TV Review: The Brits 2012 by Cracko

Full of pancakes and ready to party, it’s time for this year’s exciting BRIT Awards. I say “exciting”, but Ed Sheeran is involved, so my hopes aren’t sky high. The show is hosted again by James Corden, but the blow of seeing his face is somewhat softened by a musical intro from Coldplay. There are colours and lasers and the band on a stage. It’s like one of those glow-stick parties where the deodorant marks on your black top get highlighted in bright UV white for all to see. Mr Corden arrives to big up the show in his typical irritating style, as he shows off the stupid-looking BRIT award itself.

Whitney Houston died, so we’re going to remember her for a couple of minutes. Ah, right, one of her songs played over a montage of photos and clips. Wow, this doesn’t feel rushed and totally devoid of genuine sentiment. But never mind all that, Florence and the Machine is performing. Can I just check something? This IS the 2012 Awards isn’t it? Okay, just had a worrying feeling that I was watching the 2011 show with a Whitney Houston fan’s YouTube video edited into it.

So far, so pretty rubbish. But here comes KYLIE to save it all with her bum. Well, no, but she’ll be presenting the Best British Female Solo Artist award. (Adele’s in the category.) Adele wins the award. Nothing to see here. Oh, James Corden called her a tranny. I hear the words “Jessie J and Jack Whitehall” and I’m considering throwing the towel in. But I hold my nerve. They’re going to present the Best International Solo Male Award. (Adele isn’t in this category.) This montage is the first time I’ve ever seen Aloe Blacc. I thought he’d be fatter. I didn’t quite catch what Jessie J said, but I believe she announced the winner as “Bruno Mars”, since he’s heading towards the stage.

Now, a second performance. Oh good! I hope it’s someone awesome! (OMG, Marcus from The X Factor in the background!) It’s OLLY MURS. And Rizzle Kicks. Okay; this song is ace, but Olly can’t sing, so this is rather embarrassing. Ah, come on, turn those backing vocals up a touch. Aaaaaand Rizzle Kicks shut it the fuck down; all is well again.

There’s an unnecessary chat to Jessie J, followed by a bit of Ed Sheeran. If this performance were an answer on the Alexander Armstrong BBC1 teatime quiz show, it would win, because it is fucking POINTLESS. Boom. We’re promised Rihanna later – the only reason that anyone is still watching. It’s Tinie Tempah with his fancy beard to present the next award, Best British Single. What? The Military Wives are nominated? Jesus. (Adele was also nominated.) Ah! FANGIRL SQUEEEEEE! One Direction have won! Incredible that an award voted for by the public was won by a band with mental fans. (Although, to be fair, The Wanted and JLS have some pretty mental fans too, so well done Directioners for out-mentaling them all.) Fans aside, however, it is an amazing song.

Jenson “Wow! It’s bracing!” Button is on to present Best International Female Solo Artist. (Adele isn’t nominated in this category.) Rihanna wins for the second time in as many years, and who can argue? She has amazing tits. I mean hits. But also tits. I’ve started tuning out the segments where James Corden talks, and I managed to do the same with the VT about Ed Sheeran’s album. I’m like Pavlov’s dog, but instead of bells, I respond to Ed Sheeran’s voice and/or face. Not by salivating, though. Speaking of people who don’t make me salivate, it’s time for a performance from Noel Gallagher. *sigh* And his High Flying Birds. Chris Martin is playing piano, and I suppose this is supposed to be some brilliant collaboration. It isn’t.

Best British Male Solo Artist is presented by Plan B, star of last year’s BRITS show, whom everyone has now forgotten about. Who will be this year’s Plan B? Ed Sheeran! Hurrah! We can all sleep safe in the knowledge that Ed may be forgotten about by next Pancake Day. Straight onto the Radio 2-sponsored British Group category, featuring several groups who sound like nominees from the mid-00s (but not Adele). The winner is… Coldplay! I’d never turn down the chance to see Guy Berryman up on stage, but I find it a bit hard to give a shit about these guys winning.

PJ Harvey’s album plug now. Oh dear, my brain’s going a bit “Ed Sheeran” again. Ah, Kylie – let’s chat to her. That’ll be as entertaining as a performance. No, really, could we have another performance, please? Adele, you say? That’ll do, yeah. She makes an amazing-on-the-radio song even amazinger live. TAKE ALL THE AWARDS, ADELE.

Best International Group (another Adele-less category) is presented by two members of Queen, and accepted via pre-recorded video by Taylor out of the Foo Fighters. It’s all over in a few minutes, as if no one cares. Nicole Scherzinger and her hair are presenting Best Breakthrough Artist. (Adele isn’t in this category.) Ed Sheeran wins another award, and my brain’s fading again.

Bruno Mars seems to think he’s in a Vegas club. Or in the terrible “jazz” section of a Girls Aloud tour. I didn’t enjoy him on the X Factor and I’m not enjoying him now. I bet Marcus off the X Factor is bloody loving this. The dickhead. The next award is Best International Breakthrough Artist, presented by Will.i.am and Rob Brydon. I can’t imagine a more awkward pairing, please make it stop. Wait, Bon Iver is pronounced “Bon ee-ver”? I always thought it was like “Bon Ivor”. Weird. Oh, Lana Del Rey’s won it. She’s cute.

FINALLY RIHANNA. RIHANNA. Ah, this song always makes me want to guzzle Class A drugs while having a threesome with RiRi and Calvin Harris. This is mesmerising. I can’t believe she’s not taking that jumper off, though. Unprecedented. Penultimate award! Thank fuck. Outstanding Contribution, going to Blur (Adele wasn’t nominated). Ray Winstone, coolest old geezer around, is presenting it. Ah, remember those songs that Blur had? Brilliant. Yeah.

George Michael receives a massive standing ovation as he arrives on stage to present the final award of the night, British Album Of The Year. It’s got to be Adele, right? Ah yes, Adele wins in thoroughly deserving fashion. Ed Sheeran looks on, barely able to hide his seething rage, bubbling just beneath the surface. Adele gets rudely cut off before she can even begin her speech properly,  so that embodiment-of-the-90s, Blur, can play us out for several minutes too long. Until next year, when – with any luck – none of us will remember who Ed Sheeran is.

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