Limey basta-- oh.

[rebness]

The Brits 2005: OMG miscarriage of justice!!!11!2



Waah.

Franz Ferdinand won two awards—best rock act and Best British Group. One of them was voted for by Kerrang readers. Best song went to some rubbishy claptrap I can’t even recall right now. Certainly, it wasn’t Take Me Out, and neither Vertigo nor Can’t Stand Me Now were even nominated. Robbie Williams was pronounced God, or something.

Yes, here come the Brit Awards to make us all depressed once again.

The thing about British music is this. For a few years now, after the whole Britpop bubble burst, it has floundered. We have had succession of rubbish rappers talking about the harsh realities of life in middle-class rural Kent; we have had countless Eurotrash pop songs released on us, usually with a Spanish refrain that says something like “you and me/under the tree/oh gee/baby” and a ridiculous amount of manufactured pop muppets courtesy of Pop Idol.

Video may have killed the radio star, but Simon Cowell killed the Brits.

Until now! Suddenly, help came a-calling. After a long drought ruled by tat, we were treated to stellar rises from everybody from Franz Ferdinand to the Libertines to Kasabian to Snow Patrol to Jamelia to Joss Stone to, hell…er…ah…Keane. Huzzah! Rejoice! The Brit Awards will no longer be given to Robbie Williams just because the competition is so dire! OMG real music back on the agenda, especially with international greats such as Green Day, the Scissor Sisters, Gwen Stefani et al.

Um, dream on. As ever, the Brits woz robbed.

Now, Keane, best album? Best album for what? Music to sink into a mire of drunken misery by? Music to send babies to sleep? Music complete with cliched Expressionist videos?

The ultimate slap in the face, though, was this: -

Robbie Williams’ fromage-fest, Angels, voted the Best British song of the last 25 years!

Let’s see…

The lyrics are just retarded. This is the kind of song that a cheesy, drunk man will sing to you in a club or pub. One suspects that he “won” this category because after failing to release anything for a while, the Brits organisers, or Robbie’s management, or both, couldn’t dare to have the travesty of not giving every possible award to the poor man’s Dean Martin for once.

Off the top of my head, I can list fellow “best song” nominees Love Will Tear us Apart, Wuthering Heights, as well as songs universally recognised as outstanding, such as Radio Ga Ga, If You Tolerate This…, Don’t Look Back in Anger and, hell, Can’t Get You Out of My Head (Aussie singer, British production team/writer.)

Yes, yes. It’s just an awards ceremony. It’s a ceremony bought and run by shadowy corporate types—it means nothing compared to the public’s NME awards or (dear Lord) even the Grammys.

But imagine this, people. You’re sitting there talking about how such-and-such is amazing, how Queen were an outstanding band, and some fecktard smugly tells you that Angels is officially the best song of the last quarter of a century.

Arm yourselves with sporks.



Even more depressingly, Alex Kapranos has decided to reinvent himself as Begbie from Trainspotting…

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[rebness.livejournal.com]

He was my Crush, Vera. Now I have to find someone else. Dubya, maybe?