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I'd Say It Was Fun While It Lasted...
Dec. 2nd, 2005 12:49 am...but for the last three hours of its existence, my active participation in the S-Factor was anything but.
Fifth out of six. Second last. 20% in relative terms. One up from the gutter. Fell down the sewer and found the mars bar had already been taken.
The judges official scorecard for my performance of Everything I Do (marks out of 10):
Voice (Technical merit and volume): 7 7 8
Performance (Audience Clapometer): 7 8 8
Style (Artistic Impression): 9 9 9
Total: 72
On the basis of this, I thought it would be touch and go for a place in the final.
When Welsh Dave, up next, scored eighty-one with Let Me Entertain You, I realised instead that this was going to be a long, long night.
The scores kept coming - seventy-seven, seventy-three, seventy-nine - and more annoying than anything else, I can't being myself to disagree with them. Not only did they all sound considerably better than I did, they each had their own small army of fans with them, banners, signs, roars of approval, merchandise and all, and there was me - with Elizabeth and Caroline doing their level best to sound like a crowd. The only one I beat was a guy who entered last week for a laugh and didn't bother even trying this time. All those who actually made an effort scored higher than I did. Everyone telling me they loved the performance just made it worse - I was good, was I? According to fucking whom?
Every time I start to believe the hype, it all goes horribly wrong. Every time I enter competition like this, I am reminded just how far I still have left to go before I can entertain the possibility of going to a professional audition and not getting laughed out of the door.
If you'll excuse me, I'm going to make a start on this large whiskey I've poured myself.
Fifth out of six. Second last. 20% in relative terms. One up from the gutter. Fell down the sewer and found the mars bar had already been taken.
The judges official scorecard for my performance of Everything I Do (marks out of 10):
Voice (Technical merit and volume): 7 7 8
Performance (Audience Clapometer): 7 8 8
Style (Artistic Impression): 9 9 9
Total: 72
On the basis of this, I thought it would be touch and go for a place in the final.
When Welsh Dave, up next, scored eighty-one with Let Me Entertain You, I realised instead that this was going to be a long, long night.
The scores kept coming - seventy-seven, seventy-three, seventy-nine - and more annoying than anything else, I can't being myself to disagree with them. Not only did they all sound considerably better than I did, they each had their own small army of fans with them, banners, signs, roars of approval, merchandise and all, and there was me - with Elizabeth and Caroline doing their level best to sound like a crowd. The only one I beat was a guy who entered last week for a laugh and didn't bother even trying this time. All those who actually made an effort scored higher than I did. Everyone telling me they loved the performance just made it worse - I was good, was I? According to fucking whom?
Every time I start to believe the hype, it all goes horribly wrong. Every time I enter competition like this, I am reminded just how far I still have left to go before I can entertain the possibility of going to a professional audition and not getting laughed out of the door.
If you'll excuse me, I'm going to make a start on this large whiskey I've poured myself.
