“Wait a minute. Isn’t this just the Breakfast Club, but with naughty words?” I hear you ask. That’s a fair assessment, although there are some changes. The main one being that the Breakfast Club didn’t have bloody Reggie Yates self-importantly swanning around being all earnest and achingly sensitive towards a bunch of mediocre singers singing tepid pop ballads.
The lone ranger stalks moodily through the park on a grim overcast day in London, as Trouble by Coldplay floats along in the background, emphasising his deep emotional grief. Seriously, haven’t we seen enough of this yet? Haven’t we all realised by now that we can do better that awkwardly shoving actual people’s lives into such narrow, stereotypical TV language that any dim-witted arse can pick up on how “deep” the show they’re watching is?
Not to mention I bet at least three quarters of the viewers of this show watched it not because they’re sensitive to the plight of the main stars, but because it’s undeniably funny to see people swearing in public. And Reggie, please, give it up. Hosting this turgid care-athon might gain you some listeners on your poxy Radio 1 show, but that doesn’t mean you have absolutely anything remotely interesting or relevant to offer to this documentary, besides having a slightly recognisable voice and the “haven’t I seen that guy somewhere before?” vibe that can only be emitted by D-list celebrities.
I’m informed however that being ‘fair’ and ‘balanced’ is the format that should be taken when approaching a review, so maybe I’ll try that here. Here goes. On one hand, it is a bit cheesy, but on the other hand it’s good to raise awareness about a serious condition which affects many peoples lives and still has a considerable social stigma attached. Fair and balanced. Well, it IS a clear attempt on the part of the host to align himself with snotty do-goodery on a frankly galactic scale, BUT there are only three episodes. It’s actually quite easy to be fair and balanced, because Reggie IS a w*nker, but at least the stars of the show keep reminding him.
To be fair, Tourette’s: Let Me Entertain You isn’t exactly like the X Factor or Britain’s Got Talent, in that rather than being a huge stretched out contest with an insanely large audience vote every single week, there are only three episodes, and there is no element of competition. They just sing some songs and go home. Fair play to them for not trying to make a career out of their illness, but nonetheless, their pockets are lined with cash derived from essentially shouting things that make no sense; a market that up until now had been dominated exclusively by Nicki Minaj.
As a final thought, I’m going on a tangent, because I can. I suppose it’s easy to be cynical and critical of ‘talent shows’ where people who have practised hard make themselves vulnerable by clambering up on stage and exposing whatever talent they can muster, but the reason it’s easy is because they’re just so f*cking awful. This really shouldn’t be how the music industry works. It shouldn’t. I implore you, desperate would-be contestants, learn how to sing, how to play, how to write songs, whatever you can do, and keep doing it and join a band or do it yourself and play shows and play out in the streets and write and practice and play and people will start to pay attention. If you aren’t awful, you gain a fan-base, you tour, you get more fans, you tour, you tour, you tour. Make music because you care about good music.
There is so much you can do with a chord sequence and an array of musical instruments that doesn’t have to sound like Take That, or Alexandra Burke, or Jessie J. This is the end of the article, I can’t be bothered rounding it off. You’ve come this far, you must have got the gist by now. Clear off.
Image by radio1interactive