Thursday, 21 February 2013

Brits 2013: Nothing More Than A Mirror

Alexis Petridis, lover of hyperbole, employs a mirror metaphor to describe the Shits. I mean, Tits. Oh fuck my tourettes, of course I meant 'The Brits'.

To sincere music lovers, the Brit Awards are irrelevant. The charts are irrelevant. The whole shambles is best ignored. Merely wank fodder for pre-pubescent iPhone-brandishing 1D-evotees. Let them have their fun, I say. They'll grow out of it. It keeps them occupied in the meantime.

I think the last time I cared about the whole spectacle was when Oasis lost out on an award to the Spice Girls or something. I recall being devastated. I thought it was the end of music. The world had gone mad.

Hurl Power. (Especially in Halliwell's case).

Nowadays I don't even know (or care) what an Emile Sande is.

I was going to finish up by saying something predictably positive and inspiring, like suggesting other routes to consume music, but I'm feeling too apathetic to even do that. Any intelligent adult should know how to do it already anyway.

And be able to recognise these shiny awards ceremonies for what they are: industry back-patting, self-congratulatory puff, an expensive, flashy parade of the New Boring. Just another distraction from Things That Matter.