speak about it so openly. How best to describe it? Right, did you ever see that docu-

Okay, never mind.

Marcus gets up on stage, and selfishly talks about his life aspirations and dreams for a whole 9 SECONDS before remembering to wish Tulisa a happy birthday. Marcus creates a Twitter parallel universe by uttering the not so immortal words: “I’d rather walk into Marks and Spencers than walk past it”, if ‘we know what he means’. We don’t – because that isn’t on any level a popular idiom to slip into conversation in front of 8 million people, let alone poor old Marks and Spencerally challenged Louis Walsh, who stares morosely into the distance, secretly wondering if his off-pink shirt has made any sort of an impact on anybody he’s bumped into that day.

Marcus sings Signed Sealed Delivered, I’m Yours – by Lee Ryan. This is presumably the obnoxious Stevie Wonder cover that everyone tried to ignore. Marcus sings the song with a jaunty spring in his step and at no point does he try and throw the microphone into his other hand and then back into his previous hand and then return the microphone to the original hand to the rhythm of the bass line, which is something that happened on the X Factor once, and it wasn’t very good. Marcus gets through. Kelly Rowland says ‘Marks and Spencers’. We cuddle our own knees.

The editors put their 2005 British Comedy Award to good use in a small segment where a man is forced to strip naked and serve drinks to Tulisa and the judges, whilst Tulisa makes inappropriate comments about how she’d like to spend ‘an hour in her room with him’. Louis giggles, because he suspects Tulisa may be alluding to violent, clammy mutual masturbation.

A man in a wanky hat is up next. He is unemployed, he is called James Micheal, and seems to be trying to give off the impression that he is a real, verified human being regardless. James sings the Adele version of Make me Feel My Love OBVIOUSLY. And when we say ‘sings the Adele version’, I mean properly ties his testicles in a Windsor knot and hits every nuance and modulation that you could ever hope to hit to achieve faux-emotion in a song you lyrically probably don’t give much of a shit about. (Come on – “I could hold you for a MILLION years?” That’s AGES.) Nonetheless, James gets through.

It’s time for the Dermot O Leary wearing a navy blue turtle neck section of the program, which isn’t everyone’s particular FAVOURITE bit, granted – but eventually everyone kind of grows to love it, like when Demi Moore and Bruce Willis had that daughter with the chin that looked like a root vegetable, but kept her anyway.

As is customary with the Dermot O Leary Navy Blue Turtle Neck portion – the next contestant is a middle aged man who ‘goes to the gym’ and has aspirations despite a little thing called LIFE trying to diffuse them on a day to day basis. His name is Graham Bennett, although the catheter hanging out of the ankle of his jean clearly says ‘Paul Weller’, so we’re not trusting anybody. He has the voice of a man who should be deep in conversation with Suggs in a Wetherspoons about how he once voiced a badger on a CBeebies ident.

Sorry, what? Graham professes that the only reason he is auditioning for X Factor is so that he can get off with Sandra Bullock. This is the greatest excuse for auditioning X Factor in the world. He better be good. He better be bloody good, so he can attend to the broken heart of Sandra Bullock as quickly as is fucking possible. Like THAT’S not been looming over our heads on every waking minute of the day. Shit. He isn’t very good. How can one woman endure so much pain?

Turtleneck Hour on the X Factor drags on slowly and bitterly on as A Woman From Dublin performs a song not to the best of her abilities. Louis Walsh makes a big deal about saying no to her, despite HIM BEING FROM DUBLIN HIMSELF! Loveable scouser from Take That Gary Barlow makes the exact same joke. This is followed by a man who wants to be a pop star not being granted the wish of being a pop star, and a black woman not singing exactly the same as Beyonce despite ALL THE ODDS. Meanwhile, Charles Darwin shrugs.

The next segment is Sunday night television at it’s most droll (Unlike Saturday night television which will never quite be able to scrub off the whole ‘Don’t Scare the Hare’ thing) – as every single X Factor contestant spontaneously loses their confidence and can’t sing properly, one after the other in perfect chronological order. Jesus, fucking Disney – isn’t this incredibly unlucky? This low self esteem bonanza drags on about as long as talking to someone subtly alluding to the fact they have low self esteem.

Ie: ALL OF THE YEARS IN EXISTENCE. The dramatic crescendo of this section is brought to you by ‘Jonjo Kerr’ (Which is pretty much the exact phonetic spelling of how Hecklerspray writers project feelings of lust on to the opposite sex) Jonjo is an Infantry soldier (IMPORTANT JOBS ARE IMPORTANT) and has successfully inseminated his wife with a child much to the gormless delight of Kelly, who is increasingly striking us as the sort of person who’d joyfully contract dementia if she ever got hold of the ‘Woohoo’ feature on any Sims PC game.

Quick run-through of the really boring event that happens next: Jonjo sings a Rod Stewart song, and messes it up. The judges remind Jonjo that he is a soldier and has a foetus developing in his wife, so obviously has to sing well, because if the past 3 years of horrific Mariah Carey cover singles are anything to go by – the X Factor really love soldiers, presumably because they are big and strong and good at fighting lots. JUST like Frank Sinatra.

So, Jonjo sings the song again, sings it exactly as terribly as the first time, and gets through because he is a soldier and has a foetus developing in his wife. The whole point of ending on Jonjo of course is to display the Aesop-esque moral that sometimes people get nervous, and that’s totally okay. But you won’t get through to the second stage of X Factor unless you’ve had a certain degree of lead pumped into your internal organs at some point.

And with that, we close on the final contestant, Amelia Lily. Let’s just wind things up really swiftly, because there is nothing more to say about Amelia other than the following three things.

It’s just Pixie Lott, isn’t it. What’s the point in attempting to make a joke. She’s a girl that looks like Pixie Lott, and is going to get rewarded for this.

Her name sounds like a character that would talk to a badger on a CBeebies Ident.

If you missed Amelia’s audition and have simultaneously forgotten what rock music is: Hopefully this handy video will kill two birds with one stone.

Next week is another double bill. We’re not even fucking joking.

PS: Hey – did anyone see Antony Costa’s brother audition on Xtra Factor the other week? No, us neither. But still… what a horrifically discouraging piece of information.

X Factor Review, Week 4: The Deathly Hallows Part 1

Sophie Hall — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 10:30:16 +0000

So, ITV1 have given all their money away to wife beaters and rapists. This is the new way. As such, this essentially means you have to watch X Factor twice, because they can’t afford to make any new TV programmes. Thank god Kelly Rowland agreed to work overtime due to how much she believes in music. (Cocaine.)

Talk Talk have given stop-frame animation a go and simultaneously ired the entire board of the Academy Awards as a result.

This week we are visiting MANCHESTER. Although the show isn’t in chronological order or anything, so basically we’re just looking at the bits they filmed in Manchester. Or at least ITV1’s edited version of Manchester, which involves a lot of day-glo and mystical interchangeable skies, apparently. Or Hogwarts, if you will. Due to the fact that ITV1 are not culturally familiar with the ’80s ‘Madchester’ scene, we must settle for gratuitous tracking shots of Selfridges over and over to fully understand where we are. Come to think of it, the true meaning of Manchester probably is £18 lip gloss.

And, being in Manchester of COURSE means we must have a chat about Gary Barlow. Because Gary Barlow is from Cheshire, which is an entirely different county. And Hitler was from Austria. And that’s what happens when you collect your primary sources of research from Bing.

Nonetheless, we are all treated to a delightful smorgasbord of everyone in Manchester being incredibly excited to meet someone who lives NEAR MANCHESTER. Kelly Rowland talks about all the lies Gary Barlow has told her about Manchester, coked out of her mind and having an amazing time as the backlog of Bez’ family tree try and touch the hems of her clothes. We wish we were Kelly Rowland. Gary Barlow sings Manchester’s national anthem ‘Manchester Na Na Na Na’. He also wears a waistcoat as he does this, presumably because he likes to punish people and hit women. You are watching ITV1 remember.

Our first contestants of the episode are two gay men who are gay and totally FINE with it. They are either called Kendal, or Kenco, or Ken Dodd, or Amazon Kindle. One of those. They wear hats and have primary colours in their hair, and one or both of them is/are Grace Jones. So far, so ‘good’. Upon entering the big blue shiny stage where blasé dreams come true, the pair talk to the judges for a while about how stupid they are, and everyone thinks they’re brilliant as a result. The pair decide to give Lady Gaga ‘a whirl’, because avant garde pop music on mainstream television could work if we just dared to open our eyes a mid-quarter.

And then, in the world’s greatest tribute to Salvador Dali the world has ever seen (Because it certainly wasn’t THIS, was it?), the pair apply some lip gloss (TRUE MEANING OF MANCHESTER) before launching into their performance – much to the fury and downright odium of Gary Barlow. The cameras do NOT cut to Louis Walsh at that moment, which shows self-control and integrity. Perhaps if ITV1 had used those aforementioned traits more often, Show Me The Funny might have never made it to air.

Kendro, or Eoghan Quigg or whatever they’re called start singing their god-awful rendition of Lady Gaga. All the judges (Including Louis Walsh who has been judging talent show competitions for well over a decade) seem absolutely dumbfounded that two men could DARE to come on stage and sing vaguely out of tune.

Tulisa Cocacobanathehottestspotnorthofsavana honestly doesn’t know if they can make it as serious music artists, which is a really grave concern, obviously. About five minutes later however, she professes that she would ‘spread them on her toast’, which is probably the same thing that EMI said to The Beatles, so nothing to worry about after all. Gary Barlow hates them with every fibre of his being, but that’s only because he’s a bit iffy about sodomy, so fair enough. They get through.

Ad break – Rihanna is still harping on about how amazing Capital FM is.

Meanwhile, the X Factor are STILL in Manchester. The replacement bus service must have been delayed again. A segment of absolutely no importance to a post-9/11 dystopia is then shown, where the judges are shown riding around in custom-made X Factor BUGGIES. LOL, the economy.

A couple more auditions just for the hell of it. And to make matters worse, these are integrated with what terrifyingly sounds like a dubstep version of Another One Bites the Dust, which is just incredibly unfair. Following this – a woman sings It’s Raining Men, despite the crippling menopause, and another man sings badly too, so we guess that’s fifteen-love.

Although there have only been a couple of subtly, evenly dispersed montages on the audition stages of the show this year, we hate to be killjoys, but this particular one gives us the mild desire to eat benign cysts for breakfast. It feels as if the montage will never quite end. Eventually, it does. Unless of course it never actually ended, and we’re now just hooked up to a simulated reality created by sentient machines in order to pacify and subdue the human popula- Oh no wait, that’s probably The Matrix.

Meanwhile, the nation’s prayers for a leopard print Indiana Jones style-incarnation of Mary Byrne were finally answered in the shape of Samantha Brookes. Good ol, down to earth Samantha Brookes and her eyebrows. God, those eyebrows. They look like they were designed by the same people who did the Olympics 2012 logo.

Kelly Rowland loves her so much that she threatens to crowd surf. Thankfully, she doesn’t, but we have to say it was pretty touch and go for a second there. All these spontaneous threats and jibes Kelly Rowland has been making lately… this sounds like the early stages of a chronic depressive episode rather than a job on the X Factor, if you ask us. One minute you’re laughing happily, next thing you know, you’re rolling in to the BBC at 5am trying to audition for Celebrity Fame Academy. Just a warning.

Samantha worries that her weight may be a particular grievance to her upcoming career as a pop singer. The fact that she sings rubbish and has no taste or any knowledge on the correct curvature of eyebrows is not addressed. Kelly, spokeswomen of female equality and advocate of first-wave feminism since 1792 announces to the universe that YES, Samantha has a size. And that size is Size ‘SEXY’, completely abolishing the whole prospect of anthropometry AND prejudice in one fail swoop. WE’LL HAVE WHAT’S SHE’S HAVING. In a clean syringe, if that’s alright.

Next up is a girl group called Twisted. MENTAL name, we know, but just go with it. By god, these women are wearing polkadot dresses just like they used to do in something mental like the 1950s! Like Kate Nash x 1000! INCREDIBLE. God, we miss The Pipettes. Now that Belle Amie are going through their neo-classical metal phase, Twisted are exactly what we need. This literally could not get any better. One of the singers, who is called Chrissie Pitt (which in the grand scheme of things doesn’t matter, but we just thought we’d be thorough.) – ‘reveals’ that she auditioned for the show as a soloist last year. Now this year she is back! With loads of retards in New Look’s 2008 collection, and a goth. The girls perform their ‘take’ on ANADELESONGANADELESONGANADELESONG, which involve some pretty amazing Katie Waissel-style ‘shoop shoops’ admittedly, but shockingly the judges don’t go for it, and want to see Chrissie Pitt sing on her own.

We wonder why that could be? Not because the whole thing has been scripted so that the other girls can fob off and the soloist can get some extra attention in the editing process for when she makes it considerably far to the later stages of the competition, surely? No, that’s a really insensitive thing to suggest. Definitely not that reason. The reason is of COURSE that she is simply amazing and brilliant and is definitely going to be the new Kurt Cobain, so let’s not hear another word about it.

Oh, and she sang ‘Forget You’ while her friends seethed through their tears at the side of the stage. How d’ya like them apples?

After the break, Dermot O Leary had the audacity to show up to his job half-way through the programme and said something insignificant about how some people like to sing and more words of that particular calibre. Intuitive, Dermot. Absolutely Magneto-esque.

Then we got introduced to Lascel Wood. But wait, there’s more! He is 20 years old, and from Brighton. As we will steadily come to learn, Lascel likes to mix things up. Even such trivial matters such as exchanging social pleasantries. For example, instead of saying “Hello”, Lascel would tend to say something along the lines of “Hello my name is Lascel and I am 20 years of age and I was in foster care” instead, which is such an amazingly snappy ice breaker, that he probably could have single handedly saved the Titanic. Alas, as it is. RIP, RMS Titanic.

Lascel has brought his estranged mentally ill mother with him to his X Factor audition today, which to some might seem a little gratuitous, but we personally believe that Lascel should be knighted for putting up with her on the Metrolink on the way up. Lascel morosely explains to the judges that his mother has been suffering from ‘Bi-polar’, which we thought was just the name of Kerry Katona’s dog or something, but turns out to be a very serious mental disorder, which is pretty embarrassing. But none of that matters anyway, because Lascel probably wouldn’t have brought any of that up had the judges not beat him to a pulp and practically RAPED IT OUT OF HIM, so fair enough.

Lascel sings a soul version of a Kings of Leon song, because Jo Whiley’s work will never be done. People generally think he sounds quite good. Even his sectioned, mentally ill mother can recognise a damn good treble voice vibrato when she hears one, so it’s win-win-win, as Lascel gets a standing ovation. Kelly Rowland ascends triumphantly from the desk with half her pant suit round her ankles, like the Monica Lewinsky that Britain never had. Lascel concludes that he feels emotional. We quite agree.

And on that note, we’re going to go and lie in our beds wide-eyed and alone until the second instalment which takes place tomorrow night. Yeah, really. You have to do this all again tomorrow. It’s fine though, because you’re lonely enough to do that.

X Factor Review Week 4, Part 2 continues tomorrow…

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Adele Keeps Not Mentioning Her Figure

Mof Gimmers — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 12:00:50 +0000

Adele. She’s not thin is she? We’ve all noticed and most people don’t really care. They never have. They may well think her music is duller than stagnant dish water, but her waist? Never even considered it.

The single most irritating thing about Adele is that she’s omnipresent. You can’t move for hearing her mawkish take on balladry. She’s basically a more-credible Westlife. It’s all earnest, doe-eyed faux-pain channelled through that feeling of being a bit teary after a few drinks, watching someone sing something slightly emotional on a karaoke.

However, bringing up her weight is none other than the girl herself, who for the millionth time this week, has underlined that she’s comfortable with the way she looks.

Adele, if you didn’t know, is on the cover of UK Vogue. Of course, what with her not being a thin model, this gives the fashion industry and women’s lifestyle magazines the chance to, at some point in the future, refute claims of promoting an unhealthy image to young women.

They can now disagree and say “We were one of the first magazines to put Adele on the cover, so no, we don’t subscribe to this notion that we only showcase thinner girls.” You just watch.

Either way, despite the fact no-one really cares what Adele’s figure is like (apart from those laziest of joke makers who like to point it out, just to troll everyone else), she’s keen to point at it and say ‘I don’t care’.

She said:

“I’ve seen people where it rules their lives, you know, who want to be thinner or have bigger boobs, and how it wears them down. And I just don’t want that in my life.”

“It’s just never been an issue – at least, I’ve never hung out with the sort of horrible people who make it an issue. I have insecurities of course, but I don’t hang out with anyone who points them out to me.”

What we can slate though, is Adele’s pathetic immune system as she’s cancelled further gigs thanks to a chest infection after nixing concerts thanks to a bout of laryngitis.

Not that anyone will hear this insult, because everyone is too busy imagining that people are berating Adele for being a different shape to a bunch of other women.

Chances are though, should she lose a load of weight, women will be the first to start yelling “Oh! Doesn’t she look great?!” or “I can’t believe she’s lost all that weight. It must be peer pressure! I don’t judge women by their size, but I definitely think she’s not as good now she’s thin.”

Idiots.

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