Australian Idol: Rock Night

Why is everybody always picking on me?

Jeez, how much were the judges laying into Ben McKenzie tonight for being the way he is? And they didn't say nice words, they actually said "feminine." Christ. I'm not exactly butch, but I would DIE if someone called me feminine. Effeminate, maybe, because that implies that you're a boy who has certain girlish qualities (which, in an abstract way, is sort of a compliment), but feminine? That's just soul crushingly awful for a boy-man in his situation, especially given that he's been getting questions throughout the competition about his sexuality, which is unthinkably rude ANYWAY because a) he is seventeen years old; and b) it's totally irrelevant.

Oh Ben! I'm sure they'd think again, if they had a friend like Ben.

Anyway.

Tonight's Idol sucked the fat one in a major way.

Firstly, and the previous post will attest to this fact, Matt Corby appeared to be wearing an insane top with what Chesty describes as a built-in shawl. I thought perhaps Quasimodo was behind stage somewhere, and poor Matt accidentally picked up one of his shirts - thinking it was part of the Idol wardrobe - and put it on backwards. Hence the funny lump bit at the front. Something like that anyway, I haven't worked it out yet either.

Carl comPLETELY went off the tracks, down an embankment and into a deep chasm with his rather liberal interpretation of the "rock" genre, which was tonight's theme. He sang Clocks by Coldplay, a song which hardly classifies as rock in the first place, and he went and turned it into (omg shock!) a swing number. Gaaaaaaaaay. He's okay looking and stuff, but he doesn't belong in the Top 12 of Australian Idol. He just doesn't. Argue with me in the comments if you think otherwise.

Brianna Carpenter went down the same chasm. Unfortunately for the "quirky" one who likes to fondle sixteen year olds in a spa, her take on the rock genre was disappointing. Although, I will give her props for actually giving it a fair go, unlike Carl who was just being lazy. It wasn't great, but at least she didn't take a rock song and turn it into a coquette, warbling nursery rhyme.

My least favourite contestant, Marty Simpson, defied the entire world's condemnation of his ghastly physical appearance, complete with Severus Snape hair and John Howard eyebrows, and showed up in usual grotty form. I walked out of the room halfway through because it sucked royally. At this point I wish that I could vote to evict.

I won't bore you with details of the entire night, because it really was a bad genre. Even the ones who are meant to be the rock performers (Jacob Butler, Mark Da Costa, Daniel Mifsud) were mediocre. I don't care what the judges said, Natalie rocked the tight, skinny-legged pants off those three. They were all a bit bland, except for a Mr Gadget coat somewhere in the mix, which... I WANT ONE.

Despite my love for Ben McKenzie and my belief that Natalie is one of the real contenders this year, my favourite of the night was Tarisai Vushe, who clearly is in a league of her own. When you look at someone like Lana Krost, there is no comparison. I loved her little walk up the aisle, as it reminded me of something that you would see every week in the 2003 season, when "working the crowd" was topmost in the judges' eyes, although Kyle or Dicko said that it was like an African evangelist. I thought that was a bit harsh - she's been good lately, we haven't heard a single reference to Jesus in quite a while.

So that's about all I have to say about tonight. At one point Mark was almost shouting for a Panadol, and as much as I despise his Mr G-like theatrical spells, I kind of agreed with him. Mostly.

Next week, children, is Disco Night! Booyah!

Random note that I couldn't neatly segue into during the formation of this post: I love how the stylist tried to squeeze all the male performers into tight pants. And how there was at least two shots of Matt Corby and Carl Riseley getting changed. Clearly there are some cunning gays working in the editing room of that show.