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| Letters From London |
| Humorous Views on London Culture, Royals, Gossip and Politics |
The Screaming Brits: Highlights - 20 February 2008
“Get off the stage you pissed bastard!” Okay. The embarrassingly ear-piercing Brit Awards took
place with mandatory screeching: it was the Osbournes en masse.
Soooooooo El-Aye shrill Sharon took the award for the most horrible, followed closely by Kelly; a
mother and daughter duo to be remembered – hopefully not next year if they have plans to be an
annual act. Pray not. Jack and Ossie hid off camera most of the evening. Certainly not
embarrassed…simply hiding. Even Dr Who’s David Tennant – shrieked. Why?
The presenters:
“Has anyone noticed my mother has changed?” Her face again? Oh. Her almost identical dress.
Is there any possible reason we would ever give a toss? “Shut up! You!” My god those
screaming Osbournes are ubiquitously, terminably annoying. That cringe-making family of idiots
- get them (all) off the stage, the air, the show – please. LA is calling…yelling.
The ladettes:
Amy, while performing sans her fully inflated famed second head for her first song was such a
relief from the other female winners. “Make some noise for my husband, Blake.” Better than that
“Camden town is burning down”, but not by much. Gawd.
Leona Lewis’ dancers – argh. All those writhing bodies and grimacing faces emoting emotions:
angst, longing, earnestness. Yuck. You mean nothing has changed since the 50’s when featured
dancers expressed the lyrics of the singer? Clearly not. I had to look away.
Rihanna singing probably the worst lyrics of the last 2 years, although in contention with Grace
Kelly of course. ‘Under my umbrella’ (huh?) surrounded by Midwest high school farm boys
dressed in curiously medieval/ethnic/clown costumes. I don’t get it…and actually, don’t want to.
The lads:
And then there was - Sir Paul. Hang on. Who really finds him enthralling? Who has any interest in
him really? Surely only Heather’s ex-lawyers waiting anxiously to be paid. Surely only Ossie
Osbourne - who attributed his desire for fame, celebrity, money, sex and drugs to ‘Mr Sir Paul’.
Seriously now. Ossie emulated Paul, the ‘cute’ Beatle. I think not. There was Sir Paul with his
new razor-cut Beatle’s hair cut. Perky. I thought ‘thank god’ when he left the stage after his
bouncing act, but oh no. “Everybody gonna dance tonight…commona…” What was missing was
the Vaudevillian crook that pulled acts off the stage. “Are you rawking?” (ie. rocking). Pass on
the group sing-a-long. Pass the sickbag.
When aren’t the Artic Monkeys swigging from a bottle and saying the flaming obvious: “We’re
pissed!” Oh you’re taking the piss.
Grace Kelly is screaming from her grave. “ Me-ka! Please, stop. And, it’s Princess to you.”
Take That – spared us their lap dancers – always a good idea when you are 37 or is it 39 as
they repeatedly remind us with age-admittance and ageing symptoms. Cheery. Best Live Act – a
bit sad. I’d so much rather see jumping Kaiser Chiefs.
All in all, rather embarrassing and dim…but truly fab lighting as only the British do to perfection
and wonderment. The production of the show was superb. Pyrotechnics, time-lapsed clouds,
lasers…cool Britannia, but only the visuals.
“Get off the stage you pissed bastard!” Okay. The embarrassingly ear-piercing Brit Awards took
place with mandatory screeching: it was the Osbournes en masse.
Soooooooo El-Aye shrill Sharon took the award for the most horrible, followed closely by Kelly; a
mother and daughter duo to be remembered – hopefully not next year if they have plans to be an
annual act. Pray not. Jack and Ossie hid off camera most of the evening. Certainly not
embarrassed…simply hiding. Even Dr Who’s David Tennant – shrieked. Why?
The presenters:
“Has anyone noticed my mother has changed?” Her face again? Oh. Her almost identical dress.
Is there any possible reason we would ever give a toss? “Shut up! You!” My god those
screaming Osbournes are ubiquitously, terminably annoying. That cringe-making family of idiots
- get them (all) off the stage, the air, the show – please. LA is calling…yelling.
The ladettes:
Amy, while performing sans her fully inflated famed second head for her first song was such a
relief from the other female winners. “Make some noise for my husband, Blake.” Better than that
“Camden town is burning down”, but not by much. Gawd.
Leona Lewis’ dancers – argh. All those writhing bodies and grimacing faces emoting emotions:
angst, longing, earnestness. Yuck. You mean nothing has changed since the 50’s when featured
dancers expressed the lyrics of the singer? Clearly not. I had to look away.
Rihanna singing probably the worst lyrics of the last 2 years, although in contention with Grace
Kelly of course. ‘Under my umbrella’ (huh?) surrounded by Midwest high school farm boys
dressed in curiously medieval/ethnic/clown costumes. I don’t get it…and actually, don’t want to.
The lads:
And then there was - Sir Paul. Hang on. Who really finds him enthralling? Who has any interest in
him really? Surely only Heather’s ex-lawyers waiting anxiously to be paid. Surely only Ossie
Osbourne - who attributed his desire for fame, celebrity, money, sex and drugs to ‘Mr Sir Paul’.
Seriously now. Ossie emulated Paul, the ‘cute’ Beatle. I think not. There was Sir Paul with his
new razor-cut Beatle’s hair cut. Perky. I thought ‘thank god’ when he left the stage after his
bouncing act, but oh no. “Everybody gonna dance tonight…commona…” What was missing was
the Vaudevillian crook that pulled acts off the stage. “Are you rawking?” (ie. rocking). Pass on
the group sing-a-long. Pass the sickbag.
When aren’t the Artic Monkeys swigging from a bottle and saying the flaming obvious: “We’re
pissed!” Oh you’re taking the piss.
Grace Kelly is screaming from her grave. “ Me-ka! Please, stop. And, it’s Princess to you.”
Take That – spared us their lap dancers – always a good idea when you are 37 or is it 39 as
they repeatedly remind us with age-admittance and ageing symptoms. Cheery. Best Live Act – a
bit sad. I’d so much rather see jumping Kaiser Chiefs.
All in all, rather embarrassing and dim…but truly fab lighting as only the British do to perfection
and wonderment. The production of the show was superb. Pyrotechnics, time-lapsed clouds,
lasers…cool Britannia, but only the visuals.
