Just when you thought it was safe to turn on your television, the annoyingly smug and thoroughly depressing back slapping coke fuelled awards show returns on our goggle boxes tomorrow. Needless to say that I won't be watching The Brit Awards this year. I think I might have bothered to sneer my way through it until I learned that Sharon and Ozzy Osbourne were hosting it. Woop-de-fucking-doo.
Don't get me wrong, it's not totally devoid of any entertainment; after all we can all remember with glee when Jarvis Cocker jumped up on stage to protest against Michael Jackson's stomach churning and bile educing performance. Also last year provided valuable evidence that I was in fact quite correct, when for the previous 4 years I had referred to Josh Stone as a useless, untalented, annoying, sudo-yank, finally everyone believed me! It's just so fucking irksome, especially with the media furor that will inevitably follow, particularly about Amy Winehouse, (who whilst I'm on the subject off, am I the only one in England who thinks she's crap- with the obvious exception of 'Rehab'?). My only temptation to watch it would be for Leona Lewis’ performance. Unashamedly, ‘Bleedin’ Love’ is one of my all time top ten ‘Guilty Pleasures’.
There is also the forthcoming NME Awards show, which is actually about twenty times worse than the Brit Awards. The bands feel obliged to get wasted and try to act as cliched outrageously as they can when they collect their awards. How cool- look there's yet another spotty, skinny cockney tosser in a porkpie hat dribbling into the microphone, slagging off the people. Great. How very youthful! Are the NME responsible for the emergence of these talentless fuckwits, or are the fuckwits at the NME just tapping into the youth culture? To quote Abe Simpson:
"A little from column 'A', a little from column 'B'". Though I suspect the former, rather than the latter, is the more probably answer.
I was unlucky enough to have caught 10 minutes of last year's award ceremony and boy was it painful to wacth. Mostly for Lauren Laverne who had the misfortune of presenting the show. I think Joe Pasquale's or Billy Pearce's gag writers were hired to write the jokes for this particular show, which of course fell as flat as pancake. Utterly cringe worthy.
Still, until I joined the band my only claim to fame was being thrown out of Laverne's former band Kenickie's dressing room in 1996 (a long and unfortunate story). I think like most fellas of my age, we all had a thing for her at sometime or another. I actually saw a rare solo performance she did at The Leeds Festival in (I think) 2000. I can't recall all that much, except a) she looked hot b) it was a surprisingly good set and c) none other than Arab Strap's Malcolm Middleton was playing guitar for her! (I later discovered they were an item to my dismay).
Anyway, the only Kenickie track I could find was Punka which is on cassette (which is of little use to me now) so instead I've attached a clip from Youtube for your viewing pleasure.