Music

Remember when you were young and your grandparents often dragged you away to show you something that you weren’t meant to see?

You know, like introducing you to a can of lager in the dusty shed and encouraging you to knock it back? Though sometimes they did just bore you to death about something they thought you’d be interested in.

What we’re poorly trying to get at is that some things are best discovered by other people. This is what happened to us with Modernaire. When we battled our way through the trendy crowd at a Tings Tings gig, they were the first band on. Support bands are either going to send people to the bar or keep you watching. Thankfully this lot kept our attention.

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Make no mistake, Britney Spears is the MTV VMAs, whether she’s writhing with a snake, kissing Madonna with tongues or obliterating her entire career forever.

An MTV VMAs show without Britney Spears isn’t an MTV VMAs show - it’s just an excuse for Chris Brown to wobble around like his knickers are filled up with puffer fish. So imagine how thrilled we are to learn that Britney Spears will not only be appearing at this Sunday’s MTV VMAs, but actually opening them!

It’s wonderful news, and the perfect chance for Britney Spears to erase the painful memory of her stumbling around and failing to mime to her own song at last year’s show. Now she gets to replace that with a new memory of her having a giant panic attack onstage and ending up lying in the fetal position, rocking backwards and forwards, yanking fistfuls of hair out of her scalp and screaming abuse at a monster that only she can see.

We’re guessing.

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Ne-Yo - the only R&B singer on Earth to name himself after the Doppler effect - is a pretty popular chap, but now that’s been legally confirmed.

Last year Ne-Yo was on tour supporting R Kelly, but he got the sack after two shows because he says the crowds preferred him and R Kelly got the hump. A quick court case later, and Ne-Yo seems to have had his argument upheld - he’s just been awarded $700,000 from the tour’s promoter for sacking him so quickly.

So congratulations Ne-Yo - you’re now sort of officially more popular than a man who until recently was thought to have starred in a piss-sex video with a child. That’s just a level of popularity we can only ever dream of reaching. Tell us Ne-Yo, how does that feel?

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Hello there. Usher notices that you’re a lady. He’s seen those ladysacks through that blouse and he approves of them wholeheartedly - do you mind if he sings?

That probably isn’t the intro tape to Usher’s new ladies-only tour, but it should be. You see, Usher’s so fed up of having his sexual R&B flow disrupted at concerts by the occasional sight of a stubbly chin or an Adam’s apple that he’s banned all men from his upcoming club tour. From now on, only Usher’s rock hard testosterone can penetrate the moist, supple sea of oestrogen that is his audience.

And you know what, we actually think it’s a brilliant idea. That’s why we’ve decided to make this article a ladies-only article. Only women are allowed to read on, because only women will be able to form a true connection with our uniquely sensual musings.

Seriously though, no blokes. We’ll freak out if blokes read this. Urgh.

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Stevie Wonder is easily one of our most important performers, having written songs for Martin Luther King, Sesame Street and the Abi Titmuss sex tape.

And that’s probably the reason why the US Library of Congress has decided to bestow Stevie Wonder with one of its highest honours, the Gershwin Prize. The Gershwin Prize is either an award to recognise an artist’s lifelong ability to foster mutual understanding through music, or just something they give to people who’ve spent the last decade eating so much food that they’re now starting to resemble giant fleshy beanbags.

Frankly it could be either one of those. And whichever one it isn’t, someone needs to invent it and give to Stevie Wonder as well. He’s equally brilliant at both, you see. And, no, that’s not because he’s blind. Your bigotry offends us sometimes, it really does.

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Umm… we aren’t sure whether to be scared by this video, or to laugh until we cough up an internal organ.

The title says it all - it’s everyone’s favourite slaphead and chocolate monkey drummer getting beaten to a pulp by an old wrestler who looks like he may have overdone the steroids and/or children’s face paint.

It really is as simple as that. We don’t know where this clip has come from or why it has been made. But we can proudly say that it will be the best three minutes and seven seconds that you’ll ever waste watching pointless internet nuggets. If you can explain this to us, please do so. Smoke is starting to come from our brains. God damn that pesky Phil Collins.

It must be difficult being Beyonce’s sister - she got the looks, the ambition and the talent and all you’re left with is a name that rhymes with ‘flange’.

With that in mind, if we were Solange Knowles we’d get a little bit tetchy with people who compare us to Beyonce. No, more than that, we’d actually throw an embarrassing full-on sulky tantrum on television if someone even said the name ‘Beyonce’ within earshot of us. We would. We’d look like total bellends doing it, and it’d probably harm our career quite profoundly, but a little thing like that wouldn’t stop us.

Funnily enough it wouldn’t stop Solange Knowles either. A hapless presenter on a local Las Vegas Fox entertainment show happened to mention Beyonce’s name just before a Solange Knowles interview yesterday, and Solange threw an incredible schoolmarmish hoity toity “Mer mer mer” prissy little tantrum at her for it.

Video footage? Why of course there’s video footage…

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Literally everything is becoming a musical these days.

From the greatest hits of Take That assembled into one menopause-magnet stage show, to that Queen-based thing that’s been going on for about sixteen universe life-cycles now, it’s never been a better time to put a fresh slant on an old formula.

Still - no-one’s going to go near the Opera, are they? Surely no-one would be mad enough to combine that particular artform with, for example, a revamped version of a cult horror film about a giant talking insect?

Oh.

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Nobody wants to hear the old hits when a band reforms - they want to hear an album of new songs, all written by some millionaire pensioners.

Better still, they want that album to feature the guitarist, the bassist and the dead drummer’s son with no singer in sight, right? Because nothing rocks harder than an album of instrumentals containing lengthy bass solos as performed by some painfully old men. Right?

Good, because that seems to be what Led Zeppelin are cooking up. It must be true, because the dead drummer’s son said so.

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Unless you need a slap, you’ll be firmly aware that Medusa “dick on the Towers of London.”

Ever since we found this bunch of rock ‘n’ rollers hiding in the shadowy corners of Myspace on one of our trawls, we have been firm fans.

Nowadays it appears that you can get a one way ticket to brief musical stardom by brandishing an Argos syringe and screaming “look at me I’ve just pricked the skin and all this yellow gunk is squirting out!”

Whatever happened to the good old days of bands getting up to all sort of fiendish antics which resulted in everyone getting a laugh and some poor bastard suffering for a little bit? Can you count on The Kooks, Scouting For Girls or some other indie twonks to do this?

Don’t be daft - you need a real band. After an overdue absence Medusa have returned with another tale which sounds so random that it belongs in one of those Family Guy cutaway scenes.

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