The Voice doesn't appeal to me as it seems like a kind version of The X Factor. There's no parade of the stunted, ruined and sick across the BBC's stage. There's no modern-day freak show and what are we watching these things for if not the freaks? If you want good singing you will be out at theatres or concerts, not on the sofa watching trashy TV. Admit it, we want freaks.

The most noticeable thing is how itchy Rita Ora makes you. She irritates, always twitching, capering and swinging her heels up onto the desk. She's like the sweaty brat at a children's party, forever grabbing at things and acting up for the camera, a sausage roll flaking from its mouth. And that's a major flaw in the show's format: we're so often watching the judgess reactions rather than the singers' performances.

I must have been distracted indeed by Rita Ora because when I paid attention again, the judges were asking a contestant, 'What's your best animal noise?' and the poor girl was growling and chirping on the stage. Maybe she'd been singing a Beach Boys song and took Pet Sounds literally.

Perhaps worse than Ora's playground antics was the stony-faced Tom Jones. Where is the sex god with the devil's glint in his eye? Where is the man who must have had tennis elbow from constantly reaching to peel knickers from his shoulder? The Voice's Tom Jones was like a tired old headmaster who's been forced to sit amongst the children in assembly

'I do enjoy cleaning toilets!' squeaked the first contestant, a perky Welsh girl who discussed her day job without turning it into a sob story, as an X Factor desperado would have done.

Another Welsh singer followed and they made much of his origins which was horribly patronising, as though Wales is a cosy little toytown where everyone lives in the same green valley and they all pop round to Tom Jones's house for tea and leeks.

Two nerdy twins popped up next. One looked like a Proclaimer who'd studied Physics and never lost his virginity. To my horror he then launched into 500 Miles, doing what all cover artists do when they daren't match the Proclaimers' bold singing: he slowed it down and cut out the best bit: the da-dah-dah-dahs!

His brother did a good turn, but the judges seemed too busy gabbing amongst themselves to give him a proper hearing.

Yet another Welsh girl appeared, this one dressed in a black bra and some tartan trews so tight they'll have to be soaked in Dettol and sponged off when she gets home.

But these pleasant young people seemed insignificant when Black Lace came partying and sashaying into the studio, singing Agadoo. Their lead singer, in his lemon Hawaiian shirt, wanted to have another go in the spotlight, just as the former Bungle from Rainbow did last week.

Who can blame these ageing stars? If they crash and burn they've still given their faded brand a shot of publicity. But with Bungle and Black Lace appearing, who the hell are we seeing next week? Timmy Mallet? Orville?

In The Voice, the judges patronise the person they've declined, hugging them and swearing they're bound for stardom. This is possibly the worst thing these reality shows do: implant fake hope in people. At least The X Factor is known for its cruelty, so rejects are dispatched offstage with their ego scalded, but with no false hope.

But in The X Factor they come charging on in front of the judges with black lipstick, pink hotpants, handmade wedding dresses, tartan hair - anything to catch the eye. In The Voice their appearance is meaningless, so contestants warble to the highest pitch, strain and roar, or they purr and snarl.

With both desperations, visual and aural, the result is the same: push something to the extreme to catch the attention. There is no room for subtlety or something low-key yet powerful, and that brings me back to The Smiths.

We all know they're the greatest band in history, so let's not have an argument about that in the Comment section below, but if Morrissey had slouched on in his baggy cardigan and glasses, singing that if you have five minutes to spare then he'll tell you the story of his life….nothing would have come of it. His appearance was deliberately dowdy and his lyrics melancholy.

He'd have got nowhere on The Voice and, for that reason, I thank God it never produces any singers of note or influence.