Get those phones topped up; it’s almost voting time.
Natalia Kills and guest Benny Tipene judging the boys. Photo: The X Factor NZ
If you ever needed evidence that the prospective star-creation power of X Factor NZ is somewhat limited, it came pretty succinctly in the closing moments of last week's final bootcamp episode. As the dust stirred up by a three-episode game of literal musical chairs began to settle and the show’s top 24 finally and controversially decided, we cut to montage.
Over sweeping shots of golden sands, ornate temples and tasteful patios, a familiarly booming voice listed – with just the slightest tone of resignation - the names of the four international musical luminaries assisting our erstwhile judges: Benny Tipene (last cycle’s third place-getter, but indisputably its most enduring presence), Jason Kerrison (New Zealand’s most handsome doomsday prepper), Ginny Blackmore (actual professional songwriter, probably best known for this major collaborative banger) and Nicole Appleton (another former All Saints member, current intermittent UK media personality).
Though like-for-like comparison with any and everything produced in or achieved by Australia is the bane of our nation’s cultural, political and sporting existence, it does seem reasonable to point out that their most recent iteration of the show – reaching six seasons but never producing an act more successful than the certifiably and quantifiably awful Reece Mastin – featured assists from Jennifer Lopez, John Legend, Nicole Scherzinger and, uh, James Blunt.
So while, at face value, our panel seems reasonable - each member with industry experience, three locally and two internationally, and one especially well-versed in the machinations of this particular star-making venture – to say it’s a little underwhelming seems like a deliberate and frankly very funny understatement, but this is what we work with, and ultimately it’s basically moot anyway.
Stan Walker and Ginny Blackmore. Photo: The X Factor NZ
The value of a highly notable panel of assistants is two-fold – having an enormously famous and aesthetically sound artist lends the show credibility, and the purportedly candid appearance of such an artist lends notability – but their actual, real impact on the quality of artists or the makeup of the show’s top 12 is at the least very limited. Further to their limited utility as genuine influencers in terms of the wider competition, it’s also wild expensive to fly Chrissy Teigen’s husband to Bangkok so he can chill and pretend to seriously enjoy listening to Australians shout-sing at him. It doesn’t take a forensic accountant (which is handy, because I don’t even have a credit card) to surmise that the show that brought us Jackie Thomas probably hasn’t made room in the budget for seven-figure appearance fees.
Watching the X Factor as it’s intended to be watched, though, does mean holding on tightly to the idea that art trumps economics; that the show has the potential to uncover a talent so singular as to make irrelevant the fact that the global X Factor franchise has a hit-rate of around 1 in 1500 when it comes to competition winners actually becoming successful outside of the show, even with the near-limitless promotion and production budgets of the larger market versions. Even taking into account this dizzying optimism, though, there was painfully little to foster hope from last night’s installment.
Beginning with a pretty OK group of six girls, Stan (with questionable help from an apparently deeply uninterested Ginny Blackmore) ended up with a top three offering little in the way of surprise. Nessa’s got a strong, if indistinct tone and more than reasonable range, Lili could potentially be interesting if she can be coaxed away from the breathy Del Rey-isms that have to date been her stock in trade, and Finlay seems very much like last season’s top prizegetter, with perhaps a higher ceiling in terms of vocal ability. All are solid inclusions, and Jazzy Ashton is probably the only eliminated act with a reasonable grievance to claim. But if I told you that I was excited about the prospect of any of the three winning the big award, I would be lying even harder than Ginny Blackmore telling her agent that she was actually really looking forward to this whole endeavour.
From there, we left the heat, the humidity and the implied gastrointestinal issues of Bangkok, trading a riverside balcony for what appeared to be the sparsely decorated formal lounge of a West Auckland model mansion. In chairs selected carefully to compensate for their considerable height disparity, B Tipene and N Kills surveyed what is comfortably the most talent-rich category in this contest: the boys.
Given time constraints, only four of the six performed last night, but given the relatively consistent quality of the contestants, it’ll be difficult to predict who travels onward from this crop. For example: I’m personally deeply, fundamentally against vocal loops in live performance (and especially in pop music) and as such I believe that if Beau’s let through, he should be made to sign another, separate contract stating that he absolutely will not spend 12 weeks of live shows doing mouth farts into a footpedal. Natalia, on the other hand, is clearly 100 per cent into it. May the odds be ever in Beau’s favour.
Although last night’s episode doesn’t have me enormously excited for the base entertainment factor of the week’s remaining two, it’s heartening to know that this will actually be real soon. Once the show leaves the luxury of edit suites and multiple takes for the white-knuckle absurdity of live broadcasts, things tend to get roughly 1000 per cent more interesting. The remaining categories – those being “Old-Ass Adults” and “You Know A Covers Band Will Never Actually Win Right?”- should turn up at least a few interesting contestants for our final 12. What remains will at least be entertaining.
