‘Nasty’ Nigel Lythgoe on the legacy of Pop Idol: ‘Did I create a monster? In no way, shape or form’

“Nasty Nigel”, aka TV super-producer and talent show judge Nigel Lythgoe, is reminiscing about the time he made Kym Marsh cry in front of 12 million people. “Christmas may be gone,” he told aspiring singer Marsh after the 2000–1 festive break, “but I see the goose is still fat.” She became tearful. Ratings went through the roof.

“I could have gone easier on her or explained it better,” Lythgoe reflects, two decades on. “When she turned around and said ‘Are you calling me fat?’, I could have replied, ‘Look, everybody puts on weight over Christmas but this is an image-led business.’

“But don’t forget that I came from the world of dance, where they make you step on the scales every week and if you’re a pound or two overweight, you’re told in no uncertain terms to lose it.”

Marsh was a member of the five-piece group HearSay, who were formed on ITV’s landmark series Popstars. “It was the record company that said, ‘The band are getting lazy. We’re trying to make this album and they’re all putting on weight’,” says Lythgoe. “One tabloid printed an unflattering photo of their backsides with the headline ‘Pigstars’, so I had to come down hard on them.”

Marsh called him “f---ing out of order”, and stormed out. “Thank goodness for the cameraman who followed her upstairs and zoomed in on a box of Cadbury’s Roses next to her bed,” Lythgoe laughs. But does he regret it? Only a little. “Hey, I’ve done worse things in my life. Kym still uses it to this day. Whenever she puts out another keep-fit DVD, she’ll say ‘I was hurt so much by what Nasty Nigel said to me.’ It’s made her an absolute mint over the years. Good luck to her.”

Twenty years ago this week, Popstars arrived on ITV. It would change the face of television – and not necessarily for the better, in some people’s view. It was billed as “a behind-the-scenes documentary series about the making of a 21st century pop group, and became a surprise ratings phenomenon, kickstarting the early Noughties wave of primetime singing contests. Popstars directly spawned Pop Idol, American Idol and The X Factor, not to mention dozens of international editions and a slew of imitators.

Now 71, Wirral-born ex-dancer Lythgoe is a judge and producer on So You Think You Can Dance, the hit US contest he co-created (think: Strictly goes to Broadway). At the turn of the millennium, though, he was entertainment chief at London Weekend Television, where he commissioned and produced the likes of Blind Date and Gladiators.

He spotted Popstars’ potential on a visit Down Under. “The original idea came from New Zealand,” he recalls, “but they only did one episode on the audition process, which for me was the appeal. Seeing the good, the bad and the ugly, then the honesty of the judges – that was what hooked me.

“So I concentrated on that when I brought it back to the UK. We didn’t add any gloss. We showed the down ’n’ dirty side of showbiz.”

The British edition began with queues of hopefuls crooning cover versions in front of a panel of judges: Lythgoe himself, music promoter Nicki Chapman – and the one everyone forgets, Paul Adam, director of A&R at Polydor Records, who’d cut a deal to sign the winning band.

The best performers were selected to come to London for further rounds – most of which seemed to involve harmonising with one finger in their ear. Unlike today’s talent shows, there was no public vote. Over the weeks, the judges whittled down the field until five contestants were chosen to form pop combo Hear’Say.

Lythgoe instantly became infamous as the no-nonsense judge, who could dispatch tuneless wannabes with a withering stare or scathing put-down. Billboard posters bore the slogan: “Nigel, pick me!” Rowan Atkinson played him as “Nasty Neville” in a Comic Relief spoof called Popsters. “A huge honour,” says Lythgoe.

However, he was never meant to be on the Popstars panel in the first place. “The first person I asked was [pop mogul] Jonathan King but then he got arrested [for child sex abuse],” explains Lythgoe. “He would have made a superb nasty judge. I needed someone outspoken to tell singers when they sucked. The next person I approached was Simon Cowell [then a record executive at Sony BMG]. When he said no, Claudia Rosencrantz [then ITV’s Controller of Entertainment] said: ‘Nigel, you’ve done auditions all your life. You’ve been on both sides of the table. Why don’t you do it?”

Was he reluctant? “I said yes before Claudia could finish her sentence,” he laughs. “I’m a ham. I started out as a performer. I knew exactly what I wanted, so I played the role and enjoyed it.”

Lythgoe took inspiration from some unlikely sources: “There were a few tough talent show judges before me: Mickie Most on New Faces in the Seventies, then Nina Myskow in the Eighties. I also borrowed Eric Morecambe’s lines. I worked with Morecambe & Wise a lot as a choreographer. Remember when Eric told André Previn he was ‘playing all the right notes but not necessarily in the right order’? I used to tell singers that. Terrible thing to say. No wonder the press called me Nasty Nigel.”

The nickname soon caught on. “Thank God for alliteration,” he says. “Every day there was another tabloid story: ‘Nasty Nigel’s had a haircut!’ But I loved it because it brought attention to the show. Last time I got in a black cab in London, the driver went: ‘I know you, don’t I, guv’nor? You’re Nasty Nick.’ Close enough!”

Popstars’ ratings rose steadily as word-of-mouth spread and Nasty Nigel’s notoriety grew, peaking at 12.6 million when the band’s final five were unveiled. The line-up comprised the slightly slimmed-down Marsh (now an actress and presenter), Myleene Klass (now a radio DJ), Suzanne Shaw, Noel Sullivan and Danny Foster.

Did Lythgoe invent the dramatic pause where presenters announce “The winner is…”, then leave a tension-building gap? “I believe I did,” he says sheepishly. “It’s now used everywhere. And of course, with the amount of commercials in America, it’s always great to be able to say, ‘And we’re going to tell you… Right after this break.’ Cue groans from viewers.”

Popstars climaxed with a live show, simulcast with the Top 40 countdown, to reveal the chart position of their debut single Pure & Simple. Naturally, it shot straight to the top spot, becoming one of the fastest-selling UK singles of all time and biggest debut ever. Hear’Say went on to sell 3 million records worldwide, and had three more Top 10 hits, before disbanding 18 months later.

Meanwhile, Popstars’ five runners-up formed their own group, Liberty X (originally dubbed “Flopstars” by the tabloids). Ironically, they became more commercially successful than Hear’Say.

And yet the man who was arguably Popstars’ most memorable contestant was eliminated midway through the process: pony-tailed, goatee-bearded Scottish smoothie Darius Danesh. He became like a cult leader to the wide-eyed wannabes, forever strumming his acoustic guitar and declaring there was “a lot of love in the room”.

His fate was sealed by his preposterous, showboating rendition of Britney Spears’s Baby One More Time, which remains an online meme today. Struggling to conceal their mirth, the judges decided Darius was cut out to be a solo artist, not a group member, so sent him packing. Viewers cheered. His acolytes wept. Ratings grew even more.

Success tends to beget imitators. The Spice Girls’ manager Simon Fuller promptly took the Popstars format and supersized it for his own series. Launching on ITV just seven months later, Pop Idol was about the search for a solo star – a teenybopper in the vein of David Cassidy, thought Fuller.

Lythgoe was hired to develop and exec-produce, but he wasn’t permitted on camera as part of the legal settlement between the rival franchises. If he’d been a judge, Pop Idol could be accused of “passing off”.

“We made Pop Idol much glossier than Popstars to differentiate it,” says Lythgoe. “It just grew and grew. Because of the success of Pop Idol, the powers-that-be moved away from the gritty, grimy Popstars approach towards bigger, shiny-floored studio shows.”

Fuller introduced two new elements which would prove pivotal: audience participation by phone vote and Simon Cowell’s presence on the judging panel. Cowell realised he’d made a massive mistake by turning down Popstars – “When I saw the ratings, I felt sick,” he admitted – and was determined not to miss out again. Together the two Simons took the genre to the next level. Pop Idol not only pulled in 13.4 million viewers but became a bona fide national obsession.

Cowell might now be synonymous with the genre, but he didn’t make an immediate splash. “Initially, Pete Waterman was the most vocal and amusing judge,” says Lythgoe. “Because Simon was going to sign the winner, we felt that he should have been the head judge, but it just wasn’t happening. I sat him down one night and said, ‘Pete’s stealing the show. You’ve got to stamp your authority. Have lines in your head, ready to say to the bad ones’. He took to it like a duck to water. I used to call him The Carpenter because he nailed it.”

So caustic did Cowell’s critiques become that questions were asked in Parliament. ITV got a reprimand and were asked to tone it down for the second series. Yet it wasn’t just put-downs where Cowell excelled. He was a superb sneerer and scowler, too.

“He’s naturally got what’s called a ‘resting b---h face’,” laughs Lythgoe. “When Simon’s not interested, you can tell. Just a quick cut-away to his expression when someone’s singing badly was often enough. But the opposite also applied – look at Britain’s Got Talent. When Susan Boyle sang, it was like he’d seen God.”

A whopping 10,000 hopefuls applied for Pop Idol. Even Darius came back for a second bite at the cherry. “He called me, asking if he should audition,” says Lythgoe. “I wasn’t sure because I didn’t want him to be embarrassed again. I said ‘If you do come, Darius, don’t sing Britney and don’t say there’s a lot of love in the room.’ But he auditioned and was absolutely wonderful. He was always more of a solo star. In a band, he would’ve stood out like a sore thumb.”

Darius eventually finished third and went on to enjoy a successful solo career, before becoming a West End regular. “I was proud of him,” says Lythgoe. “He had a great voice, he’s a warm guy and he shone.”

Once Darius departed, Pop Idol became a showdown between finalists Gareth Gates and Will Young. “Gareth stole the hearts of the nation,” recalls Lythgoe. “He had this amazing backstory of stuttering. The first time he auditioned, it took him three minutes just to get his name out. We had to edit it down because it was just too long to wait on television. But the moment he started singing, it disappeared and he was perfect.

“Whereas Will created his own narrative by being the first kid to disagree with Simon – and doing it very eloquently and politely, like a public schoolboy. Everyone wanted to cheer. I wanted to cheer!”

Gareth vs Will was North vs South, working-class vs posh, white suit vs black suit. It took the country by storm. “It was like a presidential race,” says Lythgoe. “They wore rosettes and had battle buses, like a political campaign. Luckily, our contest didn’t involve lies or protests. Gareth accepted the result rather more gracefully than Mr Trump.” Young caused an upset by receiving 53 per cent of the record 8.7 million votes.

It wasn’t just viewers who were divided down the middle. “The two Simons were split too,” says Lythgoe. “Simon Fuller was always a Will Young fan, whereas Simon Cowell wanted Gareth Gates. He was very angry when Gareth didn’t win.”

The show even, Lythgoe claims, won the royal seal of approval. “The Queen watched every week and we had it on good authority that she rearranged her schedule to ensure she could watch the final. I don’t know if she voted. That remains a state secret.”

By the time the second series of both UK franchises came around – Pop Idol’s next champion was Scottish songstress Michelle McManus, while Popstars: The Rivals saw the formation of rival bands Girls Aloud (who became huge) and One True Voice (who didn’t) – Lythgoe had gone to Hollywood to launch American Idol for the Fox network.

“Rupert Murdoch saw our UK success, called up his daughter Elisabeth in London and asked, ‘Should I get this show for Fox?’ She said, ‘Definitely, but you’ve got to take the rude Englishman too.’” She meant Cowell, not Lythgoe. It seems hard to believe now but Cowell was reluctant to cross the Atlantic and took some persuading. Producers played on his ego, telling him that America would lap him up. They promised he’d be on the cover of Time magazine and a billboard on Sunset Boulevard. That sealed the deal.

“Simon still only packed two weeks’ worth of clothes,” says Lythgoe, “because he was convinced we’d flop and get sent home. It was fairly low-budget at first. We’d turn up at auditions with a trestle table and cardboard signs. Nobody believed it would work. When the first episode was transmitted, Sandy Grushow, who was chairman of Fox TV at the time, went on holiday to get out of the country. As soon as the ratings came in, he shot straight back.”

Dispensing his harsh verdicts in an “exotic” English accent, Cowell caused a stir straight away. “He was hated in that first season,” says Lythgoe. “I remember the uproar when he asked one auditionee: ‘Have you got a singing teacher? Well, you should sue and get your money back.’ We had to employ extra security to protect him. Angry fathers were waiting outside with baseball bats.”

But American Idol was unstoppable. It became the most-watched show on US television, a prized position it held for seven years. Cowell soon created his own rival franchise, The X Factor, which caused a rift between the two Simons. “It went to a legal battle that only got sorted out the night before we were due in court,” says Lythgoe.

Meanwhile, Lythgoe returned to his first love. He started tap-dancing aged 11, joined the BBC’s Young Generation troupe at 20 and went on to choreograph over 500 TV shows, including The Two Ronnies, The Muppet Show and five Royal Variety Performances. In 2005, he launched So You Think You Can Dance, also on Fox. It’s been exported to 39 countries and is still going strong.

Despite only running for two series apiece, the impact of Popstars and Pop Idol was immense. They were rolled out into a global franchise which transformed both the broadcasting landscape and music industry. Does Lythgoe ever think that he created a monster?

“Not in any way, shape or form,” he replies firmly. “American Idol held the US pop business together for four or five years. At a time when the music industry had stopped sending A&R around the country, discovering and nurturing talent, our shows gave kids an opportunity they might never have had.

“Look at the talent we discovered. In the US, there was Kelly Clarkson, Jennifer Hudson, Carrie Underwood and Adam Lambert, who’s now singing with Queen. In the UK, there’s Little Mix, Leona Lewis and One Direction. It gave them a platform and changed their lives. That makes me very proud.”

Lythgoe also did very nicely out of it. He owns properties in the US, UK, Portugal and Australia, plus a holiday home in Barbados and a Californian winery. Not bad for a docker’s son from Liverpool. He’s gone “from backyard to vineyard”, as Lythgoe likes to put it. Even so, more than half a century at the top of the TV tree hasn’t come without stresses and strains. Lythgoe has suffered two heart attacks, and blames the first on his friend and sparring partner Cowell.

“It was all Simon’s fault,” he jokes. “I need a few drinks nowadays to get up and dance. My back’s sore and I’ve got titanium plates in my neck from doing those silly head-rolls in the Seventies.

“But we were at Sandy Lane Hotel and a bunch of drag queens were performing. Simon told them, ‘That guy over there’s a dancer’, and they pulled me up on stage. I was probably the only person on Barbados who knew Bob Fosse’s choreography to Bye Bye Blackbird, and I threw myself around the floor. I flew back to LA the next day and had a heart attack. That’s why I blame Simon. The 60 cigarettes I used to smoke every day had nothing to do with it.”

In 2015, Lythgoe was awarded an OBE in recognition of his charity work. (“You get a phone call asking if you’ll accept it. I said, of course I f---ing would!”) He lists it among his proudest moments, alongside his three Emmy wins, his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and his honorary PhD from Bedford University for his contribution to the performing arts. “I’m a doctor of dance,” he smiles. “I’m not Nasty Nigel anymore. I’m Nurturing Nigel.”

What’s next? “I’ve been making a podcast series called Idol Memories, which has brought me great joy during lockdown. The podcasts make me smile so much, it’s inspired me to write my life story. Recently I had a couple of dinners with Simon Cowell in Barbados, and there’s another project that we discussed working on together. I can’t say any more than that.”

Nasty Nigel and Sarcastic Simon joining forces again? The TV industry should be very afraid.