February seems to be very much the month for award ceremonies and for this we should be thankful that it is the shortest month of the year otherwise how many more of these abominations would we have to suffer.
Predictable, sycophantic and self congratulatory these events are merely ego boosts for the entertainment industry whose inhabitants possess higher quantities of these than any other. Already we have had to endure the snoozefest that is the Baftas whilst the slightly more prestigious Oscars take place this coming weekend but surely as far as plumbing depths is concerned then last nights Brits ceremony –surely The Shit awards aka the Skits would be more apt- is the lowest of the low.
This was two and a half hours of embarrassment-I lasted just over one hour so I am guessing, correctly I assume, it never improved- presented by that waste of space James Corden. I am unsure why he has been chosen to handle this task as he has nothing to do with music allegedly being a comedian although he seems to have little to do with comedy either; at least as far as being remotely even slightly funny is concerned. Supercilious, smug, humourless, false, obsequious and creepy he squeezed himself into an overly tight tuxedo- remember that weight he lost? Well, he seems to have found it again so it was obviously just temporarily mislaid- then read some badly scripted lines off an autocue with scant regard for delivery or timing.
Apparently he was worried that controversy may rear its head again after last year he cut Adele’s acceptance speech short. Surely that in itself is a deep misunderstanding as trying to get Adele to shut up is a national pastime far from controversial as it is is necessary as a noise pollution measure and also pretty impossible to boot. It would transpire it is probably his only redeeming feature and he needs as many of those as he can possibly hold onto. Anyway, controversy was much more attractive in the days when David Bowie appeared wearing what appeared to be his wife Iman’s stilettos or when ,especially, Jarvis Cocker flashed his bare arse at a messianic Michael Jackson who had surrounded himself with adoring children shortly after buying his way out of paedophile charges which had been levelled at him.
Opening with Muse-I hardly noticed to be honest- the live acts weren’t much cop either. Robbie Williams- part of the Corden Gang I believe-the professional Butlins Redcoat may have traded the red jacket for an electric blue one but he also seems to have traded his already pitiful act for that of Olly Murs which is even more baffling. Stumbling around the stage like a bumptious and unctuous father at his daughter’s wedding it reminded me of nothing more than when Noel Gallagher described him, nearly twenty years ago, as ‘that fat dancer from Take That’. In hindsight how prescient was that offhand remark? Later he was ‘interviewed’ drooling lasciviously over Taylor Swift and recovered long enough to state her song was ‘a great tune’. Like he even knows what that is these days.
It seems that inappropriate drooling by the elders over the young folk is still totally acceptable amongst entertainment types. Thus Sharon Osbourne’s remarks about Harry Styles ‘magic stick’- ‘his willy’ she very quickly clarified for nobody who was in doubt as to what she meant- were treated as a joke much like Jimmy Savile’s perving over young ‘dolly birds’ were for decades. Perhaps the next time she goes in for her never ending round of plastic surgery she should enquire about a staple… for her mouth …which probably served her better when she was still overeating.
Justin Timberlake. Next!
The Critics Choice was the next award up and as previous winners have included Florence Welch. Adele, and Jessie J- is there a pattern for fog-horned irritants here or is it just me?- I didn’t hold out for any surprises. The winner turned out to be some Chesney Hawkes look-alike Tom Odell whose main advantage would seem to be that I hadn’t previously heard of him.
Mumford and Sons. Anyone?
The worst was yet to come though and it hit its ultimate low point in the form in a hideously piss poor massacring by One Erection-so named as I am convinced that is about all they could muster up between them- of Blondie’s classic ‘One Way Or Another’ mashed up with the Undertones’ ‘Teenage Kicks’. Words escape me when Itry to describe just how bad this was and with both the originals freely available on iTunes there can be no reason for anyone to buy this abomination even if it is for charity. No responsible parent should allow or encourage their children to buy this horrendous criminal act-the usual excuse of ‘the kids like it’ does not wash here- over either of the originals.
Next up Coldplay were awarded Best British act. Really? I mean, Really?
At this juncture-just over one hour in- I decided I couldn’t watch anymore and then by some miracle Dave Grohl appeared out of the debris to present and receive an award for the Black Keys as Best International Act . This was a moment of lucidity as far as I was concerned- a bright spark had ignited in me briefly earlier when Lana Del Ray won Best International Female- and despite the lack of a video or musical clip by the band it was also the highlight of the night for me. It was also the point I decided to cut my losses and give up on the whole proceedings whilst they were on a high and before they killed this momentary lapse into good taste with more of the bland, trite and inconsequential.
So that was The Skits 2013 then. Obviously distancing itself from rock and roll as much as possible and instead moving further into Simon Cowell territory-incidentally the man himself took home some made up award he probably paid for- and it is clear that it is two hour promotion for Mastercard rather than anything else. The award wasn’t up to much itself even if it was designed by arguably- very arguably some would say- Britain’s currently most successful artist Damien Hirst. The whole proceedings were embarrassing and a return to ‘Seaside Special’ entertainment.
There has been a lot of good music over the last year and as I have observed before it has come from the older generation- Leonard Cohen, Patti Smith and Mark Lanegan, to name only three, turned out great works over the last twelve months-and it is time the younger generation put down their phones, switched off their laptops and moved out of the comfort of their parents homes and kicked some ass. Just saying!