Is The Voice a genuinely depressingly sign of cultural suicide or a mocumentary made for the amusement of normal people?
For a while now I have been writing about an impending doom on modern culture, but little did I know it had already arrived in the form of BBC1?s The Voice. This Saturday I watched my first ever episode, knowing full well it would prompt a vehement spieling, but even I couldn?t have pre-empted such levels of consumer lunacy and depressingly passive audience participation. But it looks like the time is upon us. TV is now offering the population free lobotomies.
Lobotomising is hardly metaphorical either. I can genuinely picture audiences of this prime time travesty drooling into their laps, while flailing around in their chairs and yelping ?baaahhh!? as if they?ve been stunned in the head by a cattle prod, such is the experience of watching this.
This was meant to be a refreshing alternative to the likes of X-Factor and Britain?s Got Talent, with a noble enough premise: the judges have their backs to the singer, so they can?t see if they?re fat or an acid burn victim, and will only turn around if they like what they hear. But even still, it?s ended up being the most depressing programme in the history of television, with the possible exception of a black and white, Russian transmission of Children in Need, that can only be watched while hanging upside down amongst a variety of refrigerated meats ? If such a show existed.
And it?s inconceivable that anyone watching could afford the hosts a shred of credibility ? barring Tom Jones, who?s more out of place than Vladimir Putin at a gay rights parade ? when Will-I-Am stumbles over every word, before settling with stunningly empty adjectives, like ?powerful? and ?popilicious?. But I suppose that kind of acceptance is to be expected from an audience that rejects proper food to instead jam crayons in their earholes.
Rita Ora and Ricky Wilson make up the other half of the panel. I had no idea who the latter was, but Wikipedia informs me he?s the lead singer of Kaiser Chiefs. Obviously. Duh! As for the former, she?s responsible for timeless classics R.I.P and This Is How We Do ? songs that definitely make her qualified to be a talent judge.
Ora, coincidentally, appears to enjoy every single performance, whether they sound like Mariah Carey or the Elephant Man after a shot of Sambuca. She sits in all sorts of different sexual positions, biting her bottom lip and bopping her head, ?feeling the music?, as it were, as well as making a right mess of her chair. But she only lets them through to the next round if they?re TRULY awful.
This show is in fact so colossally crap, I?m beginning to question its sincerity. Is it a genuinely depressing sign of cultural suicide? Or is it actually a mocumentary, made for the amusement of normal people? The truth is so miserably obvious.
Anyway, I didn?t finish the episode. I ended up looking into the phenomenon of German toilets instead. Weird aren?t they? They have those porcelain platforms that catch your ordure, so it?s just sitting there, staring at you. Supposedly, they were designed to help examine shit? Not too different to The Voice then ? the nation?s pooing shelf.
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