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