Music, Showbiz

An Idealistic Imagining of Kimye’s Wedding

cover p Amidst reports that Kim and Kanye are set to spend $75k per head on their forthcoming Parisian nuptials, even if this claim is untrue, there’s no denying that the marriage of two of pop culture’s biggest egoists will be a less-than-subtle affair. And I love Kimye all the more for their unyielding dedication to tasteless excess.

With that in mind, and with not much more than too much time on my hands now that exams are finished, Niamh and I began fantasising about what a Kimye wedding might entail and we got carried away, to say the least. We’ve been Keeping Up With The Kardashians since its glorious inception and thus, priding ourselves on our worryingly-extensive knowledge of the ins and outs of  what is ostensibly the world’s most famous family, we came up with a list of possibilities that is so extreme and excessive that in the world of Kimye, it just might happen.

Despite Kimye’s best attempts to fashion a more high-end aesthetic these days, the dream Kimye wedding would be an unabashed cesspit of tackorama and to be quite honest, I won’t really be happy if it’s anything less! Here is The Dream Kimye Wedding from the Gospel According to Jamie and Niamh:

The Dress:


Lanvin? Balmain? McQueen? As if! Ideally, Kim would head straight to My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’s Thelma Madine to create a one-off meringue of such gargantuan proportions, that Guinness World Records will make a petition to suggest it be recognised as a tenth planet. Clad in astronomical amounts of synthetic and highly flammable fibres, as Kim begins her walk up the unnecessarily long aisle, the venue descends into complete darkness and guests are advised to wear the specially provided sunglasses to avoid retina damage, as the bride enters. Illuminating the room with her freshly-sprayed skin that shines just on the right side of deep terracotta, Kim cuts a dazzling figure (literally) as her dress begins to gradually light up with neon lights that flash the message “Bound 2 U 4EVS”, which ends with a Photoshopped image of Kim and Kanye in the guise of William and Kate’s wedding picture that emanates from her Swarovski-encrusted bustier. Kanye weeps.

Kim walks up the aisle to Bound 2:

 bound 2

Well this just seems obvious, doesn’t it? This is Kim’s third wedding, so the virginal chimes of Here Comes The Bride were even a little too ironic for Kimye, so they settled on Kanye’s hit song dedicated to his then-fiancée. And with touching and moving lyrics such as “I want to f*ck you hard on the sink, after that get you something to drink, step back can’t get spunk on the mink”, the track seems wholly appropriate for the union between a woman who started her career on her back and a man who dedicates his life to rapping about it. Ah-ha, honey.

The resurrection of Kim’s kitten, Mercy Mercayyyyyyyyy as ring-bearer:


Remember in Season 3 of Kourtney and Kim Take Miami when Kanye gifted Kimberley with the adorable Mercy? Of course you do! Kim was devastated when she had to give Mercy away to Khloe’s assistant because of her allergies and even more distraught when Mercy passed away after four months on the earth. However, Kanye had a word with the Gods – Beyoncé and Jay Z, and they agreed to release the kitten back onto the earth for Mommy’s big day. However, North is furious and in an extreme bout of sibling envy, tries, unsuccessfully, to smother Mercy under Kim’s seemingly never-ending train.

The wedding will be officiated by a specially programmed hologram of Anna Wintour:

anna and kanye

Following Kimye’s gracing of US Vogue, the least the pair could do is pay homage to its editor-in-chief and what greater way to honour Anna Wintour than by hiring to program a special hologram of her to oversee the ceremony. Through the wonders of modern technology, Wintour will virtually unite Kim and Kanye in matrimony in a blessing that appropriately ends with “That’s all.”

Guests will be greeted with a complimentary shot of Kourtney’s breast-milk upon arrival at the reception:

In the same season of KKTM, viewers witnessed Kim use her sister’s breast-milk as a cure for her psoriasis and while Kourtney rudely refused to pump some milk to feed a thirsty Mercy, she has been much kinder for Kim’s big day. As guests arrive to the sprawling Parisian castle, waiting staff will offer a shot of Kourtney’s breast-milk, which she spent over six months extracting.

Kris’ special wedding speech:

dead right 

Momager and matriarch, Kris Jenner has had more than a guiding hand in her favourite daughter’s career so it seems appropriate that on her wedding day, Kris would trace the roots of Kim’s illustrious career. As the woman who famously said she was furious when she found out about Kim’s infamous sex tape, but as her manager, she realised she had a job to do, it seems fitting that Kris would begin her mother of the bride speech with a thank you to Ray J for catapulting her entire family to stardom. 

The Gift bag:

 kim k

A high point of Kimye’s wedding gift bag includes a voucher for a free arse lick from Kim’s shadow, Jonathan Cheban. In fairness, Jonathan is a PR powerhouse in his own right but he rose to prominence through his high-profile friendship with Kim Kardashian. Cheban can be seen in any given KUWTK episode schmoozing and sucking up to the Kardashian klan. Guests at Kimye’s nuptials can enjoy the same level of Chebanian sycophancy with this free arse lick, which is never-expiring as Jonathan is only all too happy to please. On the subject of arses, guests will also receive an autographed X-Ray of Kim’s much commented-on derrière to prove that it’s all real.

The Brawl:

khloe adopted

In a scene more befitting of an episode of Eastenders rather than the wedding of the #WorldsMostTalkedAboutCouple (ugh, why, Anna?), the reception ends in carnage as Khloe Kardashian’s real father turns up.

Music, Showbiz

Diary of a Professional Fangirl feat. Mrs Carter


Image source: Robin Harper, Beyonce’s Facebook

It is only now – a week after she has left our Emerald Isle that I can muster the strength to write about my tonsillitis-inducing, mammoth Beyoncé three-day extravaganza. If you’ve read anything I’ve written on here before or your timeline has ever suffered from a deluge of ‘yaaaas Gaga’-type appraisals of various female powerhouses, you will be aware of my propensity for obsession. Nigella, Victoria, Cheryl and even Nadine have all been on the receiving end of my Bieberesque fangirl tendencies, but as glamorous X Factor judges and treasured national sweethearts come and go and interest may fluctuate, there has always been one woman whose ferocious presence and impossible perfection has garnered a constant and irrevocable fascination within the confines of my little pop cultured heart. Bey, it’s you. It’s always been you.

Okay, firstly, I need to clear up the tragic logistics, if you can term them as such, that synonymised the extent of my fandom over the last week or so. Beyoncé played in Dublin’s O2 arena for four nights and consider it the duty of a professional fangirl, but I decided to take only one night off (Tuesday, for much-needed vocal rest) and attend three of the four nights. It is undeniably excessive and my dad most definitely didn’t understand my dedication to the cause, but I was determined to edge closer and closer to the stage each night in some misguided fantasy that Bey herself might recognise the inevitable loose spiritual connection between us and invite me to share the stage.

However, and we shall gloss over this extremely quickly, on the third night, I managed to secure a place up front for Bey’s last Dublin date and I can’t deny that I was like one of those annoying friends who ruins a movie for everyone else by spoiling the ending, but I found myself whispering the set-list with some sort of misplaced pride in the knowledge that I knew, “No dear, they’re not playing Countdown, this is just the intro before she breaks into Crazy In Love”, as if I were privy to Bey’s entourage.

Delusions aside, it was during the last song, Halo, when I started to feel strange. During the whole gig, I had noticed young girls fainting, literally unable to cope with their lives as Bey touched their hands or offered them the microphone. I imagined how embarrassing it would be to have to be lifted backstage under such circumstances. Hmmm, cue one probably-not-looking-at-you-at-all stare directly at me from Bey herself and suddenly my vision completely disappears and I find myself in worrying darkness, able to hear everything, but see absolutely nothing. Next thing I know, I too, just like those body-conned, excessively tanned gurlos am being carried backstage moments before the gig ends. I had fainted. HOW. EMBARRASSING?!

Now, in my heart of hearts, I know the reason I fainted was *most likely* because I hadn’t eaten or drank for about seven hours. When that’s juxtaposed with dexterous screaming, shouting and treacherous attempts at singing Love on Top as I was unknowingly suffering from the onslaught of tonsillitis in an extremely hot environment, it doesn’t take a genius to pinpoint the trigger of my demise. But I find it more entertaining and romantic to imagine that I collapsed because I couldn’t cope with Beyoncé Knowles. A true fangirl, if ever there was one. “Jaysis, what would you be screaming for?” asks my dad, who just doesn’t get it, a few days later. Oh, what was I screaming for? LIFE, BEY, PERFECTION, tbh. In hindsight, I wish I had some of my father’s pragmatism, or country cop-on, as I woke up on Thursday morning with a throat that felt like it was being force-fed cut-throat razors and then being punched just for the fun of it. I’ve spent the last few days in bed, primarily trying to recoup health-wise, but also lamenting the loss of that fair lady on the Dublin stage.

Sickness aside, Beyoncé’s 4-day stint in Dublin’s O2 as part of the revamped European leg of her Mrs Carter Show was an electrifying extravaganza that saw the beautiful synergy between old school, classic Beyoncé and 2014’s highly-sexualised, yet powerful Mrs Carter come to explosive fruition. She is, of course, the undeniable queen of balance and she treaded the boards carefully when it came to her reworked set-list following the surprise November release of her self-titled, immensely successful new album. Old favourites such as Crazy in Love and Single Ladies were seamlessly in flow amongst her newer material, such as Partition, Flawless, Drunk in Love et al and the audience lapped up each track with equal eruptive relish.

Quite simply, nobody can put on a show like Queen Bey. Even as a regular audience member, it’s easy to tell that the production is mastered down to a tee and her ease and knowledgeable comfort of the set is thanks in no small part to her running the entire show from its inception right through to being its shining star. She is undeniably her own creative director and the choice to merge Donna Summer’s Love to Love You Baby with Beyoncé’s own Naughty Girl is a clever crowd-pleaser that sees the star of the show seductively tease from an illuminated doorway. She is in control of everything and with The Mrs Carter Show’s heavy focusing on burlesque, the thing Beyoncé is perhaps most in control of is her own sexuality.

It’s easy to make a case and say that a woman who prances about on stage in an embellished leotard singing about ‘grindin’ on that wood’ is far from a feminist, but Bey most definitely is and it’s no pseudo expression either! With a track such as Flawless, Beyoncé’s assertion that she woke up in a state of perfection is perhaps intended as an ironic point of thought meant to signal that she only “woke up like this” because she fought hard for success and her call to “bow down bitches” which was initially derided as anti-feminist, is not her urging other women to bow down to respect her success, but a dig at the oppressors or the ‘haters’, if you’ll excuse the term which has probably lost all significance in the Bieber-dominated semantics of modern-day popular culture. She embraces her sexuality for all that it has to offer, and why shouldn’t she? Of course male lure is an inevitable by-product, but the goal is female empowerment and not male gaze (arguably, the latter isn’t Bey’s target market, anyway). Her feminism might not rise to the levels of the likes of Germaine Greer or Caitlin Moran, but when Beyoncé asks “Who Run The World?” it’s hard to deny, that she isn’t that baddest boss bitch that ever did live. (I think that’s how she’d describe herself, don’t you?)

Beyoncé has been at this game for over 15 years and she can undoubtedly knock out a two-hour, flawless performance as easy as you or I can eat hot dinners. It’s second nature to her, but even after 15 years, nothing feels tired or old. She could easily, with very few complaints have come to the O2 with a slightly remodelled I Am (her 2009 tour) greatest hits-type show and everyone would have jumped for joy as she Naomi Campbell walked her way across the stage to Get Me Bodied, but the Mrs Carter Show was invigoratingly-fresh, raunchily-sexy, nostalgic and at times, tear-jerking, and it was ostensibly Beyoncé at her best. As I finish typing, listening to the beautiful chimes of Irreplaceable, I’m reminded that all other divas that come and go will be appropriately pushed à gauche for Queen Bey, who will always have pride of place. However, next time she’s back, for the sake of my health, I’m gonna mime!

Music, Showbiz

Lest we forget: Let’s talk about Six


When we, as Irish people, look back at our history as a nation, there are certain key events that are synonymous with, and indeed define the Irish historical landscape – The Famine, The Lockout, The Rising, The Civil War etc. However, when we examine our colourful past, there are a handful of occurrences that have all but been written out of Irish history and the dexterous rise and even speedier demise of the pop band Six is a prime example of this calamitous historical amnesia.

For what now seems like a miniscule amount of time, Emma O’Driscoll, Andy Or, Sinéad Sheppard, Kyle Anderson, Sarah Keating and Liam McKenna were ostensibly the most recognisable people in Ireland, but eleven years after break-up, their most famous (or infamous) cover of the Guys ‘n’ Dolls song, There’s a Whole Lotta Lovin’ is a long-forgotten gem. Despite, as the Wiki story goes, being the third best-selling single in Irish chart history (I thought it was THE biggest, but there ya go), There’s a Whole Lotta Lovin’ is a notably absent track on Irish radio and the deletion of the cheesy-but-incredible chimes of this particular sestet.

It all started when in 2001, Louis Walsh, Bill Hughes the ~ indomitable ~ Linda Martin began their quest to find Ireland’s newest pop band with Popstars; Ireland’s first-ever and indisputably most successful reality TV talent show. Over the course of a number of weeks, thousands of hopefuls were whittled down to a selected few and the judges travelled to each budding popstar’s home to deliver the good or inevitably devastating news. Of course, this was the same talent show that launched Nadine Coyle’s career, having infamously lied about her age to meet the show’s requirements, only to be later dropped and replaced by Sarah Keating. (Wikipedia has gloriously understated Nadine’s subsequent success with Girls Aloud, by stating that she simply “went on to join Girls Aloud”, whilst giving detailed (as much as possible) accounts of the other members’ fates.)

Viewing figures for Popstars were astronomical and it was inescapable that Six would go on to enjoy massive success, given that the majority of Ireland fell in love with them. (Wildly presumptuous and a comment entirely based on my extreme bias.) However, as the band quickly reached dizzying heights of hysteric fame, the success was short-lived, as they disbanded in 2003, falling victim to showbiz’s fickle kiss.


Nevertheless, for a particular generation, Six were THE band, at least in Ireland, and sure, we won’t all remember them with the same level of extraordinary obsession that others will, but why has their music completely vanished from the Irish pop-music landscape? Sure, we won’t all remember Linda Martin handing Liam a pair of Marigolds to tell him that he was in the band and “on dishwashing duty in the house”, or when Emma’s parents nervously waited in the kitchen as she told us how she would become a secondary school teacher if she didn’t make the cut, but didn’t we all have a fondness for Six? Not every 7 year-old from the west of Ireland felt just as dejected as Sarah did when she initially was told that she didn’t make the band, and not everyone thought Kyle was the coolest person in the world and wanted to be like him when they grew up, but that doesn’t mean that Six didn’t earn their place in the trajectory of Irish music.

Granted, this is most definitely the nostalgic lament of a childhood obsession rather than a tragic national polemic, but wouldn’t anyone else be up for a Six reunion, à la Samantha Mumba’s one night only gig last year?  I’d be first in line with the 7-year-old inside of me still dying to know just how exactly did Kyle get his hair like that?

P.S. If you’re interested to see where they are now, here’s what they’re all at:

Music, Showbiz

Why Una Healy is the best Saturday


By Jamie Tuohy

As usual, my study procrastination is manifesting itself through the medium of pop culture blog posts. This time on the gloriously Irish Una Healy, member of (finally) chart-topping girlband, The Saturdays.

She goes to LA and becomes x10 more Irish and hilarious


While all the other girls express how hot the Los Angeles heat is, Una butts in with one of the most iconic lines of the entire Chasing the Saturdays series. She says to the rest of The Sats, “Jesus, it’s roaaaaastin’ here, my back is drippin’!” Amazing. You can take the girl out of Tipperary etc…

This video

If ever there was a gift, this is it! I shouldn’t spoil the ingenuity of this video with unnecessary words or insignificant observations. Just watch it and let Una Healy entrance you with all the BillyBarryStageSchool exaggeration that we’ve come to love her for.

This video at 3.30, 3.45, 4.44 and again at 6.01

“They quoted me saying I’d cellulite on my boobs. Even if I was 20 stone, I wouldn’t have cellulite on my boobs!”

“It’s so hot in there, I’M SWEATING LIKE A PIG!”

“I had to give myself a forward wedgie. But I was wearing French knickers.”

Mollie (on The Saturdays having to draw a sketch of a naked man): “The downstairs department was out!”

Una (eating a salt and vinegar Walker’s crisp): “And I got GREEEAT attention to detail on that part!”

Her accent


The only accent more distinct and iconic than Una’s is Nadine’s but Una’s accent contrasts so beautifully and hilariously with whatever setting she’s in. Whether she’s in LA talking to Rochelle about Maaaaaaaaarvin, or talking about the weather, Una’s deliciously-pronounced Irish accent is all you need in life.

She actually has the perfect family



una aoife


Not a word needed.

Her parents


John and Anne. They just look like GAS CRAIC!

Her reaction to Ben’s stripping at his stag


Una’s husband Ben made headlines when he stripped at his stag, but Una just brushed it off and said (it’s necessary to imagine this in her accent and with her exaggeration):

“He’s an eejt like. It’s just what lads do. With a few drinks down ‘em, they think they’re great so they do.” So Irish.

Music, Reviews, Showbiz

My favourite awful pop songs (that are really just guilty pleasures)


By Jamie Tuohy

I have a confession to make, this post is billing itself as my favourite AWFUL pop songs, but in reality, these are probably my favourite songs full stop. However, for the purposes of self-preservation (which now seems rather pointless in the face of my revelation) and the feigning of any proper musical taste, I’ve decided to compile a list of the best 5 pop icons flops. From Kim Kardashian to Paris Hilton, sometimes songs are so dreadful that you have to look beyond the ear-ache-inducing clamour and just accept that they are simply genius and iconic.

Jam (Turn It Up) – Kim Kardashian

Not that I am in the business of likening Kim Kardashian’s musical efforts to significant events in Irish history, but when W.B. Yeats wrote of the Irish 1916 Rising that “a terrible beauty is born”, it seems a rather fitting description of Kim Kardashian’s hilarious attempt at singing. Sorry Willy. “I’m goin’ out tonight, it’s goin’ down, headin’ straight to the front of the line”, she mutters in the most deliciously monotone and uninterested voice you’ve ever heard. Watch the above video and try not to acknowledge how monstrously glorious this song really is. Thank you so much Kimberley, this really is a gift.

Stars are Blind – Paris Hilton

Ah, Paris. I remember the day the video for Stars are Blind premiered on MTV way back in 2006. I was 12 and on holidays in Bulgaria with my family. Of course, the only thing on my mind that day was how exactly I was going to see Paris’ debut. So, cunningly, as my family lounged by the pool, I suddenly came over all dizzy and clenched my stomach for dramatic effect. When my mother suggested I go to bed back in the apartment for a few hours, I reluctantly agreed and selflessly told everyone to stay by the pool. “I’ll be fine, I’ll just sleep it off.” Muahahahaha, you fools! As soon as I glided through the door and made some popcorn, I danced forebodingly around the apartment waiting for Paris to come on and wow me with her vocals. And wow me she did. Paris, you were my guilty pleasure in 2006 and in 2013, nothing has changed.

This Groove – Victoria Beckham

2003 marked a pivotal year for the Beckhams and indeed for me. As David signed his deal with Real Madrid, Victoria decided to head back into the studio and this was the beginning of my obsession with them. It was the kind of obsession that makes Directioners and Beliebers look sane. These were the days when Victoria’s D&G obsession was at its height and diamond-encrusted Jacob & Co. watches were synonymous with Posh ‘n’ Becks. When they released their Real Beckhams DVD, detailing David’s move to Spain and Victoria’s vocal exploits, it became a type of Bible for me. The Gospel according to the Beckhams was punctuated by the chimes of Victoria and This Groove is one of my favourites. Ah, it takes me back.

Let Your Head Go – Victoria Beckham *Amazing video alert, just sayin’*

Yes, I know, Victoria gets to appear twice, but I’m not going to lie; I’d fill this post up with her albums if I could. Let Your Head Go was released as a double-A side with This Groove and it’s probably one of Victoria’s best. I don’t mean to fill this paragraph with superlatives, but the video is mind-blowingly brilliant. It sees Victoria playing an exaggerated version of herself, where she tears up clothes and flowers, has nightmares where she sees her head on a crow, as she edges closer to a coveted OBE (remember David had just received one in 2003) and we get to see her being taken away by psychologists as she descends into an imagined madness. Hamlet say whaaah? If you watch one video from this post, make it Let Your Head Go. It will change your life. If you’re unwilling to watch it all (ARE YOU CRAZY??!), then skip to the end, where you can see Victoria sitting on a throne, polishing her crown. And that’s not a euphemism. How amazing is she?!

Insatiable – (KWEEN) Nadine Coyle

Okay, we all know how I feel about Nadine and I’m sure nobody thinks that I truly believe this song is awful or a guilty pleasure. I obviously adore this woman and think she’s flawlessly gifted, but I’m told this song is a dreadful flop (ugh, peasants), so it seems appropriate to include Insatiable as the final tune in this list. Nadine’s ‘exclusive retailing deal with Tesco’ failed to set the charts alight and Insatiable didn’t have the same industry impact as Cheryl’s debut song Fight for This Love did. But, bless, you have to love Nadine for trying. Apparently she recorded most of this song in her bathroom because ‘theeee acooosticks wur beytur’ and surprisingly you can’t even hear the sound of a toilet flushing in the background. Hair flicking, dodgy accents and mediocre marketing: it’s all perfection. Love you long time Nadine.

Music, Showbiz

How to be iconic like Nadine Coyle



Nadine is the queen of indifference. Flicking that hair, talking like a transatlantic explosion of brilliance, she just doesn’t give a shit. Take this video for example: as Cheryl worries about looking like a “dickhead”, Nadine just continues to play with her hair and feigns interest. Cheryl may as well be speaking Mandarin because Nadine litch just doesn’t pay her bandmate a drop of attentch. Don’t you love it? You do!

Steal the show


Nadine is a notorious show stealer and anytime she has ever been on stage with Girls Aloud, her ad libs are fantastically and hilariously flamboyant, often causing Nicola to give her the odd dirty look. ADORE.

Embellish the truth / Just lie

a what

For example: “Date of birth? 15/6/85 making me a Gemini!” or “yes, Cheryl and I still talk and we’re good friends!” Nobody can fully become Nadine Coyle without telling a few porkies!

Literally invent an accent

Nadine swears blind that she can’t fathom why anyone would think her accent is any different to other people from Derry, but there’s no denying that Nadine’s Northern brogue has all the inflections of a Californian princess. The result is a transatlantic twang that manifests itself when Nadine sings, so much so that the exaggeration and show-stealing adds to her iconic persona. Shhh, don’t question it. Watch the above vid of Nadz on Daybreak interview where she is quizzed on her eclectic accent.

Flick your hair


When Nadine released her hurtfully and disgracefully-underrated Insatiable (which I obviously adore), she gave a lesson in flicking your hair. She even said that she pulled a muscle from tossing her mane around so ferociously. (Me on a night out, tbh). It has become her signature dance move and it’s an essential part of her iconic allure.