THESE ANT MY WORDS Dear NTV Uganda, Indeed it is safe to be said that unexpected results are produced by no other means by the expectations of them. Your prime-time program TALENT XP is a failure, and trying to coax me into watching it by badgering me with SMS all the time reminding me to attend to it is no worse than a nuisance of a smell from an abattoir. Like Mac Anthony of Julius Caesar, to you I shall ask: have you shrunk to that low measure? To no smaller extent I do understand, truly, that your success in the media-business has been built by character of permanent inclinations, unflagging ambition and hard work. But all we get from this benevolently failed attempt at entertainment is the huff and puff (of those annoying judges,) the woofs and purrs (of the insipid presenters) and much to my own mother’s dismay, the preponderance of a show leading us to a cultural backlash. What is wrong with the show? Everything you can imagine. First, it bears no form of characterisation that I would empathise with. What is talent, for example? What kind of musician are you looking for? What kind of dancer? Did you put into consideration our cultural diversity? Do you even consider tradition as talent? Seeing from the show (the three times I have bumped into it) the judges seem to be coaxing the view-rot that accepts the popping and b-boying or anything tasteless that youth nowadays engage into, and nothing less. The judges are too dismissive of the traditional dance and song. Their vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose. In this time when our society suffers from an identity crisis, NTV I think you are making matters worse by this poseur-ish expedition that offers no answers but asks more questions. You have played no significant part in answering this question more significant than that of a fly… on a wheel. Secondly, the judges you chose should not have been the ones there. To loosely quote the language of David Kaiza, if they managed to sell their critiquing potatoes by the kilo or salted groundnuts by the spoonful, then they would be no more than McDonald’s, inflating their customers’ waistlines with dubious fat concentrates. Of Bebe cool: “My God, what a clumsy olla putrida he is! Nothing but old fags and cabbage stumps of bellows and the rest is stewed in the juice of deliberate, self-publicity dirty-mindedness.” A one D.H would say. And you, NTV, would make him. Of Chandiru: there are two ways of detesting poor critiquing; one way is to dislike it, the other is to listen to her give it. Sterile in artistic invention and imprisoned in the wretched conventions of her own narrow career, without wit, or knowledge of the quality to give it. Of Phad Mutumba: Mr. Mutumba is unacquainted with critiquing as is a hog with mathematics. Of Michael Kasaija: He isn’t terrible, he is just so . . . average. And the emcees? An enthusiasm for them would be the mark of a decidedly primitive stage of reflection introspective or otherwise. Save my poor siblings growing up with such mediocre barrage of poorly-articulated individuals, there are people like me who are not amused by this. And before you send me another SMS reminding me to watch the show, bear in mind you are asking me to stick my head into a guillotine. Your guillotine. I have nothing more to say to you.
Posted on: Fri, 15 Nov 2013 17:16:54 +0000
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