Saturday, 25 February 2012

Jarvis. We need you like we've never needed you before

I love awards shows. I just do. I like to watch them even though they're mostly shit. And sometimes, if you stick with it, you get rewarded with some gems. I'm currently watching The Brits, like I always do. I have fond, fond, fond memories of the Brits. Back in about 1805 it was hosted by Samantha Fox and Mick Fleetwood. It was hilarious. They couldn't read the autocue, they hadn't rehearsed, hell, it looked like they'd barely learned to speak in sentences. They looked like shit and the entire audience was utterly bollocksed on booze and coke.

And then in the mid 90s Michael Jackson decided to actually pretend he was the Messiah. He was singing one of his really schlocky, awful, heinous crimes of a song - possibly Earth Song? The one about the elephants? Dressed in white he stood in crucifix position while a stream of angelic looking children. I mean, really. Children flocking round Michael Jackson? All kinds of shades of WRONG. Of course this was before the trial when some people momentarily came to their senses and thought perhaps they should look a bit closer at the fact MJ just loved to sleep in the same bed as nine year old boys and feed them 'jesus juice'...

But then, like the True Messiah, a clearly pissed Jarvis Cocker was suddenly on stage and flashing his arse at the camera and Jackson. Michael was so out of it that he probably thought it was some kind of tribute to him being Emperor of the Universe or something. But to everyone else it was a moment of British common sense in the wake of utter fatuousness and reverence to the predominantly US-led circus of celebrity reverence. A backlash against letting sick, damaged people do whatever the hell they want simply because they have sold a lot of records or are in some films or wear clothes particularly well. In fact, that's one of the few moments that I can truly say I was proud to be British.

I tuned in this year and was dismayed to see that it was once again hosted by oikfest in a suit James Corden, with his sycophantic intros and misplaced comedy asides. A blink and you'll miss it tribute to Whitney came up in the first five minutes. Interestingly it missed out the missing teeth/crack/fucked up stage of her career (the last 15 years then) and focused on her beauty and undoubted talent in the early days, pre-Bobby. But it seemed really shoe horned in and a bit awkward really. Weird.

We were soon on safer ground with middle class stalwarts Coldplay. Chris Martin's finally starting to age as he does his weird foot dance thing while howling out his newest unpronouncable hit. I still have warm feelings for Coldplay. And yes, I know, they have been uncool since 2001. Luckily I don't give a shit about liking cool music. I am not ashamed to say I have seen them live twice and I fecking loved it.

Next it's Florence and the Machine. During her performance, she hits a note which I think is meant to be the peak of the performance but it could, I kid you not, shatter glass. Still, a solid 7/10. And, as one of my great friends says, she really does have the face of Noel Fielding. Which is weird because I'd like to shag his brains out, but really wouldn't like to shag hers.

And now it's, um, Olly Murs, doing some godawful song and he's doing it live. I watched him in X Factor, he really shouldn't ever ever ever sing live again. I'm all for autotune or prerecorded or whatever it needs to be so it doesn't hurt like this. It's really, really, REALLY bad. Oh hang on, he's on with something called Rizzle Kicks. What is a Rizzle Kick?  It's two youngsters rapping. Do they still rap? It seems they are anyway. I'm assuming they have no streed cred at all seeing as they're performing with Olly Murs. Tomato faced Olly is visibly shaking and looks utterly terrified. An assured performance it is not. 1/10. Out you pug faced youth. Get out.

Now it's someone called Ed Sheerhan who I think is like that Newton Faulkner. Ginger and really popular for about five minutesr. Oh, he looks like that student that no one wants to talk to during fresher's week. Just him and his little guitar in the middle of the O2 arena. How brave. He's fuck tonnes better than Olly Murs but really really really bland. Really bland. The overwhelming impression I'm left with is orange. He has a sort of Ready Brek glow. It's not pleasant.  He pronounces swap as swup. Go away Ed. I don't like you.

Best British single. Oooh, it's voted for by us. The public! That's us! This is the one that counts. It's being presented by Tinie Tempah. I think he's one of those rapper people as well. I don't really know. Why don't I know who everyone is? I don't understand how I can be so old. It's just not right. He's talking a lot. No one's laughing. Is that bad? Adele, fair enough. Against Olly MURS??? And Example. Oh dear, The Wanted. JLS with something. Jessie J. Ed Orange Face Sheerhan. Military Wives - what the bloody bollocks is that? Pixie Robot Lott. Wand Erection get the biggest cheer. That makes me sad. What a fucking choice. Oh my good god alive. Wand Erection won. What the flying fuck? Five interchangeable man children get on the stage and start talking about how everything they do is for the fans. What are you TALKING about? Someone dresses you, someone feeds you, someone tells you what to sing, someone tells you what to say, someone tells you where to go and someone tells you who to fuck. YOU don't do anything. Silly silly robot puppet children. With ridiculous hair. One of them has a combover that SHOCKS ME.

Some sports person next to give Rihanna something. She's actually there as well. Surely she's a bit too popular for this type of thing. She looks hawt. Awkward kiss with sportsman up there. Polished speech. Americans are just better at this sort of thing than us. English people seem to not be able to talk into microphones properly. It's always cringey and embarrassing.

Oooooh. Music. Greatest ever song writer. Who could it be? Noel Gallagher? REALLY? OK, let's see. He looks more and more like a Thunderbird puppet. I've always preferred Noel's voice to Liam's y'know. Course, live, it's not saying much. He's weak. Very weak. And still stuck in 1994 judging by clothes, hair and music. Ah well, worse eras to be stuck in I suppose. Ill advised falsetto. Bad. Bad. Bad. 3/10 Noel. I nodded off for a while. It just wouldn't end. Really bad, lack lustre, dead and sad performance.

Oh another dead rockstar tribute. This time it's our Amy and it's a lot longer and less awkward than Whitney's. I guess everyone's had time to get used to the idea. Pictures of her poor little emaciated frame come up on screen with her voiceover explaining about how she just really liked to sing. Bless her.

At this point my friend came round with pancake mix and I forgot about the rest of it. Which is probably for the best. I did, however, see Adele's ripost to the whole shallow ordeal when she was unceremoniously cut off while trying to deliver a speech of thanks for winning Best Album (and pretty much everything else that night):


If only she'd followed in Jarvis's footsteps and mooned the whole fucking lot of them.

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