I love The Brits. Ever since I was taken to one of the early nineties Brits at the Hammersmith Odeon (or whatever it was at the time, Labbats?) I've followed it's steady climb in grandeur and coverage. Every year, with ritualistic precision, I sit down to two and a half hours of the music industry's primest guff. And I love it.
It's certainly not for the nominations, a dreary, predictable retread through the recognised establishment. Luckily The Brits are based on self-congraulatory label wanking, which gives them a good excuse to walk the centre path. Should talent have come into it, then Gorillaz would have walked off with every award going. Nor is it for the 'glitz' nor glitterati. Apologies if this comes across as a little dull but most of those worthless fucks are taking up damn good oxygen. Our obsession with pointless C-listers is a terrifying smokescreen to cover our righteous avoidance of shit that really matters; surley the fourth horseman of the twenty first century apocalypse will be called Celebrity.
I love the Brits for the performances and for the occasional amusing sense of unpredicatabilty. Occasionally classic (Sam Fox & Mick Fleetwood, Jarvis and Wacko), occasionally sad (Chumbawumba), occasionally quite moving (Bono dancing into the crowd) and occasionally revealing (Paris Hilton being caught on tonight's show gabbing away on her mobile - at least that's what it looked like), but somehow always there. It makes for more entertaining viewing, especially as drunk rock stars (See the NME awards) are about as tedious a bunch of self obsessed wankers as you can get.
The performances though, generally do us proud. Not quite as over the top as the US based awards, but large enough to be spectacle enough, they also seem to bring the best out in the performers. A bit like Glastonbury but without the wellies. I remember seeing Avril Lavigne play with a wall of drummers, Scissor Sisters pulling out the Muppets, and tonight's Kanye West line up of gold painted, bikini clad dancers was a work of genius whether ironic statement, music hall gusto or required rap misogyny. Prince and KT Tunstall both played blinding sets, with Prince stealing the show, and Coldplay looked to be about as good onstage as they've probably ever been.
So why Mr Martin's "we're disappearing for all eternity" comments? I read something in the papers about 'the public being sick of them'. Sick? Number one in 28 countries, a zillion seats sold at gigs. I don't think the fans are sick of you guys. Maybe the music press is sick of them but who these days plays to the whims of the music press? Surely no one can be feeble enough to fall for the fickle? Dude, if you're just sick of playing then say so. Take a couple of years off, who doesn't, just don't make such a big baby fuss about it. You're meant to be the bushy cropped innocent who wouldn't know a lie if it bit you on the arse. Dick.
Turned off before Paul Weller though. Damn, that guy bores me to tears.
Tunes: Whatever shit was on the Brits
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