Having swooned for 600 words over the BBC, I feel it's my duty, in the interests of that BBC obsession – balance – to point out the true terribleness of The Voice.
Or The Voice UK as we must now call it, reminding us that this blemish on the primetime face of our national broadcaster is a televisual concept we've all PAID to import from Holland. Tulips, footballers, post-impressionist painters and laidback capital cities of beauty and culture, I'll take from the Netherlands. TV talent shows? No thanks Dirck.
It's hard enough retaining respect for voiceovering Reggie Yates while he describes Danny from The Script as a global megastar, but even tougher is keeping a straight face when Jessie J informs us, "There's nothing will.i.am can't do." What about stop making an a**e of himself of a Saturday night?
From the first minute of that excruciating medley the four judges perform while bouncing around together like a boozed-up England rugby team celebrating a win in a nightclub, will.i.am and chums are complicit in this pompous, phoney show.
The Voice sells itself as a credible response to exploitative, image-fixated contests like The X Factor, but the dismayed faces of the judges when they spin round and see the chubby, gawky non-pop stars they've approved, and will now hastily abandon, puts paid to all that.
As does its X Factor-led preoccupation with shouty dolphin singing – subtle, expressive nuances have no place in this coliseum. The series' winner sank without trace last year. The Voice should soon do the same.