So, it would appear that the crown prosecution service have dropped all charges against my friend, the genius, Roy Harper. I feel incredibly proud to have conducted a couple of mini-tours of his music, the last of which was just before a series of ridiculous allegations were made against him. I'm not even going to dignify the claims by repeating them here. I knew they weren't true at the time, and was incredibly vociferous about the fact. Roy, you see, had been inadvertently sucked into the Yew Tree witch hunt which has destroyed the reputations and careers of so many innocent men. Call it McCarthyism. Call it the Popish Plot. Call it the Salem witch trials. It doesn't really matter what you call it. History never repeats itself, but man always does...
Of course the news that all charges have been dropped never causes the same sort of splash as news of the original allegations. In the meantime, Roy has been through hell (and incurred considerably financial cost) whilst clearing his name.
My personal belief is that we ought to honour the English principle about a man being innocent until proven guilty, which means keeping news of any "crime" out of the press until a proper trial has taken place and a genuine verdict has been found. Trial by media is sickening and grossly unfair.
I've been looking forward to today all week. We had a de-brief about our workshop week first thing in the morning before heading down to Catford for an afternoon blast of craft and cake. It was a delicious chocolate fudge cake today and scones which we had with cheese and home-made tomato chutney. Nathan knitted a crazy scarf. Abbie had an adult colouring-in book. They're all the rage at the moment. They're incredibly intricate designs of flowers, butterflies and extraordinary birds, quite unlike the great big Disney shapes that we used to colour in as children.
This evening, Julie, Abbie, Nathan and I went to Thaxted to take part in the annual tennis club quiz. We came third, which was a very poor performance by our standards. I guess the questions didn't quite tap into our collective general knowledge. The sports round was an absolute catastrophe, although, I never mind tanking on a sports round. It's almost a badge of honour. Like the fact that I've never seen a Star Wars film!
We were fed chilli for tea at the quiz, and, when the chairmen of the club stood up to deliver her obligatory inaudible and humourless thank you speech at the end, I discovered that the spoons we'd been given to eat the chilli with created a brilliant launch pad from which to fire pieces of screwed up paper incredibly long distances.
I aimed most of my missiles at the team who won, and was thrilled when a piece of foil from a Kit Kat lodged itself in one woman's hair. It'll be a nice treat for when she brushes it tonight. Nathan pretended to be well shocked at my rudeness, almost certainly because my parents were there. After ticking me off he whispered in my ear that he was secretly very proud.
Abbie won a fluffy penguin in the raffle.
We came back to my parents' house for a quick cuppa before heading home. My parents have been growing grapes on a vine in the garden, which have done brilliantly well. I was a little surprised to find them fruiting so late in November, but I suppose there are types of eiswein which are made by grapes which are harvested after the first frosts, so grapes must ripen very late in the year.
We looked at my Mum's dachshund calendar. My family are all fans of the little dogs, so my brother-in-law always gets her a calendar for Christmas. Most of the pictures are or very lovely little dogs, but some seem angry, mentally disturbed, demented, or damn-right evil, so my Mum has been known to doctor the photographs, covering dodgy eyes with strips of paper and things. This month's photograph had been entirely covered by an enormous poppy. We peeled it back to reveal the creature underneath which was somewhat shocking. Abbie thought it looked like a potato. My mum said she thought it looked like a pig. I'm not at all surprised the picture needed to be covered over. I'd have done the same!
Sunday, 15 November 2015
Saturday, 14 November 2015
Tornado
We spent the day today working towards the final showcase of our little project. Beyond today, we're back to the process of writing, integrating what we've learnt in time for the next phase.
A very bizarre thing happened just before lunch. This sounds perhaps a little dramatic, but I think the Caledonian Road area might have been hit by a tornado! We were rehearsing a particularly dramatic song, where one of the characters gets very angry and upset and then sings "no more rain" rather triumphantly. We were aware that something odd was going on outside. The sky had turned a very odd colour, and suddenly the curtains at the windows started billowing like something from Scooby Doo!
I could see leaves swirling in circles outside, and then suddenly the wind started roaring, the windows started rattling, the building started shaking and the curtains nearly blew off their casters. Everyone stopped, a little shocked by what was happening. We started the song again, and, just as the character sang "no more rain" for a second time there was a huge roar of sound and the fire alarm went off. The building was immediately evacuated.
We traipsed out into the courtyard, with wind, rain and hail smacking us in the face. And then, almost as soon as it had started, the sun came out and it was as though nothing had happened.
There was, however, carnage on the street. Someone's window had been blown clean out of its casement and was smashed on the street below. The manager of Co-op round the corner had lost all of his signs. "They literally blew half way down the street... I thought the end of the world had come..." He said. An old lady in the shop wanted to talk about what had happened "I was coming out of the community centre... I didn't have a clue what was was going on... I just ran back inside..."
We did our workshop presentation this evening and it probably couldn't have gone any better in terms of the performers truly raising their games and the audience response. Crucially, people hung about afterwards which is always a good sign. Within a week or so I'll be able to write about what we've been up to, which will be a great weight off my mind, but this past week has been a very special one: highly creative and full of laughter. I'm both relieved it went so well, and a tiny bit sad that it's all over.
As the day wore on, we started hearing about the dreadful attacks in Paris, which made the weird tornado at lunchtime all the more prescient and strange. God knows society can't carry on living in fear like this. It genuinely feels like we're being held to ransom by these extremists but I'm not sure I know what the solutions are without declaring all out war... and we all know where that ends up. Personally, I'm beginning to think it's time for the UK to protect itself by withdrawing from the world stage. If we're seen as neutral, or better still, inconsequential and powerless, I'm thinking we might feel a little safer. I realise I'm simplifying things. But an aggressive political stance could well place us in the line of fire.
A very bizarre thing happened just before lunch. This sounds perhaps a little dramatic, but I think the Caledonian Road area might have been hit by a tornado! We were rehearsing a particularly dramatic song, where one of the characters gets very angry and upset and then sings "no more rain" rather triumphantly. We were aware that something odd was going on outside. The sky had turned a very odd colour, and suddenly the curtains at the windows started billowing like something from Scooby Doo!
I could see leaves swirling in circles outside, and then suddenly the wind started roaring, the windows started rattling, the building started shaking and the curtains nearly blew off their casters. Everyone stopped, a little shocked by what was happening. We started the song again, and, just as the character sang "no more rain" for a second time there was a huge roar of sound and the fire alarm went off. The building was immediately evacuated.
We traipsed out into the courtyard, with wind, rain and hail smacking us in the face. And then, almost as soon as it had started, the sun came out and it was as though nothing had happened.
There was, however, carnage on the street. Someone's window had been blown clean out of its casement and was smashed on the street below. The manager of Co-op round the corner had lost all of his signs. "They literally blew half way down the street... I thought the end of the world had come..." He said. An old lady in the shop wanted to talk about what had happened "I was coming out of the community centre... I didn't have a clue what was was going on... I just ran back inside..."
 |
| Wind damage |
We did our workshop presentation this evening and it probably couldn't have gone any better in terms of the performers truly raising their games and the audience response. Crucially, people hung about afterwards which is always a good sign. Within a week or so I'll be able to write about what we've been up to, which will be a great weight off my mind, but this past week has been a very special one: highly creative and full of laughter. I'm both relieved it went so well, and a tiny bit sad that it's all over.
As the day wore on, we started hearing about the dreadful attacks in Paris, which made the weird tornado at lunchtime all the more prescient and strange. God knows society can't carry on living in fear like this. It genuinely feels like we're being held to ransom by these extremists but I'm not sure I know what the solutions are without declaring all out war... and we all know where that ends up. Personally, I'm beginning to think it's time for the UK to protect itself by withdrawing from the world stage. If we're seen as neutral, or better still, inconsequential and powerless, I'm thinking we might feel a little safer. I realise I'm simplifying things. But an aggressive political stance could well place us in the line of fire.
Thursday, 12 November 2015
Fall Out 4
We've had another tiring day down on the Caledonian Road, working on our mystery project. It's so tiring that I can barely think by the end of the working day. Of course this is when all the meetings happen and you're expected to be on good form and in a brilliant mood. I'm always feeling shirty and impatient, so I snap and get sarky. I think people must think I'm on some sort of spectrum.
Still, things are slowly coming together. We're doing a little presentation tomorrow evening for an invited audience and we spent the day working on the material we've selected to perform for them. I think there's half an hour or so. Some of the music is really tricky but the actors are coping manfully.
I've just seen an advert on the telly for a computer game called "Fall Out 4" which appears to be set in a post-nuclear landscape. The advert shows a town being blasted by an atomic bomb, which I think is one of the most tasteless and distressing things I've ever witnessed. The game seems to involve people shooting each other up dressed in anti-radiation suits. I've never seen the point in computer games. They're plainly a complete waste of time and aimed at violent voyeurs who get bored to quickly. The adverts for the games always irritate me because whatever visuals they show are always run with the wording "not actual game footage." What's the bloody point in that? Surely people want to see what the game actually looks like? Mind you, the last computer game I played was PacMan, which was considerably more pixilated and basic than anything I've witnessed in those adverts!
Still, things are slowly coming together. We're doing a little presentation tomorrow evening for an invited audience and we spent the day working on the material we've selected to perform for them. I think there's half an hour or so. Some of the music is really tricky but the actors are coping manfully.
I've just seen an advert on the telly for a computer game called "Fall Out 4" which appears to be set in a post-nuclear landscape. The advert shows a town being blasted by an atomic bomb, which I think is one of the most tasteless and distressing things I've ever witnessed. The game seems to involve people shooting each other up dressed in anti-radiation suits. I've never seen the point in computer games. They're plainly a complete waste of time and aimed at violent voyeurs who get bored to quickly. The adverts for the games always irritate me because whatever visuals they show are always run with the wording "not actual game footage." What's the bloody point in that? Surely people want to see what the game actually looks like? Mind you, the last computer game I played was PacMan, which was considerably more pixilated and basic than anything I've witnessed in those adverts!
Wednesday, 11 November 2015
Name that song
I'm getting really fed up with incredibly wealthy and famous people claiming to have been held back by sexism, ageism and any other ism they feel might suit their cause. Multimillionaire Oscar-winning Reece Weatherspoon has recently waded into the sexism row, claiming to have been held back by a society which claims women aren't allowed to be ambitious. I'm not sure quite how much more successful she'd like to have been. Perhaps she's suggesting that if she were a bloke she'd have won three oscars by now? Witherspoon is now 39, which means she's also started complaining about her age... Here's a little thought, love: if you really think there are no roles for older women in Hollywood, how about you use some of your not-so-tiny fortune to invest in female writers, producers and directors making films which readdress the balance? Whinging is easy. The older I get, the more I realise we're all rushing to claim the world is easier for everyone else, when actually, I think we simply have to acknowledge that this world is pretty tough for everyone! Except rich people who go to public schools... And then the world is quite tough for them because they grow up wanting nothing, which brings its own kind of misery.
NB - I have just spoken to a few friends who are closer to the world of Hollywood than I am. They assure me that Reece Weatherspoon doesn't just have a point, but she's also invested a huge amount of money in the search for female talent... So actually, quite a lot of that previous paragraph is a bit of a nonsense, which forces me to immediately eat my words... Especially the bit where I call her "love"... Although I call men "love" as well, so it's not as patronising as it might read!
It appears that there's presently a lobby to "name our storms," so people in the North of Scotland have started the ball rolling and are currently bracing themselves for storm Abigail. It doesn't sound very good does it? Besides, storms are not hurricanes... And using girl names to describe them (just as we do with hurricanes) strikes me as, not just a little silly, but potentially rather frightening for those who hear Abigail is on its way and panic because they think it must be a storm of epic proportions. If we must name our storms, surely we should be naming them after colours or animals or at least boys names to avoid anyone expecting a terrible disaster? And where does it stop? Will we start naming rain showers? It's just a storm, people... Let's not try to imbue it with anything more than that simply because we don't have anything more exciting.
We had another day of workshopping today, and it was as exhausting as every other day. Lots of singing, a bit of acting, a bit of dance. I think we're getting somewhere, although I wish we had an extra day... For no other reason than because I'm rather enjoying the process, despite the film crew's presence feeling a little intimidating, particularly when you're not too sure what you're doing!
We came home to watch a show about the number ones of the Beatles which the papers reliably informed us featured Benny off of Abba. Turns out it was Bjorn. Still a treat, but can you imagine the uproar if someone had mistaken John for Paul in the Beatles? No, you can't... so don't get your Abbas in a muddle!
NB - I have just spoken to a few friends who are closer to the world of Hollywood than I am. They assure me that Reece Weatherspoon doesn't just have a point, but she's also invested a huge amount of money in the search for female talent... So actually, quite a lot of that previous paragraph is a bit of a nonsense, which forces me to immediately eat my words... Especially the bit where I call her "love"... Although I call men "love" as well, so it's not as patronising as it might read!
It appears that there's presently a lobby to "name our storms," so people in the North of Scotland have started the ball rolling and are currently bracing themselves for storm Abigail. It doesn't sound very good does it? Besides, storms are not hurricanes... And using girl names to describe them (just as we do with hurricanes) strikes me as, not just a little silly, but potentially rather frightening for those who hear Abigail is on its way and panic because they think it must be a storm of epic proportions. If we must name our storms, surely we should be naming them after colours or animals or at least boys names to avoid anyone expecting a terrible disaster? And where does it stop? Will we start naming rain showers? It's just a storm, people... Let's not try to imbue it with anything more than that simply because we don't have anything more exciting.
We had another day of workshopping today, and it was as exhausting as every other day. Lots of singing, a bit of acting, a bit of dance. I think we're getting somewhere, although I wish we had an extra day... For no other reason than because I'm rather enjoying the process, despite the film crew's presence feeling a little intimidating, particularly when you're not too sure what you're doing!
We came home to watch a show about the number ones of the Beatles which the papers reliably informed us featured Benny off of Abba. Turns out it was Bjorn. Still a treat, but can you imagine the uproar if someone had mistaken John for Paul in the Beatles? No, you can't... so don't get your Abbas in a muddle!
Tuesday, 10 November 2015
Boom a bang bang
Today we had another bash at recording an entry for the Eurovision Song Contest. We did the backing track today and will record vocals next Tuesday. Heaven knows if there's a point in our doing it. The BBC is making a big deal about the fact that they're taking the selection process really seriously this year... Although they said the same last year and I guarantee our song wasn't heard by a single judge. It makes my blood curl if I'm honest because I believe that Eurovision success can only come if a country starts to take the competition seriously, and that process can only happen if you allow those writers who care passionately about the contest, and shell out large sums of money to create high quality demos, an opportunity to feel they are being taken seriously. I am a life long fan of Eurovision - and a fairly well-regarded composer. If I were the selection committee, I would take me very seriously.
I understand, that this year, UK Eurovision entries are being presided over by a chap from the record industry called Hugh Goldsmith. I wouldn't normally do this, but if anyone reading this blog knows him, or might know someone who knows him, I'd love them to find out if it genuinely is an open playing field this year. I'd rather not enter if the BBC have already chosen their act and writers behind closed doors. As they plainly did last year...
We have a very strong song which I don't want to waste. The session musician who came in to play guitar (whom we'd not met before and is the guitarist for ABC) actually applauded the song when he heard it for the first time. I've not known that to happen before.
The song was recorded at Julian's studio in Limehouse. We had Vicky's Martin playing drums for us. He played drums on the wedding and was on fire in the studio today. Drummers are worth their weight in gold. You can convince yourself that computer samples and electronic drums are as good as the real thing until you sit in a studio with a bloke bashing merry hell out of his kit, and suddenly your song starts to motor into life!
We've gone for a rockier edge this year. I guess you might say it's a little like Muse's version of Feeling Good, and the girl who's singing it is very exciting (but more on that front in a week's time...)
Our guitarist was a proper character. He was an American from New Orleans who'd obviously been travelling around the rock-God block for many many years. He was one of those musicians who seems to inherently understand where a piece of music needs to go and we gave him free rein to basically drop in whatever little bits and bobs he fancied, including a massive Brian May-style solo!
By the time he was done, he'd filled in all the gaps, at which point he declared, with great comic timing: "If I add any more screaming guitar lines to this chorus it will start to sound like a fire in a pet shop!"
Fiona joined us in the afternoon to drop in some violin on the track, which was brilliant. We were hoping to kidnap her and take her up north for an evening of telly, but she was rushing back to Hove Actually.
...And so, here we are back in Highgate at 8pm with nothing to do until the workshop resumes tomorrow morning. Let me tell you. This feels very strange...
I understand, that this year, UK Eurovision entries are being presided over by a chap from the record industry called Hugh Goldsmith. I wouldn't normally do this, but if anyone reading this blog knows him, or might know someone who knows him, I'd love them to find out if it genuinely is an open playing field this year. I'd rather not enter if the BBC have already chosen their act and writers behind closed doors. As they plainly did last year...
We have a very strong song which I don't want to waste. The session musician who came in to play guitar (whom we'd not met before and is the guitarist for ABC) actually applauded the song when he heard it for the first time. I've not known that to happen before.
The song was recorded at Julian's studio in Limehouse. We had Vicky's Martin playing drums for us. He played drums on the wedding and was on fire in the studio today. Drummers are worth their weight in gold. You can convince yourself that computer samples and electronic drums are as good as the real thing until you sit in a studio with a bloke bashing merry hell out of his kit, and suddenly your song starts to motor into life!
We've gone for a rockier edge this year. I guess you might say it's a little like Muse's version of Feeling Good, and the girl who's singing it is very exciting (but more on that front in a week's time...)
Our guitarist was a proper character. He was an American from New Orleans who'd obviously been travelling around the rock-God block for many many years. He was one of those musicians who seems to inherently understand where a piece of music needs to go and we gave him free rein to basically drop in whatever little bits and bobs he fancied, including a massive Brian May-style solo!
By the time he was done, he'd filled in all the gaps, at which point he declared, with great comic timing: "If I add any more screaming guitar lines to this chorus it will start to sound like a fire in a pet shop!"
Fiona joined us in the afternoon to drop in some violin on the track, which was brilliant. We were hoping to kidnap her and take her up north for an evening of telly, but she was rushing back to Hove Actually.
...And so, here we are back in Highgate at 8pm with nothing to do until the workshop resumes tomorrow morning. Let me tell you. This feels very strange...
Cally Road
Today we travelled to Caledonian Road for the first day of our workshop week on the mystery project. It was exhausting but entirely uplifting because we were finally able to sit in the presence of a roomful of people who are as keen to make the piece as successful as we are. There are few words to describe what a relief it is to share the burden with such talented people.
It was wonderful to work with a troupe of actors and to hear the words and music coming alive as they drifted out of their mouths. The cast are brilliant. Really lively and eccentric. And for the next week or so, just as we have, they have all been sworn to secrecy.
...and of course, because of this, I can't be at all specific about what we've been doing!
I had hummus, tomatoes and a French stick for lunch, from a little Co-op around the corner. Crumbs, it was a really exciting day, and all I can write about is the food I ate!
What I CAN say is that Our Gay Wedding: The Musical has been nominated for another award! This one is called the Rose D'or and would appear to be an incredibly prestigious international award. It seems remarkable to me that almost two years since we made the film, we're still receiving award nominations. As our commissioning editor wrote today in his congratulatory email: "if there were a prize for the shortest production period and longest awards run, you would definitely win it!"
We're up in the category of best Arts programme - against the Monty Pythons! Apparently a record number of programmes were entered for the awards this year. We won't win. We've had our fair share of wins.
But, it is thrilling to be nominated. We have had the most astounding awards season...
The nomination tally is as follows:
- 2 Guardian television awards (most innovative programme and TV moment of the year)
- Grierson award (most entertaining documentary) WON
- Broadcast Award (best music programme)
- RTS award (best Arts programme)
- BAFTA award (best specialist factual)
- Prix Italia (Performing Arts award) WON
- Rose D'Or (best Arts Programme)
...And all for getting married. #luckymen
It was wonderful to work with a troupe of actors and to hear the words and music coming alive as they drifted out of their mouths. The cast are brilliant. Really lively and eccentric. And for the next week or so, just as we have, they have all been sworn to secrecy.
...and of course, because of this, I can't be at all specific about what we've been doing!
I had hummus, tomatoes and a French stick for lunch, from a little Co-op around the corner. Crumbs, it was a really exciting day, and all I can write about is the food I ate!
What I CAN say is that Our Gay Wedding: The Musical has been nominated for another award! This one is called the Rose D'or and would appear to be an incredibly prestigious international award. It seems remarkable to me that almost two years since we made the film, we're still receiving award nominations. As our commissioning editor wrote today in his congratulatory email: "if there were a prize for the shortest production period and longest awards run, you would definitely win it!"
We're up in the category of best Arts programme - against the Monty Pythons! Apparently a record number of programmes were entered for the awards this year. We won't win. We've had our fair share of wins.
But, it is thrilling to be nominated. We have had the most astounding awards season...
The nomination tally is as follows:
- 2 Guardian television awards (most innovative programme and TV moment of the year)
- Grierson award (most entertaining documentary) WON
- Broadcast Award (best music programme)
- RTS award (best Arts programme)
- BAFTA award (best specialist factual)
- Prix Italia (Performing Arts award) WON
- Rose D'Or (best Arts Programme)
...And all for getting married. #luckymen
Sunday, 8 November 2015
X Craptor
We worked at the kitchen table all day today, prepping material for our workshop week, which starts tomorrow. We tripped along at a fair rate of knots, which meant our evening was freed up to watch a bit of telly. We saw last night's X Factor, which, yet again was a complete road crash, with a massive whiff of product placement for Talk Talk TV, Nick Grimshaw going on about his hatred of musical theatre, and all the judges smack talking each other and rabbiting away in "street" cliches; "you got to bring it ten times harder." How the hell can you bring something harder? Could you bring me back some shopping? But make sure you bring it hard...
It was "re-invention" week this week, which appeared to mean that everyone sang "mash-ups" - which these days is what we call what we used to call musical montages. A "mash up" in my view is two songs superimposed on top of one another to create a new piece rather than two discrete songs segueing from one to another. Call me old fashioned. The ultimate mash up was Freak Like Me by the Sugababes. Or maybe that was just a heavily-used Gary Newman sample... Anyway, when Rita Ora started shouting "mash it up, mash it up, mash it up, boom" in a cod Jamaican accent, I felt so ashamed I wanted to gouge my eyes out with a spoon.
On and on Ollie Murs went about how he'd once been a contestant on the show. Didn't win though did he?
And then the infernal advert breaks... After every act. Adverts you can't skip on catch up. And adverts which are the same every time. My least favourite at the moment features the dreadful Nicole Kidman interacting with those ludicrous meerkats. She's had so much plastic surgery that the entire top half of her face has stopped moving. How can you be an actress if your face doesn't move?
Anyway, during the evening, we received an email suggesting that Cat, who we're working with on the mystery project, was down at the office in Kentish Town printing music and scripts, so we rushed to the shops to buy a load of chocolate, jumped in the car and drove down the road to give her a bit of moral support.
It was lovely to get out of the house.
We talked about children's telly in the 1980s and she was astonished to learn that there was a presenter back in the day called Christopher Lillycrap. Worse than his name was the fact that he presented a show called Flicks, the logo for which looked entirely like the word "fucks."
We dropped Cat back home in Finsbury Park (which is Krapy rub sniff backwards) and then came home to continue trawling through the X Factor.
Another double elimination. I can barely contain myself.
It was "re-invention" week this week, which appeared to mean that everyone sang "mash-ups" - which these days is what we call what we used to call musical montages. A "mash up" in my view is two songs superimposed on top of one another to create a new piece rather than two discrete songs segueing from one to another. Call me old fashioned. The ultimate mash up was Freak Like Me by the Sugababes. Or maybe that was just a heavily-used Gary Newman sample... Anyway, when Rita Ora started shouting "mash it up, mash it up, mash it up, boom" in a cod Jamaican accent, I felt so ashamed I wanted to gouge my eyes out with a spoon.
On and on Ollie Murs went about how he'd once been a contestant on the show. Didn't win though did he?
And then the infernal advert breaks... After every act. Adverts you can't skip on catch up. And adverts which are the same every time. My least favourite at the moment features the dreadful Nicole Kidman interacting with those ludicrous meerkats. She's had so much plastic surgery that the entire top half of her face has stopped moving. How can you be an actress if your face doesn't move?
Anyway, during the evening, we received an email suggesting that Cat, who we're working with on the mystery project, was down at the office in Kentish Town printing music and scripts, so we rushed to the shops to buy a load of chocolate, jumped in the car and drove down the road to give her a bit of moral support.
It was lovely to get out of the house.
We talked about children's telly in the 1980s and she was astonished to learn that there was a presenter back in the day called Christopher Lillycrap. Worse than his name was the fact that he presented a show called Flicks, the logo for which looked entirely like the word "fucks."
We dropped Cat back home in Finsbury Park (which is Krapy rub sniff backwards) and then came home to continue trawling through the X Factor.
Another double elimination. I can barely contain myself.
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