I said ‘bollocks’ on live daytime television last week, on a Sunday of all days. My children were watching, too. There were complaints, and quite right. I felt bad about it, even though it was absolutely the mot juste. I got rather carried away, frustrated that a good-looking boy with a lot of potential had apparently missed the point of everything so completely, and chosen to spend his three-and-a-half-minute stab at glory yodelling. And how far he had come to stand there, live, live, live in front of 12 cameras and a million people watching, stand there and blow it so utterly.
Back in October we’d set out with a field of 1,600 bands that we’ve narrowed down over the past few months to a mere handful. This coming weekend, the outright winner of Orange Unsigned Act, the TV show in question, will be decided by public vote and receive an album deal with A&M records, to include a cash advance, marketing and video budgets, endless taxis and the special blessing of my fellow judge, label boss Simon Gavin.
Get Britain's best politics newsletters
Register to get The Spectator's insight and opinion straight to your inbox. You can then read two free articles each week.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in