As a teenager, I’m sure I used to religiously watch the BRIT awards every year. I caught a bit of it today for the first time in years. Christ almighty, was it always this bad? The ceremony opened with Bono doing his second job as singer of U2. He’s a much-maligned target of public cynicism is poor Bono. Some quarters are always sneering at him for getting involved with political causes, insisting that he is getting ideas above his station. They reckon humble pop singers should stick to being just that (although judging by the atrocious new single which U2 bleated out this evening, I reckon the world would be a much better place if he stayed away from studios and concentrated solely on international affairs from now on).
Throwing derision at U2 is like shooting fish in a barrel, but behind the pomposity bashing, even the most hardened critic has a chest-beating stadium anthem of theirs they kinda like; even if they’re too cool to admit it. But the new single? My God – no-one deserves that! Half-way through, I was really starting to empathise with Bono’s cause. I was clutching my ears, begging for the intervention of the UN or Amnesty International or anyone who could just make the aural cruelty go away. Awful stuff.
If things weren’t bad enough, the show’s hosts then appeared; those two lolloping, omnipresent chancers from the once-delightful Gavin & Stacey. Exactly why the Brits are being hosted by sit-com characters, I couldn’t tell you. I don’t recall ‘Blakey’ from “On The Busses” ever being invited to host the ceremony. More’s the pity too. The elected quarter-wits made their ‘hilarious’ entry as Kylie Minougue’s backing dancers. The humour of this routine impinged on the old adage of two men dressed in women’s clothing. It is the type of cheap, unoriginal, lazy, sanitized skit that no-one (other than pensioners or the stupid) has laughed at since the Pantomime Dame-humour of the 1970’s. If that’s the best they can do, they may as well have invited ‘Blakey’ after all - at least he’d have an ironic charm and be properly versed in this sort of stuff.
I was too bored to carry on watching any more. I did briefly tune in a bit later and initially thought they had stopped broadcasting the ceremony, opting instead to show the episode of ‘Only Fools & Horses’ where Delboy and Rodney get their hands on those self-inflating sex dolls which end up spontaniously combusting. Sadly, what I had mistaken to be one of the sex dolls actually just turned out to be Duffy picking up an award. What the hell is going on with her mouth?
I’m sure the BRITS used to be more excited than this dull pile of back-slapping wankery. What happened to all the hi-jinx and controversy? Jarvis invading the stage to moon at Jacko? Fatty Prescott getting a bucket of ice thrown over him? The car-crash potential of drug-addled musicians failing to read an autocue properly? It’s all just so polite and boring now. A post-Brits TV pundit theorized that the reason for this is because artists today are more careerist, and are conscious that their actions are being monitored by the American audiences.
“If British acts want to break the American market they have to tow the line and behave appropriately” the dullard said.
The man was clearly talking rubbish –if they’re trying so hard to find Trans-Atlantic acceptance, why did I fail to see a single spousal abuse or gang-land shooting?
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