Why No One Is Going To Win The Voice This Year

will.i.am, one of the judges on The Voice

Saturday saw The Voice UK reach the penultimate episode of the blind auditions. This is the bit of the show people remember: where talented tween girls sing “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”. The judges spin round in approval and - Surprise! - it’s actually a fat fuck with chins like fire bellows and a Fulham firm tattoo on his left buttock. In a fortnight come the battle rounds – a series of ‘who can wail the loudest’ sing offs where the winner is generally the person who can fit the most trills into a syllable that only ever really needed one note – and the point where the ratings historically take a downward leap.

By now, there should already be some clear public favourites. The homeless orphan who finally got her break, the salt of the earth mother of five, the leggy one whose dress was cut so high you could see her gusset. Yet, this year, it feels like no one can even be bothered to pretend to give a fuck about who might win. There’s been no torrid Daily Mail exposés or Mumsnet hate campaigns. The only person that’s even received a minor swell of public sympathy has been lovable Northerner Bob Blakely – who didn’t even get through round one.

As the years go on, the chances of The Voice creating an actual pop star seem about as likely as them creating a particle physicist. The winner of series one, Leanne Mitchell, released an album that charted at #134, was dropped shortly after and then disappeared back to Lowestoft. Last year’s winner, Andrea Begley, rush-released a record of unimaginably banal covers - including an Evanescence album track and “Breakfast At Tiffany’s” - in order not to suffer the same fate, charted at a respectable #7 and then fell out of the Top 100 two weeks later when the small contingent of loyal phone voters had all had their fill. Album two, suffice to say, is not topping the Amazon pre-order chart just yet.

There have been a couple of small-scale successes among the other contestants - Bo Bruce rode the wave of pretending to have it off with that bloke from The Script all the way to a midday slot at the smallest tent at V Festival last year – but, now it’s third year all in all, The Voice is yet to produce a single genuine popstar.

With such an embarrassing track record, it seems kind of insane that anyone watching the show – let alone auditioning for it – would think that this year would be any different. Sure it took a couple of Steve Brooksteins before The X Factor chanced on a Leona, but its winners all had number one albums before they were consigned to the scrapheap, even Sunn O))) have scored a better album position than Voice winners.

The Voice pulls in ratings because trying to make pop stars out of people who don’t have the characteristics of pop stars is entertainingly novel. For a bit. Then it’s boring. Novelty is why all the people that bought “Gangnam Style” probably won’t be investing in Psy’s next album and why Christmas In Blobbyland did not live up to the high expectations of its predecessor.

The problem with The Voice’s novel method for picking singers is that it’s quite hard to judge the things you need to be a popstar – charisma, stage presence, good teeth - if you don’t actually watch the fucking performance.

What makes it worse is that no one is ever particularly shit on The Voice and none of the judges are even remotely critical. The closest anyone comes to being honest about the duffs is when Ricky From The Kaiser Chiefs says it “wasn’t really for him”. And let’s be honest Ricky, what is for you except prawn mayo sandwiches, burgundy waistcoats and girls in polka dot dresses who shop in Rough Trade? I’m not saying that the show should be a pseudo-egging of slams and put downs, but without criticism, praise means nothing. There’s no pace. No one stands out. An hour and a half rolls along happily in a world where everyone is great, even if they aren’t.

If you are a bona fide proper pop star in waiting, the kind of person who will walk into a room and command it in seconds, then you don’t need to go on a program that tries to wheedle around the issue and make allowances for its contestants. You want to go on the biggest stage available and have the most people possible watch you fucking kill it, with their eyes facing in the right direction.

There’s one week left of the blind auditions, and who knows, maybe the second coming of Edwyn Collins will burst in and make me eat my words. Likelihood is though, you’d probably have more chance of forging a singing career if you went busking on High Street Kensington.

Follow Lisa on Twitter: @LisaAnneWright

Read more Spinning Arseholes:

Spinning Arseholes: The Voice UK, Episode 1

Spinning Arseholes: The Voice UK, Episode Two