Still a charming man?

A brief word that I will no doubt revisit when I have the money to buy his album is the return of Morrissey. Okay so he may get the cold shoulder from every critic in the country but his sharp tongue and shocking honest is back with vengeance. And in celebration of this I appear to have delved once again in my Smiths back catalogue and discovered (somewhat as a late comer) the haunting and emotional beauty of “Asleep” a song on which the lyrics speak for themselves and highlight a completely different side, a gentle beauty illustrated with Marr’s unused piano. Without sounding like a pathetic fan girl, it really is true that The Smiths tapped into the real emotion that no other band could do in a time which saw Wham dominate every stereo. Literary references and unadulterated intelligence were broadcasted boldly by Morrissey’s handsome and daring persona breaking many boundaries which people didn’t even realise existed. He will always remains mysterious, awkward and idolized by all that listen to him, a hypnotizing effect which gives him immense influence power over the worlds most loyal fans (if at times a little scary!)

The Brits

An impressive disappointment or disappointingly impressive? Okay enough of oxymoronic confusion, it has to be said that last nights Brits was probably the smoothest running of them all but this eerie organization amongst the midst of squeaky clean pop products seems to lack what we all once loved about this established date in the musical calendar. It went without saying that the Brits were and should always be an unmitigated disaster, cringe worthy telly at its best but isn't this what being British is all about?

Long gone are the days of Oasis claiming Robbie Williams is a pan head that needs stabbing or Jarvis Cocker showing his arse to Michael Jackson or Mick Fleetwood slurring his jumbled words, a necessary lairyness surely?
Over the last couple of years there has been a predictable sanitisation over the nominations, an unfair representation and presumption of what we have enjoyed over the last year. The sheer fact that Scouting for Girls were even considered worth makes me want to explode my ears, a rejection by the mainstream of talents which although unconventional should always be recognized. There was an overwhelmingly dull sense that if this is all we have to offer then where the hell do we go from here? Kings of Leon providing the best performance of the night (with nauseating and impressive ease) says it all despite their comforting reassurance that they own it all to ‘England’. At one point The Brits were synonymous with collaborations, some of the most unusual and memorable performances yet the diluted version we have been seeing recently has eliminated this appeal with Estelle and The Ting Tings being this years exception. And surprisingly, although within the first 20 seconds “car crash” kept running through my head, the join of two such different yet equally established females was admirable, and made considerably more impact that Bono strutting around with the mindset of a teenager and the face of a 50 year old Russell brand wannabee.
And now to the presenters, from last years Osbourne fiasco I suppose it couldn’t have got much worse and there grows the explanation for the somewhat safe choice of comedy’s sweethearts Matt Horne and James Cordon. Their brief appearances may have needed more substance but in fact gave a much needed cheekiness and charm to the night and seeing Corden in a red mini dress is certainly a sight that curiosity begs to see. Kylie however speared a bizarre and utterly random addition, merely a pretty face, being unable to cope with the odd adlib or disjointed link and adding nothing to the night apart from her reputation.
The Brits will always be a recognized institution but their desire to become even more accessible and clean cut year after year will inevitably result in an event were acceptance speeches will be banned and opinions deemed tasteless. We appear to have forgotten our underlying traits; brutal honest, wit, intelligence and eccentricity and to deny this would be a travesty. A revert back to our roots is much needed, the bold decision to say fuck it, lets not abide by the fear that complaints might be made or we might get into trouble and say or do whatever we want, and while we are at it would you mind sending Girls Aloud off to Siberia? Thanks.

Hx

I want to go to there

Mad Men is back and it’s about time. For the past year TV has been shockingly bad (hole in the wall being the obvious exception) and disappointingly we look again to America to provide us with some relief from this banal drought. With its sophisticated authenticity its hard not to be seduced by the lure of Mad Man however underneath this external beauty lies a deeper and darker past life, consumed with isolation and deception. It tells the tale of Sterling Cooper, an advertising agency in the early 1960's in Madison Avenue. From watching the first series its most noticeable quirk is that not much happens, with slowly developed story lines and dialogue to match but it’s within this control where the genius lies. Don Draper (the name alone oozing with charm) is a stupidly handsome top honcho played by Jon Hamm and with a seemingly ideal existence living the suburbia dream it seems he couldn’t want for anything more, however the picture postcard family only fuels his temptation to sleep around and connections are drawn to establish a screwed up man, barely coping to understand and explore his own emotions.

Mad Men is clearly the most innovative drama to be produced for many years and has rightfully received numerous Emmy’s and Golden Globes which makes its opening rating this year on BBC Four of 200,000 seem all the more bizarre. At the heart of it lies Peggy, a character with flaws like everyone else yet because of her quirky behavior that you can never quite put your finger on she redeems herself as the most redeemable character, a woman who despite fighting the inherent sexism rises above her secretarial role and expectations to become one of the boys, out of her depth? Hardly! Although we shouldn’t like them we do, a reluctant admiration which is most evident with Joan, the femme fatal with a questionable moral compass but a definitive confidence which we all crave, her refusal to quieten a bitterly sharp tongue.

Ultimately Mad Men causes watchers to remember such an era wit a nostalgic hue due to its stylised nature causing us to question why we don’t still live like that. However scratch deeper and dangerous questions are seen which need to be asked, which. Behind the dresses and picket fences lies a deeply established shovanism which was generally accepted by men and women alike however through Betty's anxiety we soon realise that for the women, suburbia was an inescapable prison and the role of housewife had his own hellish effect behind closed doors.

hx